-7-
Alice
July 1, 2023
Jacksonville, Florida
Luggage? Check.
Carry-on? Check.
Chargers? Check.
Nerves? Shot to hell.
Groaning, I flop backward onto my bed next to everything I'll need for our annual two-week stay in Lighthouse Cove. Physically, I have everything I'll need. It's all packed to the brim and ready to fly to the northeastern US.
Mentally, I'm all over the map.
I listen to the words my therapist has reminded me in the year and a half since Peter's death.
Freeze and breathe.
So I do exactly that.
On my back, in the center of my bed next to my luggage, I freeze and breathe for a minute.
Or as long as I need to. As long as it takes for my world to stop spinning.
I don't know why it's this particular trip, this particular year, that stops me in my tracks; I've left for Maine every summer since Peter was diagnosed, so this shouldn't be any different. There is nothing about this trip that stands out from the previous years, so I don't know where this self-induced panic is coming from.
Maybe it's because Bree is older now and more aware of the world around her. Her life is still surrounded by the beautiful innocence that being five years old brings, and most days I'm grateful her age can provide her with a resilience I wish I had. She is all smiles most days, filling my life with the light I need in order to survive.
But despite her age and carefree attitude, she's getting older before my eyes. She's asking questions. She's curious about the father that left her, and me, way too soon.
How am I supposed to leave her now?
Because you can't pour from an empty cup, Ali, Bella had told me last week when I voiced my doubts to the girls over the phone.
Bree needs you at your best, and these two weeks breathe life back into us, Rose had replied.
And I know they're right. I always leave the island feeling like a new woman; it's always been that way, even before I lost Peter. The sun and salt and friends sustain me for a year, and I'm depleted of all the magic the island brings by the end of the following June.
This trip brings me back to life in more ways than one.
I feel the itch on my skin to get back to Lighthouse Cove with each passing day. It's as if my soul can read a calendar and has created an unbreakable deadline every July. And as much as I want to take Bree with me, I know I can't. It would defeat the purpose since Lighthouse Cove is the cleanse I need to be the kind of mother I need to be for my daughter.
Who will answer the thousands of rapid-fire questions Bree asks each day about Peter?
Peter's parents could, sure. Like every year, Bree will be staying with them for the two weeks I'm away, and while they always answer each and every question she has, I know it's hard for them.
To say the last several years have been hard for all of us would be an understatement.
Peter's funeral was exactly like he had wanted. In his final weeks, he had been of sound mind to put everything in place for himself and for Bree and me. He had a list of every plan and desire for his celebration of life, and we made sure we followed it all. He didn't want it to be a sad event. That wasn't the type of person he was, and it wasn't the type of person he wanted to be remembered by.
Just like he had wanted, the repass was in our backyard by the pool with all our family, friends, and coworkers. Music was loud and food was delicious, and while there were moments of sadness sprinkled throughout the day, we remembered Peter for the kind, humble man, husband, father, son, and friend he was. We laughed, we ate, we forgot just how unfair the whole thing was.
For a day.
The next week was when the shock wore off, and the stages of grief hit me — all of us — like a freight train. I was angry, God I was angry. No life insurance check would bring my husband back. I would have much rather starved and lost our house than have our groceries and mortgage paid for because of my husband's death.
But that was all Peter. Before he died, he made sure Bree and I were well taken care of. And we have never been without anything these last few years thanks to him. The only thing we have been without was him.
Even almost two years later, the sudden flash of remembrance that I'm a twenty-nine-year-old widow takes my breath away every now and then.
My waves of grief are exactly that. Waves.
But I'm strong enough now to fight the currents. To find my way back to land again. My eyes can see a very distant but very real horizon if I look hard enough.
Which is why I'm confused as to why I find myself locked in place with uncertainty this morning.
My mother-in-law finds me in my room a half hour later in the same spot in the center of my bed.
"You'll be okay," she reassures me when I tell her I'm worried about leaving Bree behind. That I'm somehow abandoning her when she clearly is becoming more inquisitive by the minute. "And so will Bree. Don't forget we're taking her to Disney."
"She won't even know I'm gone," I laugh, perking up a little at the thought of her excitement. "But her questions…they're brutal sometimes."
"It's better for her to ask and be curious than for her to keep everything in," she replies.
"It doesn't upset you?"
"Not at all," my mother-in-law says. "It makes me happy." She pauses, her gaze looking somewhere out my window far away. "One of my biggest fears of losing Peter is that somehow he'll be forgotten. That no one will speak his name anymore."
"Bree won't allow that to happen," I say with a definitive shake of my head.
"None of us will. He'll live on with us — but you need to live, too. You promised him you'd always take the trip."
I don't feel ready for my trip until my feet touch land again in Maine. The plane ride was simple and it allowed me time to pull myself out of the doubt I was feeling.
The guilt from moving on without my husband is crippling at times, but I won't allow it to hold onto me forever. Especially not now when I'm finally here.
I arrive in Lighthouse Cove in the early evening, the sun covering everything in deep copper. The salt air fills my lungs and I can feel a rebirth coming from deep within. The summer wind, gentle and pleasant, is strong enough to blow a few wisps of my hair across my face as I close the door of my Uber and walk towards the ferry that will take me from the mainland to our home for the next two weeks.
As always, Edward sits behind the wheel of the pontoon boat with a book in his hand to pass the time. The ferry is a constant on the small island, his family providing the only public service that connects the select houses away from the hub of the island to the mainland. His father, Carlisle, has started to enjoy an early retirement with Edward taking over, and seeing either Cullen always makes us feel welcome.
"It must be that time of year again!" Edward calls out from behind the wheel when he sees me approaching from afar.
Grinning, I step onto the boat as Edward handles my bags. "Just like Christmas," I laugh. "Maybe even better."
"The rest of you shouldn't be too far behind then."
"They're en route as we speak," I reply, sitting in my favorite seat on the ferry. "I'm going to stop at the rental office and sign for the keys so they can go straight to the house once they get here."
Edward's family also provides a shuttle service on land to help residents get to where they need once off the water.
"Sounds good," Edward says, turning the ignition so the engine roars to life. "We're not too swamped today so I can drive you wherever you need to go."
The next hour flies by as we chat both on the sea and on land once we reach our secluded island. Edward drives me to the rental office without complaint and waits patiently as I sign the necessary papers in order to take three sets of keys with me on the way out. He checks his messages often, making sure no one is in need of a ride both here on the island and over on the mainland.
When he pulls the van into the driveway of our house, I barely remember saying goodbye to him.
Because I'm here. I've made it. I've made it to more than just Lighthouse Cove.
I stand in the driveway, looking at the intricacies of the house. The little things that make it what it is; the house we love. Grey siding and white trim against the bright blue Maine sky, with dozens of softly arched windows, and three perfectly carved out spaces to step out and breathe the fresh air; the large, almost wrap-around porch on the first floor, a balcony off the second floor that is attached to Rose's favorite room, and at the top of the house, a small rooftop deck space, big enough for a hammock and not much else.
My mother-in-law was right. Coming to Maine this year was the right thing to do. I open the blue screen and unlock the old familiar white-painted oak door. It swings open, perfuming the air with the scents of summer. One sniff and I'm transported to simpler times. Long walks talking with my best friends, sunbathing as we catch up and gossip, late night crying sessions as we decompress from our lives and find comfort in one another's company. Everything is here, stored in each carefully dusted and lovingly cared-for inch of this house.
The only thing missing is my girls.
I curl up on the couch in one of my favorite rooms of the house and wait. I don't mind waiting. I had opened a window when I first walked in, and the sound of the waves hitting the rocky shore outside of the window almost lulls me to sleep.
Just as I feel myself start to slip away, I hear the unmistakable sound of luggage wheels on the front porch.
And another piece of my puzzle is now complete.
We did it! The girls are still standing, fully in the present, in Lighthouse Cove in 2023. Perhaps it's the summer they've all been waiting for? :)
Tell us what you want to see for the girls this summer!
Thanks for reading, reviewing, and Pamela for prereading!