An hour later, Joshua struggled under the blanket of heat. He recklessly unwound the thick coiled rope from the piling and tossed it onto the boat. Ned Gunthriess, the man who leased the slip next to his, waved, his silhouette old and spindly in the shadow of the blistering sun. Joshua gave a hurried wave and then jumped onto the moving deck with a thud. When the boat was far enough way so he couldn’t see land, the place where all his pain had originated, he fingered the lavender letter and considered more than once whether he should let it slip though his fingers into the waiting blue to be swallowed by the stillness of another world.
He was sure the letter was from Isabelle, the thin lavender stationary, the scent of flowers still lingering on it, all spoke of her. And he knew he would have to read the devastating words she’d just spoken to him, hear again why she couldn’t stay with him, read about all the ways he’d failed her.
He dangled the rectangle over the edge of the stern and thought about letting it go. He sat with the stationary positioned between his thumb and forefinger and hoped for a gust of wind to make the decision for him.
But none came. Hadn’t in fact, for weeks as the drought had dried up even the wind. Instead, his fingers grew sticky with the heated glue on the envelope and he brought the letter back to safety. What more could she say, he wondered as he thought of Isabelle’s sad eyes and tired smile of that morning. Since she wasn’t one for wasting words, he knew whatever the letter said, it would matter.
Or had she mailed it before she decided to let him go?
Joshua didn’t think he could look at a gathering of words declaring Isabelle’s love of yesterday instead of her departure today. It would make him want to backstroke through the turbulent waters to a place where he could never be again.
Feeling an uncommon tear sting his eye, he forcefully ripped open the misunderstood letter, and pulled out the lavender onion-skinned paper.
For a moment, he was confused. The writing was much too ornate to be Isabelle’s, but it seemed somehow familiar. Ancestral. Tribal.
And then he knew. The understanding crept into his soul, invading everything he did and did not know. His senses went wild, the familiar smell of fish became so pungent he leaned over the boat and vomited. The wind, which had been still only moments before, gusted up and threatened to send him over the edge and into the crystal blue mirror that would shatter with his weight. The shrill screams of the gulls fighting one another for food pounded into his temples, causing him to press his hands over his ears and pray for silence.
And not. Because if there were silence, he would be left with only this.
At that moment, Joshua’s life, which thus far had been pulled backwards like the undercurrent of the tide, was hurled forward into the future at a dizzying speed.
The five-and-a-half-year-old Joshua sat up straight with anticipation, while the twenty-five-year-old Joshua sank onto the deck with disbelief. He knew his world was about to shift and never be the same.
The letter was from his mother.