Chapter 9 - Clear Waters
By mid-October, the North Carolina coast had cooled down into that golden, crystalline autumn that makes you forget the violence of the summer hurricanes. The sky was an impossible, endless blue, and the water in the sound was as clear as tap water, running green and cool over the white sandbars.
We held Harper's eleventh birthday party in the exact same backyard where the nightmare had begun twelve months before.
The unicorn cake was gone, replaced by a chocolate fudge cake that Harper and Missy had baked themselves, lopsided and covered in rainbow sprinkles. The yard was filled with the sounds of screaming, laughing kids playing kickball between the pecan trees. Liam and Noah, Jody’s boys, were sliding headfirst into second base on the damp lawn, their knees stained with green grass.
Beside the brick barbecue pit, Jody and I stood turning racks of baby-back ribs, the sweet smell of hickory smoke and apple cider vinegar hanging rich in the air. Sherry was sitting at the picnic table with Missy, cutting up watermelons and laughing so hard her shoulders shook.
On the back porch, sitting in the heavy wooden rocking chair our grandfather had built from cypress knees, was Lacy.
In her arms, wrapped in a pale pink waffle-weave blanket, was Maya.
She was three weeks old, with a shock of thick, dark hair and eyes as dark and clear as coastal creek water. She didn't look like Brent. She had our mother’s chin, my father’s high cheekbones, and when she yawned, her tiny pink tongue curled up just like Lacy’s used to when she was an infant.
Harper ran up the porch steps, her birthday crown—this year made of real woven sweetgrass—resting crooked on her head. She dropped to her knees beside the rocking chair, her dirty little fingers gently touching the baby’s sleeping cheek.
"Is she awake yet, Aunt Lacy?" Harper whispered, breathless from the kickball game.
"She’s just waking up, sweetie," Lacy said, her voice soft, full of a deep, unshakeable calm that had settled into every corner of our lives. "You want to hold her for a minute?"
Harper looked up, her eyes wide with that solemn, pure wonder that only ten- and eleven-year-old girls can muster. "Can I?"
Lacy carefully shifted the bundle, guiding Harper’s arms into position until Maya’s head was nestled safely in the crook of her cousin’s elbow. Harper held her breath, her whole body freezing in absolute concentration, staring down at the tiny face with an adoration so fierce it made my chest ache with happiness.
I walked over to the porch railing, holding a cold bottle of cheerwine in one hand, and leaned against the post beside my sister.
Out on the sound, a shrimp boat was heading out through Masonboro Inlet, its outriggers spread wide like giant iron wings, trailing a cloud of white gulls against the afternoon sun. The tide was full, lapping high against the salt-marsh spartina, washing away the old silt and leaving the sandbars clean and bright.
Lacy looked up at me, one hand resting on Harper’s shoulder, the other resting against the baby’s blanket.
May you like
"No more storms, Trav," she said quietly, her hazel eyes catching the golden October light.
"No more storms, Lece," I smiled, reaching out to tap my bottle against the porch rail. "Just clear water from here on out."
