Page 110 of Seven Summers Ago
BECK
Ineed to clear my head and calm down. I hop back in my truck. From my periphery, the children’s menu from Golden Pies that Charlie colored me catches my attention. It’s folded and propped in my dash covering my gauges. I pick it up and study the colorful lines. You can see the precision in each stroke of crayon. Tears burn my eyes, but I set the drawing back and blink them away.
I stop by my house for my surfboard before heading to the beach. There isn’t much daylight left, but if anything can cure this ache of despair—it’s surfing.
After I ride a few good waves, I shove my board into the sand so it’s standing upright and plop down on my towel. I push my fingers through my wet hair and release a strangled sigh. I’m mentally preparing myself before checking my phone for a call or text from Rosie.
Maybe I overreacted signing the divorce papers. Part of me regrets it. But maybe part of me thought it might wake her up. I tug my phone from the inside of my shoe and there’s nothing. Instant rage builds inside of me, and I huff out a gutturalgrumble. Anger prickles across my skin and I chuck my phone. It lands several feet down the beach.
All I’ve been doing is agonizing over Rosie and what she’s doing. Is she telling West it’s over? Or did she get swept up by his charm and decided to go back with him?
Maybe she and Charlie are already halfway back to Seattle by now. That last thought has me practically spiraling. Rosie and I being completely over would be devastating, but not being able to say goodbye to Charlie feels unbearable.
I’ve got myself so worked up that a panic attack is threatening again. A tingle travels down my limbs and the sound of the wind and the waves crashing on the beach dull. The beat of my heart picks up speed and thrusts quick successions against my ribcage. My breathing becomes shallow and fast. And it’s only a matter of seconds before I’m gasping for air.
To keep me sane, I focus on the curling of the waves and tell myself to breathe. It’s a simple reminder but it’s desperately needed right now. With no one here to help, I have to advocate for myself.
I suck in an unsteady breath and hold it for a few seconds but I’m not sure how long. I know I need to count to three, but my brain isn’t signaling my breaths.Who is in control here?Exhaling, I gasp and the whole process starts again. Only it’s not rhythmic, that’s the problem.
Somewhere in the diminished background noise, the sound of my phone chiming catches my attention. But my body is frozen—unable to move my limbs that are both weighted and feel like rubber at the same time.
After several minutes of this, it finally dissipates and is over at last. Sweat trickles down my back and bubbles at my temples. With weak arms and legs, I crawl to my phone that’s popping out of the sand several feet away.
I bring the screen to my line of vision and brush the sand away.
Rosie
Where are you?
“I’m here,” I say aloud, and frantically tap out a reply.
I’m typically hardheaded, but spending time with Rosie, and learning about Charlie has put things in perspective. I’m choosing us over myself. And over my pride.
I’m at the beach
Jensen Beach
Rosie
I’m on my way!
I can come to you
Rosie
No. I’m already on my way. Stay there!
My central nervous system is shot. But how do I stay put when uneasiness hums inside my veins after that string of texts from Rosie? Is she coming to end things once and for all in person? Or is she coming to tell me she chose me, and we can finally be together?
I pace, sinking in the thick sand and passing my surfboard several times, threading my fingers through my hair. Every ten seconds I hold up my phone and peer at the time on the screen. Dottie’s cottage is only about a six-minute drive from here. But it’s been more like ten.
After what feels like an eternity, I finally spot Rosie coming up over the sandbank where the tall grass breaks and makesway for the pathway to the parking lot. She’s dressed in a yellow tank top that shows off her freckle dusted shoulders, and a pair of jeans, the wind blowing her auburn hair back as she hurries toward me. In one hand, she holds her sandals and the other, Charlie’s hand. My heart threatens to break out of my chest.
While worry torments my insides, I can’t resist the smile forming on my lips. I may not be sure of the outcome of her wanting to meet me, but how can I not smile when I see her? I love her. I’ve always loved her. And no matter what—regardless of what she tells me—I’m afraid I’ll love her for the rest of my fucking life.
Abandoning my surfboard, I take off in a speedwalk, then a jog, because I can’t help myself. The craving to meet her halfway is intense and nothing else matters. But Rosie’s pace doesn’t increase. She stops Charlie and forces her to stay put before she returns her walk toward me. My heart squeezes at the visual and what this might mean. Yet it doesn’t discourage me. I keep going.
By the time we reach one another, I’m nearly breathless.
