been the best part of your past—that’s suffering. Suffering is solitary. It’s a barrier to processing your loss. You’ve lost something, Amanda.” Maeve pulled her fists to her heart. “I’ve experienced how deep and heavy that can feel.”
A tear slipped down Amanda’s cheek. “I have to be strong. For the kids.”
“Yes, you do. No question about that.” Maeve looked out over the water. “I can’t imagine how that must be. All I had was me, and that was hard.”
“I know the five stages of grief and that it ends with acceptance. I accept Jack’s not coming back, but I still hurt so much.”
“I know you do, but you don’t have to do it alone. Talk to someone. A good person won’t let you suffer.” She placed her hand on Amanda’s. “Can we talk about this? Can I be your person?”
“My good person?”
“I’m an excellent listener. I won’t ask or push. Just let me be there for you as you’re ready. Don’t make the mistakes I made. I wasted so many years buried in suffering.”
“Thank you so much.” The tears streamed down her cheeks now. She blotted them with her free hand. “I’m sorry.”
“Nope. Don’t apologize. Tears are healing. There’s scientific proof that emotional tears reduce pain. Maybe that’s why the ocean is so good for us—all that salt water. Let those salty tears fall, my dear.”
Amanda laughed, but the tears didn’t curtail.
Maeve leaned forward and wrapped her long arms around her. “You’re going to be okay. Better than okay. Just keep things simple. You’ll see. Each day will be better than the last.”
A weight lifted ever so slightly from Amanda, anxiety and sorrow falling away into Maeve’s arms.
A long moment went by.
“You sit right here and you cry as long as you need to. Get it out. Be thankful.” Maeve’s hand rubbed along Amanda’s back. “Smile. Laugh. Grit your teeth and say bad words if that’s what it takes. I’m going to go down and spend some time with Hailey and Jesse.” She leaned back, looking into Amanda’s face. “You okay?”
She nodded.
“I’m going to walk down there with them. Don’t worry. Don’t even think about us or look our way. You be here, with your thoughts. With Jack. Whatever it takes. Take all the time you need. Deal?”
“You don’t have to—”
“This is the part where you have to let me help you grieve. Let me have a purpose. I have absolutely nothing else more important to do. Please?”
“Yes. Deal.”
Amanda looked on as Maeve made it to where the kids were playing. They jumped around as Maeve started talking. Her hands moved in the air, and it looked like the children were absolutely captivated by her.
A loud sob broke from Amanda’s chest as she let it go.
12
Amanda lay on the beach with her eyes closed. She could hear Hailey’s playful shrieks in the distance. Jack, did you send Maeve? She licked her lips and sniffed back the tears. She’s an angel, right? I mean, who walks the beach like that and can make people smile with a shell?
But Jack didn’t answer.
She scooted out from under the umbrella. Puffy clouds moved across the sky, giving way to spots of blue. She and Jack used to watch the changing clouds and identify shapes in them. Sort of like an inkblot test. They’d lie in the bed of his pickup doing that for hours. Keeping score, of course.
A tear slid down her neck. She hated for the kids to see her cry. They didn’t deserve the burden of her sorrow. She pulled one of the frozen juice pouches out of her bag, wrapped it in her beach towel, and placed it over her puffy eyes, gathering herself.
Thank you for Maeve.
The kids’ giggles rose above the crashing waves. How long had it been since she’d had even just a few minutes to not worry about them? She sat up and took a sip of water, then lifted her phone to see how bad her eyes looked. Thank goodness her image in the selfie frame didn’t look too bad. She lightly tapped at the puffiness around her eyes. Totally passable once she put on her sunglasses.
But she did feel better. Thankful. Grateful. Ready to tackle the rest of the day.
She got up and brushed the sand from her legs, then walked down to meet up with Maeve and the kids.
They were having quite the little party down there. They hadn’t even noticed her approach.