Storm - Michelle Mankin Page 0,4

should, but . . .”

“But you don’t want to hurt him.” Knowing her as well as I did, it wasn’t hard to guess the reason for her reluctance.

“Yeah. He’s been hurt enough.”

“By your mom, you mean?”

“Uh-huh.” Lotus nodded and her silky hair brushed over my skin.

“You’ve been hurt too.” I broached this subject carefully. It was a hurt as deep as my father’s rejection of me.

“Maybe. But not like him. It broke something inside him when she left us. He’s not the same, but he tries to be. He’s wonderful and kind like before, but it’s obvious, you know, that he’s trying.”

“You and your dad both loved your mom,” I said, “and you share similar pain about her being gone. Sharing your feelings, talking about them, it might help both of you. And it might help your little brother get to know her, since he was too young when she left to remember her.”

Lotus frowned up at me. “It might not. It might make Dad feel bad. It might make me feel worse.”

“But what if it helps? There’s value in sharing.”

I searched her eyes, noting the softening within them as my words sank in. It certainly helped me to share with her.

“When you share, you don’t feel so alone.” Like I did, except with her. “I bet he feels lonely too. Sharing, you might make him feel more comfortable to open up to you. Then you can help each other let go of the bad feelings and move on together with only the good.”

“You might be right. I’ll do it.” She lifted her chin. “I’ll try to talk to him, I mean.”

“Good. Proud of you, Lilly. You’re so brave.”

I took her hand, swinging our arms as we resumed walking, hoping to lighten the heavy mood. Not just with my words, but also with my actions. I’d never forgotten the wisdom she’d shared with me all those years ago.

Lotus glanced down at our joined hands, then back up at me, her eyes flecked with those fiery sparks again. “You haven’t held my hand since we were little.”

At thirteen, she was still little to me, but I was wise enough not to point that out. Sometimes wisdom was speaking, and sometimes it was knowing when not to speak.

“Holding hands. Sharing secrets. Music. Surfing.” I squeezed her fingers. “We’ve had a lot of good times together over the years, haven’t we?”

“Yes.” She gave me a sharp look. “But why did you say it like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like it was good, but it’s over.”

It was going to be over soon. She was going to have a boyfriend that couldn’t be me, and I would be leaving.

I paused at the entrance to the long, steep flight of concrete stairs that led down to the water. “You first.” I released her hand and gestured.

“Okay.”

She headed down in front of me, and I followed close behind, holding our boards above the metal handrail. At the bottom, she took her backpack from me, tiptoed over the smooth rocks, and disappeared inside a small, shallow cave that made a perfect dressing room for her to change into her wet suit.

Wearing boxers under my shorts that were like swim trunks, I just stripped out in the open. Within moments, I had my wet suit on. I shifted my weight impatiently from one foot to the other until she finally reappeared.

“Ready?” I gave Lotus a sweeping glance, not failing to note that she’d French-braided her long hair, or the way her wet suit clung to her slender body, accentuating her developing curves.

“Yeah.” She reached toward me.

Knowing what she wanted, I relinquished her board, and we tiptoed along the rocks together toward the ocean.

I jumped into the waist-deep water first. She lowered herself into a seated position and dipped her body into the sea. Once we were both in the water, we paddled out on our boards side by side. When we reached the spot where the waves developed, we sat up, straddling our boards and waiting to get a feel for the set pattern.

“Do you ever think about telling your dad how you feel about the way he treats you?” she asked.

“I tell him all the fucking time.” I said it harshly, but deep down I knew I wasn’t being completely truthful.

I used to tell my dad all the time, meaning I popped off to rebel against his authoritative crap. But now I didn’t bother. Not anymore. I’d reached the end of what I could take from him.

My father would never change,

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