Secrets Whispered from the Sea - Emma St. Clair Page 0,4

was a professor of anthropology. Though I didn’t have any great memories of our house in Raleigh, it had been weird to come home for college breaks to an unfamiliar place.

And now Dad had Nadia, the yoga instructor he had married a few years ago despite the fact that she was barely older than Ann. I still didn’t understand their relationship: my dad, the balding, pot-bellied, nerdy professor and Nadia, the bubbly young woman who seemed to be made mostly of silicone and other purchased parts. So, yeah, definitely not stopping in to say hi.

I rolled down my windows a few miles from Sandover Island, grateful to finally smell the salt air. Salt doesn’t have a scent, not really. And yet, that’s the best way to describe the smell of the air near the ocean. I wished that I could bottle it up and take it with me when I left.

Strands of hair escaped my messy bun and blew around my face as I neared the bridge. Reaching into the cup holder, I palmed quarters I had taken out for the toll, turning them over in my fingers. But as I pulled up to the booth at the start of the bridge, I realized that the red and white striped barrier was up, not down. No one manned the dark booth.

Did Sandover really get rid of this quirky institution? It had always been a huge pain, but also one of the things that made Sandover different from the other islands just south in the Outer Banks. I read the sign on the side of the building announcing its permanent closure, feeling like I’d been sucker punched. Nana was gone. The toll booth was closed. Layers of grief settled over me like dusty lace, making my nose twitch and my eyes burn.

I tossed my quarters out the window, feeling lighter than I should have as the coins left my fingers. For old time’s sake, I told myself, and maybe for luck. Mine certainly couldn’t get any worse. The moon glinted on the dark water of the Currituck Sound, and I took great, deep breaths of the night air.

Sandover might have been Nana’s home, not mine, but my sense of homecoming had never been so strong. It surprised me, maybe because I moved so often that I didn’t really consider any one place home.

I hadn’t properly prepared myself for the avalanche of memories. The smell lingering in the air, the breeze sweeping over my cheeks, the sight of the moonlight on the water. I feverishly remembered all the weeks Mom dropped us off for what she called Nana Camp. The tight tug in my belly watching Mom drive away without looking back, and the way I often felt guilty for not missing her either.

I remembered the feel of the ocean waves slapping at my thighs. Digging wet sand out of my bathing suit.

Collecting shells.

Spotting dolphins.

Trying to eat my way through a soft serve cone before it melted completely, leaving sticky white trails down my arms.

By the time I pulled into Nana’s driveway, I was full-on crying. The ugly kind that I tried unsuccessfully to hold back, resulting in awkward, hiccupping sobs. They burst out of me, feeling like they might crack my ribs as they went.

All the windows were dark, and that only made me cry harder as I parked. I pressed my forehead against the wheel, listening to the tick of the engine in the space between my sobs. It was that tick-tick-tick that settled me.

I’ll be fine.

Tick.

I can do this.

Tick.

I miss her.

Tick.

Ten minutes or maybe twenty later, I got out of the car, feeling buoyant. Like I could float my way up the stairs. Like I had cried out the weight of my grief. At least for now.

Gripping the handle of a rolling suitcase, I started toward the stairs. Like most of the homes on Sandover, it was on stilts with a cement area below that usually served as a carport or outdoor living area. Nana’s laundry room was down there, more of a glorified storage closet, as well as a hammock, picnic table, and an outdoor shower with wooden walls. I could remember the glorious feel of washing the sand, salt, and sticky sweat from my skin after a day on the beach, the way the dim light made my tan lines look more pronounced.

The deep shadows now made me think of spiders and palmetto bugs. Nope. Not messing with nature tonight. I smiled at Nana’s old yellow jeep,