Portion of the Sea (27 page)

I laughed like I did the first night at the shack when he told me he’d one day marry me. But then he reached deep into his pocket and started
fishing around for something.

“My God,” I said, expecting to see a diamond, my first diamond.

“It’s not what you think,” he said, pulling out a shell with brown squares all over it. “It’s a Junonia shell.”

“It’s beautiful,” I said, taking it from his hand. “It’s better than any diamond. Where’d you find it?”

“A trip to Captiva the other day. I thought you’d love it. Keep it as a reminder and a promise that I plan to marry you and that I’m waiting around. It’s all up to you right now. I don’t know what else to do.”

“It’s not up to me,” I said, softly. “I don’t know what to do. It’s impossible to know.”

“What is? What’s impossible?”

I thought of all the things I hated in the world, of our walks to school ending, of ironing and washing, of being too busy to read a fine novel or to write one myself, of winters back in Kentucky and how I hated them so and now of spring and my mother’s gloom. Then I thought of the two things I loved: Jaden and writing. Both felt impossible to me now, with my mother’s latest relapse and my taking on extra household chores in her place. I felt a chill, the kind that only comes in the winter. But this was spring, and it was Florida. “Impossible,” I stated.

“Nothing is impossible,” Jaden said.

“Oh yeah?” I said, searching in my mind for something that was indeed impossible, something he couldn’t argue with. “Snow on Sanibel. It’s impossible.”

He shook his head. “You’ve got it wrong, Ava. Anything is possible. I’m sure of it.”

I laughed. “Damn,” I said. “Why are you always so optimistic?”

We walked arm-in-arm until the point where our paths usually went separate ways, but that day we continued hand-in-hand along my path, and then we kissed beneath the rain, and I was glad he couldn’t see the tears rolling down my cheeks at the same time. When the rain stopped, but my tears continued, I turned and walked toward my house, and headed back in the direction of his. I knew I wouldn’t see him for quite some time again.

Lydia

So that was that. I closed the journal, turned out the light, and got back into bed. If Ava could take time off from the boy she loved, then so could I—not that I wanted to be the sort to wear red or jump off a cliff just because my best friend was wearing red or jumping off a cliff, but in this case, I didn’t know what else to do. Taking time away from Josh suddenly made sense to me. And how difficult would that be?

XXV

LYDIA

SOME THINGS IN LIFE
are difficult, I realized as I faithfully studied the shore, hoping to spot a Junonia. It was late summer, and soon I’d be leaving without that one rare and special shell.

I had been spending much of my time searching for shells, and I especially liked doing it an hour before or after low tide when everything was more exposed. The tides and the rain told me as much as any clock or calendar ever could, and they constantly reminded me that summer was progressing by the way the rain that once hit early was now coming later in the day. The seashells at low tide, the ninety-degree temps thanks to a sea breeze, and even the later afternoon thunderstorms that cooled things off and forced me to nap, were all simple. It was finding a Junonia that was difficult.

My aching back from stooping, my devoted yet unfulfilled desire to spot a Junonia, and my decision to go without seeing Josh were not simple. They were difficult, and I floated aimlessly around like a spineless, brainless, heartless, bloodless blob, a jellyfish ready to sting anything or anyone that came too close.

By late July Lloyd had fully regained his health. I had noticed him talking money more than golf and knew he was returning to his old self
again. And I was glad for him when his one true love, the bank, called and welcomed him back. It had been simple for him to leave the island and return to work a couple of weeks earlier than we had planned, and it was simple for me to stay there on my own and finish up my summer on Sanibel before starting college.

I left the beach, losing faith that I would ever spot a Junonia and doubting whether they existed on the beaches of Sanibel at all. Maybe it was all a hoax and they were occasionally planted out there by some tourism promoter. I was disappointed and wondered if this was how devoted people feel when they want a miracle so badly and don’t get one.

When I got back to the cottage, I checked on my latest shells soaking in a solution of half bleach and half water. The bleach in no way altered their color, and I was glad. Then I reviewed my latest arts-and-crafts project—shells turned into twenty-five Santa Claus ducks lined up along my windowsill. They were dry, and that was good. I didn’t know whom I was going to give them to when the season finally rolled around, but I’d worry about that when the time came. I was ready to move onto something new, like a seashell mirror, maybe.

Later that day, after the thunderstorm and my nap, I decided to go to the local seashell shop to buy a Junonia. And I felt like I was buying myself a miracle as I handed the girl the money and she handed me the shell—that simple.

“I know I get obsessive about things,” I muttered to myself as I walked out of the shop carrying a bag filled to the rim with every other type of seashell. It had been my fault that I couldn’t see over the tips of the lightning whelks and I bumped into someone, but I didn’t care. I was more worried about my shells crashing to the ground. I fell to my knees and started gathering them up.

“Lydia refuses to tell father about the boy she loves,” a male voice said from above me.

I don’t think that’s what he really said, but my mind sometimes heard things in the form of headlines only. “Josh?” I stood up, leaving a few of my purchased seashells in the gravel so someone else might experience what they consider a miracle to be. “Sorry for bumping into you. What did
you just say?”

“How are you and your father doing?”

“Good. He’s back in Chicago.”

“So you’re here alone?”

“Yes, just for another few days,” I glanced down at the driveway and spotted my most precious of all purchased shells, the one with the brown squares all over it, still lying beside someone’s tire. “I wanted so darn bad to find a Junonia on the beach before I left,” I said, bending down to pick it up.

“I bought one today. I guess I’ve given up.”

“Don’t ever give up,” he said. “Why would you give up?”

“On to new things, I guess. I’m headed back to the city and to school and finding a Junonia in the city is definitely impossible.”

“Good point, but you’ll be back one day, won’t you?”

“I hope. You think you’ll always be here?”

“Where else would I be other than here?”

I smiled, but he looked grim. “I’ll look you up when I return,” I said, formally.

He smirked, then took a couple of steps away as if he were about to wave and be off, but then he drew close, looked up to the sky, then back into my eyes. “Humor me for a moment,” he said. “There’s something I need to know.”

“Sure, what is it?”

He took his hat off and ran his hands through his hair. “Do I mean anything to you?”

“Of course you do,” I said, wanting to tell him he meant almost everything, but I couldn’t. My education and career plans back home meant something, too, and I was so close to starting my journey toward accomplishing them. “You are the rarest boy I’ve ever met.”

“I’m not a damn seashell,” he said, rolling his eyes and laughing.

“I know you’re not,” I said, laughing as well and mentally kicking myself for letting my Junonia obsession slip out via my choice of words. “But here, take this. I don’t want it anymore.” I picked the Junonia off the pile of store-bought shells and handed it to him. I no longer wanted it. It
wasn’t like I had found it the authentic way. “Keep it as a reminder and a promise that I will return and I will come looking for you.”

“How will you recognize me? I’ll probably be an old man by then.”

“No. I’ll come back before then. I’ve got to. I want to be young and beautiful when I find my own Junonia on the beach and get my picture in the paper.”

“Your picture in the paper for finding a shell? That’s ridiculous.”

“Josh,” I said. “If there’s one thing I’m confident in about myself, it’s deciphering what is and what is not newsworthy. Believe me, the Gulf of Mexico handing over such a priceless and prized possession is definitely newsworthy. I’m telling you now that I will return and I will find what I’m looking for.” I stepped close and kissed him on his lips.

“What if I’m married and have six kids by then?” he asked when the kiss ended.

“You won’t be,” I said. “You can’t get married without me here.”

“Okay,” he said, tossing the shell up into the air, then catching it. “But you’re gambling with time and a guy’s heart. I just want you to know you’re taking chances, Lydia.” He put the shell into the pocket of his jeans. He looked at his watch. “Unfortunately, I’ve got to get going now.”

“I understand,” I said, then kissed him again. “You want to come over tonight?”

He smiled and didn’t answer. It was the sort of smile that made me think he wasn’t going to come over. He was better than that. And I felt uneasy about the space I had placed between us and the space to come.

He got into his truck. and I watched as he backed out of the parking space and turned onto Periwinkle Way. He waved. and so did I. And I wondered if he ever shed a tear. I did as I stood there another five minutes, wondering whether I was making the right choices in life. How could I know for sure? Doesn’t it take years of hindsight to know whether the choices a woman makes are for better or worse? Why does it have to be so hard, all these choices in life? Why can’t anything be simple? And why can’t I be a typical woman who just fell in love with a man from the suburbs and got married?

“Because you’re not a typical woman,” I said to myself as I started to
walk toward Marlena’s. “And because you fell in love with a different guy. It’s just the way it is.”

XXVI

MARLENA HUGGED ME IN
the doorway. “I’m sorry for how I’ve been,” she said. “Please come in. It’s nothing you’ve done or said. I just haven’t felt myself.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Yes, so am I. How much longer are you here for?”

“A few days.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I’m going to miss you.”

“I know. I’m going to miss you, too.”

“Your eyes don’t look right. Have you been crying?” she asked. “Is it your father?”

“No. Josh and I said goodbye today. It was my decision to say goodbye for now.”

“For now? What does ‘for now’ mean?”

It suddenly sounded so ludicrous to me. “For now means college, then maybe graduate school, then my career and …”

“Sounds more like forever to me.”

“No,” I insisted. “It’s just for now.” I then reached into my bag and pulled out the pages I had read last. “Here, I brought these back.”

She reached out and took them from me. “Let me see just where you’re at with your reading,” she said, her eyes scanning the last page. “Ah, yes, I was wondering if you got that far.” She looked up at me. “Why don’t you go into the room and start the next pages while I make us a lunch.”