Chapter Twenty

Winslow

I WOKE TO fog pressing in against the window. I yawned and stretched luxuriously, feeling as though I’ve just had the best rest I’d had in years. The light around me was diffused, telling a tale set in late morning.

When I sat up, I expected to feel Myrtle beside me, as she’d been the past few mornings. She’s a wonderful dog, sleeping just as long as I do and never asking for more than I could give.

But she wasn’t here.

I remembered Mom coming into the room during the night, sitting on my bed, making me feel so loved through words and actions.

Had she really been with me? Or was she a dream? Was her whole appearance a trick of my subconscious? I mean, she was years younger, the way she looked before life’s ugliness wiped away her vitality, her spark. And who appears out of nowhere?

A sudden vision rose, and it’s of myself coming to, underwater, the warm flow of the sea. Bright fish. Filtered sunlight slanting down in bright slats.

Me, for one. I appear out of nowhere.

But back to the present—Mom was here last night, and Myrtle most likely followed her out of the room when she left.

I got up out of bed and plucked a pair of sweats off the floor, then rummaged in the drawers of my small, red-painted dresser for wooly socks and a long-sleeved T-shirt. Even though there was bright, if highly filtered, sunshine out there, I’d already learned how that golden appearance could be a lie. It might look warm in Seaspray, but it rarely was.

I sat on the bed to pull on a pair of running shoes and then went out to find Frankie and, hopefully, my mom and Myrtle. I imagined us taking a walk along the rocky shoreline before coming back for breakfast in Frankie’s welcoming kitchen. Maybe she’d even cook something up for us. She was reliable in that way. Nurturing.

Outside, the dense fog laying just over the rocks at the seaside edge of Frankie’s property deadened sound. I could hear the crash of surf but couldn’t see it. It even came to my ears distantly, as if the ocean were miles away, rather than yards.

The warm yellow glow of Frankie’s kitchen shone out like a beacon through the window above her sink, welcoming me.

I rapped lightly on the back door but didn’t wait for her to answer. I let myself in.

“Frankie?” I called. The door behind me squeaked as I kicked it closed with one foot.

“In here.” Her voice drifted out from the kitchen.

Frankie was seated at her round maple table, a steaming cup of tea in front of her. No mug for her, only a china cup and saucer would do. Beyond her cup, a china tea kettle rested in the middle of the table on a little, blue crocheted mat.

“Fancy,” I said as I sat.

“Tea just tastes better out of china. If you learn nothing else from me, son, learn that.” She lifted the kettle. “Can I be mother?”

I thought it was an odd question and cocked my head, which Frankie must have interpreted as a yes, because she rose to grab a new cup and saucer from the cupboard above the stove, sat down with it, and poured me a beautiful reddish cup of tea. “Cream and sugar right in front of you.”

I doctored my tea and thought about the oddity of her asking if she could be mother. “Hey, just wondering if you’d seen my mom this morning? And where’s Myrtle?”

“Last night. I saw them both last night.” She sipped her tea. Her calmness was a balm, so I didn’t worry about what could have been a distressing statement.

“And?”

She reached over and squeezed my hand, then let it go. “They’re gone, honey.”

“What do you mean?” Oddly, I didn’t feel unnerved or even surprised. It was almost as though I’d known all along both my mother and a sweet little dog that may or may not have been with me in childhood were like clouds in the sky, forming and reforming, then gone on a gust of wind.

“They were never meant to be here long. I suspect you’ve figured that out.” She eyed me. “I suspect there’s a lot you’ve figured out if you just relax enough to let yourself be, to let what you know is inside. Those pesky rational minds of ours sometimes don’t allow for the possibility of magic. Magic is all around us. All the time.”

She waited, I suppose, for my response. Frankie was patient. She waited through many clicks of the old wall clock mounted on the soffit above the sink, without displaying any urge to hurry my intuition along.

At long last, after what seemed like hours instead of minutes, I spoke my heart. “This isn’t a real place, is it? Seaspray, I mean. I’m dreaming this or something.”

She shrugged. “Oh it’s real enough.” She reached across the table and gave me a very painful pinch on the arm that made me cry out. She just laughed and said, “See?”

We sat, silent, for a few more minutes, sipping our tea. “Seaspray is a special place. Not a dream, Winslow. A real location not everyone can see. It’s a way station, if you will, between life and death. People come and go. Some stay for a long, long time, some only minutes. It depends on the person.”

“Heavy.” I cocked my head, questioning. I wondered which of these people Frankie was. I wondered if Frankie was even a person. For the first time, I noticed a kind of shimmering glow surrounding her. Had it always been there or was I just now taking notice?

“Are you pulling my leg?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

“You know I’m not, so I won’t dignify your silliness with a denial. You’ve known you were in a special place since you rose out of the water and came to me, as I knew you would.” She observed the question in my eyes and nodded. “Yes, I knew you were coming, and I was ready for you.”

“So you had my little nest all ready?” I smiled through a lump in my throat.

“Of course, I did. I wanted you to be comfortable.” She finished her tea and set the cup back in its saucer. “But now, if you go back, you’ll find an empty room. Cobwebs, junk, dirty cracked window. Spiders, maybe even a raccoon or squirrel hiding out. Who knows?”

“What do you mean?” I was genuinely perplexed.

“It’s time, Winslow. It’s time. Things move on in Seaspray. They change when the time’s right.”

The thought filled me with terror.

I sat, quiet, as Frankie got up and bustled about the kitchen, washing out the cups and saucers and the teapot we’d just used, setting them to dry on a tea towel laid out next to the sink.

“I have to leave?” I asked, my voice wavering.

She turned to face me. Her face was kind. “No, my sweet boy, no. You can stay here as long as you want. Seaspray—and I—will hold you in welcoming arms for as long as you need. Your little apartment over the garage can go back to what it once was for you. All you need to do is walk out the door, up the driveway, and back up the stairs.”

“Will Myrtle come back? Will Mom?”

Frankie shook her head. “And I think you know this place is no longer right for them. You understand that you’ve learned everything Seaspray can teach you, at least for now.” She gestured vaguely toward the window—and the sea. “They wait for you, Winslow. Folks who love you. Why make them wait one day, one hour, one minute longer? What would be the point?”

The clarity rushed toward me. “How? How do I get back to them?”

“It’s not a journey you can take in a car, a plane, a train, or even on foot. Well,” she corrected herself, “maybe a few steps.” She let loose a little sigh that contained grief and hope all at once. “You go back the way you came.”

I looked toward the window. While we spoke, the sky had done its magic, swapping out grayish white for the most pristine blue, unbroken by even a single cloud. And even though I hadn’t noticed it as we sat here, I could suddenly hear the roar of the surf.

“Is it safe?” I wondered aloud to Frankie.

“Is anything?” She sat back down at the table. “Even here, in this place called Seaspray, nothing is guaranteed. No, we have to have faith. The old adage about leaping and the net appearing. The thing with that is that we have to try, never knowing for sure if that net is there. That’s what faith is, my darling boy.”

I thought…and thought…and thought. “So I go back into the sea? And what? Return to my old life?”

“No. If you’ve learned one thing during this time, it’s that your old life is over.”

I nodded. “So then, do I go back to where I came from? Start over?”

“That’s my hope.”

“Your hope?”

“Yes.” She stretched. “Some people go back into those impossibly warm waters and they stay, surrounded by quiet beauty and comfort. That may be your path. You won’t be sorry if that’s the case. I promise. But you’re a young man who still has great stores of love in that beating heart, so I think you’ll go back to make good on that yearning, that truth.”

“How will I know for sure?”

She shook her head. “You won’t. None of us do. The only thing you can know for sure is your own heart.” She spoke his name—the one I thought I loved despite how he treated me. “Understand how you feel about Chad. Know who and what he really was and is before you go back.”

She patted my hand. “Trust.” Frankie moved toward the window. She paused in front of it, gripping the edge of the sink, staring out. She may as well have said, “Dismissed.”

I rose and started toward the door. I tried to think if there was something I should finish before I left, but not a single thing came to mind.

I opened the door and turned to say goodbye to Frankie, but she was gone.

So was the kitchen. In its place, a dark empty room with only the glow from the window for illumination. The floor was simple bare boards, dark and stained with age, covered in dust. The furniture, the appliances, the curtains at the window—all vanished as though they’d never been there.

But they had. I knew it in my head and heart. And so had Frankie, my guide, my love.

The roar of the sea grew louder.

And, in the shadows, I saw something. At first, I believed it was only my imagination, playing tricks.

And then I remembered where I was. And I heard a soft mewling.

Six cats, their bodies wavering and ephemeral, played on the floor.

I knew if I reached out a hand toward them, they’d vanish, like a wisp of fog. I left them to caper, to exist in their own little world. I had a feeling Frankie, although I couldn’t see her, was there with them.

I padded across the grass, reveling in the cool breeze, the glorious sun, the wide expanse of blue above me, reflected in the crashing blue gray of the sea before me. I headed toward the water, unafraid.

I walked to where a cliff dropped precipitously into the sea. The waves hitting the cliff caused white foam to rise toward the sky. I paused for only a moment at the edge.

And then I leapt.

The fall was like the first dip of a roller coaster, thrilling, a little terrifying, but in the end, I knew I was safe. I didn’t worry about submerged rocks or undertows. Perils like sharks didn’t concern me.

The water practically rose up to embrace me, its feel warm, silky. For a moment, I wondered if its embrace was akin to how I’d once felt in my mother’s womb—safe, secure.

I sank deep, eyes open to the shimmering turquoise. Below me, the depths were impossible; shadows swallowed up the ocean floor, making it impossible to determine any kind of depth.

For only a moment, I wondered if this would be where I would stay, my final resting place. It was okay. There was peace here. Comfort. No fear. Just a soft rocking motion.

But I didn’t have much time to ponder the mysteries of this magic sea.

The flash of white light was sudden, blinding.

It took my breath away.

And then gave it back.