26. Mila

TWENTY-SIX

Life brings tears, smiles, and memories.

The tears dry, the smiles fade,

but the memories last forever.

~ Malik Faisal

It's been a few days since Brad moved onto the island. I haven't seen him since I subjected him to witnessing me attack Kai for that kiss. Every time I think of how that must have felt from Brad's perspective, I cover my face, even if I'm alone.

What was I thinking?

Kai. That's what I was thinking. The allure of my gorgeous friend made me cross all my lines and act totally out of character.

Three new guests checked in earlier today. The infamous sixty-four-year-old Scotsman checked out. Everyone, including Noah, is down for the night. Everyone but me. I'm restless. So I make my way through the house to the upstairs hallway where I pull down the retracting ladder that's built into the ceiling. I climb up slowly and quietly, careful not to rouse anyone.

I make my way over to the familiar chest under the window in the alcove, and pull open the lid. Then I extract a shoebox and an album. Once I'm nestled into the beanbag in the corner, I open the lid and pull out memorabilia one item at a time, touching each one as if they hold some essence of the people who owned them.

Mom's favorite teacup. Her locket. A bundle of love letters she wrote to my dad when he served overseas. Dad's dog tags. His medal. A postcard from somewhere they stayed in Europe. Movie stubs. An invitation to their wedding. My birth announcement. A souvenir pin that says Quebec on it. The air is still around me as I move through the box, touching the last vestiges of my parents' lives—proof they were here, that they lived and loved well.

I carefully return the contents to the box and lift the album onto my lap. What would Mom think of Kai? I wonder as I study a photo of her bending over me while I blew out the four candles on my birthday cake. Would Dad approve? They knew Brad. Of course, they never knew we married, never watched him walk away. But they knew Brad as a little boy. Island schools are small. Brad and I started dating in high school, but our lives overlapped long before then.

My parents never met Kai. And he never met them. I wish they could all meet one another.

I lift my hand to my cheek where the first tear is rolling down like that first drop of rain in a summer storm. As if it was the scout, testing if the coast is clear, more follow close behind.

I know in my right mind that these tears have been building like water against the wall of a dam. They've been in a reservoir since the day Brad showed up. I cry for every moment Kai and I have had to pretend as if we're something we can never be, for each time I had to wonder what will happen between Brad and Noah, for all the lost years between them, all the dreams I hoped for and never lived. A new wave of tears swells as I release the pressure of keeping life in motion while so much is unraveling at the edges.

Everything.

Every little and big thing.

It's all in these tears.

I close the album to protect the photos from the downpour. Like rain, these tears feel cleansing. Long-awaited moisture to my parched, confused, and privately-weary heart. When I feel the deluge lessen to a sob, and then an occasional sniffle, I pull out my cell phone.

"Hello?" Aunt Phyllis answers on the first ring.

"Hi."

"Oh, sweetie, are you okay?"

"Yeah. I am. I really am. I'm up in the attic."

"Hmmm. Okay. Any particular reason?"

Her voice is soft and compassionate. She knows what's up here.

"I'm not sure. I just … miss them. I wanted to spend some time thinking about them."

"Yes. I know. I miss them too. Every day."

I don't know if I miss them every day. Some days roll by so quickly with guests and Noah and chores and bills. I just motor through. I don't feel quite guilty about that. A part of me understands like a mother understands her child getting busy in the sandbox and losing all track of time. Not missing them daily doesn't make my grief any smaller. It just means I've learned to live forward.

I live around the presence of my mourning like a woman with a stray cat on her porch. Sometimes you have to feed it. Sometimes it scratches at the door. It's often messy and stinky. And it will never, ever abide by your rules. But it's also a soft comfort in your lap when you learn to live according to its demands and realize it's here to stay.

"Thanks for being there," I say to Phyllis after a stretch of silence where we both made room for our aching hearts. "All these years. And back then."

"Oh, sweetie. I wouldn't have had it any other way. Of course, I would. Ideally. But short of that, I'm so grateful I got to step into those impossible-to-fill shoes and to have the joy of raising you."

I'm about to say something else when Aunt Phyllis continues, "You're the child I never had. The daughter of my heart. I always figured God gives us people to fill in the blank spots. I like to think we've done that for one another."

I smile. "Yes. Me too."

"And I like that man an awful lot."

"What man?" I ask.

"Kai." I can nearly hear her smile through the phone. "I don't know what he did to break you out of your adamant insistence on not dating, but whatever it is besides looking good enough to grace a Hollywood billboard, I approve."

"Thank you."

I'm quiet. Everything in me wants to spill all my secrets to my aunt, like I always have. I will. In due time, I will. I only hope she'll understand why we started this mess in the first place.

We hang up after a little more talking. I promise to come by for lunch sometime this week.

I sit in the charcoal-blue light while the moon casts long shadows across the attic floor.

Aunt Phyllis isn't wrong about Kai. He's exceptional.

In the safety and stillness of the attic, I indulge myself in thoughts of Kai. I picture him on the beach after he taught Noah to surf. The way he looked the night I showed up on his porch bearing dessert. Him leaning on the pantry door frame with two bowls of ice cream in his hands. Us at my aunt's party. The way he kissed me back at the nursery.

Kai.

He's a warm hug. Strong arms wrapped securely so the world can't reach in. He's that mellow spot in the day when chores are done and the wind is blowing in off the ocean, gently rocking the porch swing. He's a kind word. A guard dog on my side of the gate, loyal and fierce on my behalf. Kai is steady like a kayak maneuvering over waves in one smooth slice through choppy waters, never at risk of tipping, always buoyant enough to be reliable, moving forward with measured strokes. He's the smell of salt air and tropics, and the feeling of the sun on my skin as my eyes drift closed and there's no place important to be.

I've never met a man like Kai, and I'm certain I never will again.

And I'm also sure, when daylight comes, I'll remember all the reasons I need to bear in mind that this is all a pretense. What seems plausible in the middle of the night will seem impossible by the light of a new day. I'm sure of it.