Joshua turned over the letter looking for more, hoping that she’d somehow found the strength to write a few more words, but she hadn’t. His mother’s change of heart from fear to fearless love resonated in him and he let it float unattached in his mind, like a balloon not tied down. He walked to the coffee table and set down the letter. He wanted to hold onto the feeling of his mother’s happiness for a while, wanted to feel the joy and hope she had that glorious day in the ocean. She had been so much more than he remembered, yet somehow he carried all the pieces of her in his heart. He looked out at the shimmering sky, the achingly beautiful horizon and the ocean beneath it, and he smiled when he thought of her marching into it and reclaiming her life. Pieces of Leo as he was then flashed in his mind. His warm smile, the awkward gait, and most of all the happiness he’d brought to their lives.
Joshua moved toward the kitchen and unwrapped a fresh fish he’d caught the day before. He sprinkled it with a mixture of olive oil, basil, oregano and lemon and slid it into the oven. Next, he made a sparse salad of greens and tomatoes and used the marinade for the dressing.
While the fish cooked, Joshua went outside to the telescope that stood in the corner of his porch. He touched the spot where Isabelle had, felt the cold metal and heard the words she’d whispered to him not that long ago.
I’m going to get on with my life.
The words took him back to that moment, the very second when he’d lost his heart. He pointed the telescope at the water and imagined his mother there, in the midst of the blue, so happy and in love. Why had she left when things were so good?
He smelled the scent of lemon and pepper and went inside to turn off the stove. As he walked toward the kitchen, he began to see his house through his mother’s eyes and he felt the heat rise in his face, burn him behind his ears. He suddenly saw anew this place he called home. A sofa that doubled as a bed, a kitchen with only the barest of necessities, a small round dining table with two lonely mismatched chairs. There were no pictures on the walls, nothing that gave any indication that a life was lived here. That it was his home. It looked like temporary lodging for someone who was only visiting and would be moving on soon, but he had been here most of his adult life. What was he waiting for? He would be thirty in a few years, well past his mother’s age when she’d walked into the sea and declared to the world she would begin living. But had she? What events had stolen the life she’d committed to that day on the beach?
He opened and closed the cabinets mindlessly, the awareness of something significant hanging in the air and mingling with the tantalizing odor. It lingered just under his nose, and although he knew it was there, that some revelation sat just outside his reach, he did the dance of avoidance, slamming the drawers, peering into the refrigerator and washing the dirty dishes that were stacked in the sink.
When the kitchen was clean, he wandered to the bathroom where piles of fish stained clothes lie waiting to be cleaned. He scooped them up and toppled them into the washing machine. He stacked and organized his toiletries and then moved to the bedroom where he striped the sheets off his bed.
And then saw the string of a bathing suit sticking out from the closet. He pulled it out before he remembered who it belonged to and what it would make him do. It was Isabelle’s.
Her scent swirled around and pulled down the awareness from the heavily scented air until it sat lightly on his shoulder.
He loved her.
And he had let her go.
But the other man, he reminded himself. And you. Could you ever be enough?
The image of the blonde neatly tailored man flashed before him, and at first it made him shrink from the possibilities. But then he remembered more details from that day. Had the man gently put his hand on the small of Isabelle’s back to lead her into the coffee shop or had he forced her to go in that direction? He remembered the man’s smile, which at the time had appeared confident and intimidating, but now in reflection, he saw it as flashy and false.
He quieted his brain and set into motion before he could talk himself out of what he needed to do. He pulled on a pair of boots and slipped out the front door to go find and claim the woman he loved. He’d walk into the sea for her.
He only hoped it wasn’t too late.
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About the Author
April Geremia has made her living as a professional writer for 20 years, and has recently turned her attention toward her true love—fiction. She loves God, her family and friends, the sea, mysteries, and stories of people battling impossible situations. The books in this series, Souls of the Sea, all have those elements in common.
When she’s not writing, you’ll find her coaxing vegetables out of the ground, playing with her chickens, or whipping up a simple gourmet meal in her tiny house by the sea. Her favorite part of any day is connecting with her readers. You can find her at:
Website: aprilgeremia.com
Facebook: facebook.com/april.geremia
Twitter: @april_geremia
You can also find me at aprilgeremia.com
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