Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 137326 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137326 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
Her cheerful mood, however, slowly withers when we arrive in Maine. It turns into terrible silence when I stop in front of her previous address in a small town by the coast.
The house sits quietly by the water, its silhouette framed against the early-morning light. It’s small, nothing like the sprawling estates I’m used to, but it’s well-kept. The white fence that borders the front yard is freshly painted, straight, and sturdy, though a bit weathered by the salt air and covered with a few layers of snow.
The ocean hums in the background, the faint sound of waves lapping at the shore just behind it. The air is cool, carrying the scent of saltwater and morning dew.
A couple steps out of the house, their soft laughter rising in the quiet as their kid bounces ahead of them, kicking the snow with his feet. The boy’s giggles cut through the air as the parents half laugh and half scold him.
The scene feels out of place, like something from a different world. A world where everything is simple.
Dahlia’s world.
That must’ve been her life before everything ended.
I watch her as she watches them, her eyes watery, her hands shaking around a bag of chips.
This time, I don’t hesitate as I take her hand in mind. She shudders, and I think I feel her stiffen before she goes still.
“Does it make you sad?” I ask.
“On the contrary. I’m relieved that the house is well-loved and kept. Mom and Dad would be so happy if they saw this.” She grins. “Hey, Kane?”
“Hmm?”
“Let’s go by the ocean.”
“When it’s this freezing?”
“It’s the best! I know people say coastal towns are depressing in the winter, but it’s like a fairy tale. Believe me.”
“I have my doubts.”
She just laughs and drags me out of the car. We trek by a rocky path that she said she remembers, but it turns out, her memories failed her.
It’s ridiculously icy weather to get lost in, but Dahlia just laughs and says it’s perfect for exploration.
We end up hiking to the peak of a large snow-covered rock that overlooks the deep blue ocean. The colors here are cold—white, navy blue, and unforgiving gray.
Dahlia stares at the violent waves below, throws her hands wide apart, and screams at the top of her lungs, “Mom! Dad! I’m home!”
The echo of her voice is swallowed by the wind as her long brown hair flies behind her. She looks like a goddess.
“I’m sorry I didn’t come back before! I’m doing amazing things. You’d be so proud of me! I have a sister now. Her name is Violet and she’s the sweetest person ever. You would’ve loved her so much.”
Her voice breaks, but she turns around and takes my hand, then pulls me to her side. “I brought someone. You would’ve loved him, too. Probably!”
“Probably?”
“Shh, it’s a fifty-fifty chance,” she whispers, then yells at the ocean again, “He’s filthy rich, buys me ridiculously expensive clothes, and even cooks for me. He’s not that bad sometimes.”
“Sometimes?”
“Just stay silent. This isn’t about you.” She glares and then smiles at the ocean again. “You don’t have to worry about me anymore. Your little girl is a grown-up now. Thank you for everything!”
Her hand shakes in mine, and I squeeze it tight.
“You think they heard me?”
I wrap my arms around her waist. “Hopefully not the part where you said I’m not bad sometimes.”
She chuckles. “You’re so petty.”
“Only sometimes.”
She laughs, the sound so light and endearing. “Thank you.”
“What for?”
“Accompanying me on this bizarre trip.”
I pull her against my chest, lift her chin with my index finger, and kiss her frozen lips. Warmth seeps between us and she hugs me while kissing me back.
Her body becomes one with mine, her nails digging into my jacket, and it feels like she desperately doesn’t want to let go.
My lips leave hers and she smiles. “Want a poor people’s town tour? I’ll give you a discount.”
“By all means.”
Dahlia obviously forgot most of the town, and many places have changed. But she still gets excited whenever she sees a familiar shop or house.
We do have the fish she came all the way for.
We also buy a lot of fishermen’s catch, and Dahlia donates them to the local restaurants. I suppose that’s her way of honoring people who have her dad’s profession.
She doesn’t stay still for the whole day, going from one place to another like a busy bee. It’s almost as if she doesn’t want to stop and breathe.
By sunset, we’re walking back to the car, her hand in mine, when she hesitantly stops by a small bridge.
“What? Is there somewhere else you want to visit?”
Her lips pull in a small smile. “I think I saw my dad’s friend. I’ll go and say hi.”
“Fine, let’s go.”
“You just go bring the car. It won’t take long. I’ll be here.”
“All right.”