Page 34 of Marriage is a Shore Thing (Wilks Beach #2)

thirty-three

Van

“Hey, Mama. How you doing?” My accent slips a little deeper, as it always does when I call my mom.

“Good. Mark took me out for brunch, and then we walked Shelby Bottoms a bit.”

“That sounds like a nice day,” I say, stalling.

My fingers glide through the sand as I sit on the beach in my wet swim trunks.

Several locals are spread out on towels, enjoying the last beach day before fall truly sets in.

After last night’s win, I woke up an hour earlier than normal with energy to burn.

Nick was more than happy to meet me at the beach in front of his condo and let me borrow his foamie for a Saturday surf session.

If I stayed in Wilks Beach, I could see myself buying my own board and using it on my days off.

But…quite a few things need to line up before that can happen.

“How ‘bout you?”

I let myself deviate from my plan, telling Mama about surfing—how even for someone who’s athletic, it’s harder than it looks.

We laugh at me taking a header off the front of my board and the kids boogie boarding nearby paddling up to see if I was okay.

It was sweet of them to check on me, but I’ve yet to find an unkind local in Wilks Beach.

And yes, I’m rolling Carol into that mix. She’s cantankerous but not cruel.

“Don’t go smashing your head in while you’re on break. You’ll need those brains of yours to get back to work at Nashville Medical Center.”

My chuckle dies in my throat, and I swallow hard. Lying to her every day has darn near killed me over these past few weeks, but I’ve managed to keep our conversations tethered to the people I’ve met around town, activities with new friends, and the repairs I’ve been helping Geneva with.

“Mama, we need to talk.”

“About how you’re in love with your roommate? I already know that.”

“What?” I sputter, coughing. “What are you talking about?”

I’d planned on finally talking about Taylor.

I wanted to discuss my sister—what I loved about her, what I missed about her—with someone who knew her.

Speaking to Geneva has been a balm I hadn’t known I needed, but talking about Taylor with Mama is something that’s important to me too.

Also, I think it might help Mama. I know every grief journey is different, and I spent a lot of time running from mine, but I realize now the only way to deal with these crushing emotions is to trudge through them, as much as that feels impossible some days.

“Oh, bub. Did you forget that I know you better than the back of my hand?”

No use denying something that’s absolutely there—not when simply seeing Geneva is the best part of my day.

I run my fingers through my hair, taking a deep breath of briny air. “What else do you know?”

“That this break was an excuse to spend time with her.”

I blink at the crashing waves before a laugh bursts from my mouth.

“Mamas know these things,” she tells me without an ounce of smugness. “Just sometimes we keep it to ourselves. Like when you and Taylor used to sneak cookies, thinking I was clueless and couldn’t do simple math. I was just letting you have your fun.”

“So you were just letting me have my fun here?” I ask through a chuckle.

“Aren’t you?” Her question isn’t a challenge, more of an open opportunity.

“I am, Mama. I really am. More fun than I’ve had in a long time.”

And it’s more than spending time with Geneva.

I hadn’t realized how much I’d shut myself off from others by working overtime.

Even before Taylor’s passing, I’d often pass up an opportunity to get together for a game of basketball or round of drinks in favor of picking up another shift.

In my mind, it was a way to ensure I had enough money for my family, but I didn’t realize how much life I’d been missing out on.

Not having back-to-back shifts has allowed me to learn to surf, discover I really like DIY projects, and… to breathe for the first time ever.

She hums. “Are you coming back?”

This time, I hear a hint of hesitation over the phone line.

“I don’t know,” I hedge, because I honestly don’t.

With Joanna’s family ring retrieved, it became crystal clear to me that I want to stay.

I want this fake marriage between us to be real.

Geneva took it upstairs to clean last night.

The plan is to return it to Joanna at family dinner on Sunday.

Today, I’ll need to find out if Geneva wants to give this—to give us—an honest shot.

I’d love to fully unburden myself and stop this acid from bubbling up in my throat, but telling Mama that we’re accidentally married when Geneva might not want this to be real seems pointless.

I’ve already kept the lie this long, what’s another day?

There’ll be heck to pay when Mama finds out, but Geneva is undeniably worth it.

“I’m gonna want to meet her.”

“You’ll love her,” I say without an ounce of doubt.

She gives me another hum, this one assessing.

The smile splitting my mouth feels brighter than the sun over the glistening water. “You will, Mama. I promise.”

A sigh floats over the phone. “I wish Taylor could have seen you this giddy.”

Guilt pinches at my side, stealing my next breath.

There had been many times when I’d turned Taylor down in favor of working too.

Now I’d give anything to go back and say yes, to have more time with my sister.

But I had no idea that fate would sweep an ugly hand and take one of the best people I’ve ever known.

And the worst part is, I fully understand how the human body just fails sometimes.

I’ve seen it make miraculous recoveries, but there are conditions that can take a life in minutes—like Taylor’s subarachnoid hemorrhage.

“I miss her, Mama.” My words are barely audible over the rushing waves.

“I know. I do too.”

The sea air tosses my still-damp hair, drying the tear slipping down my cheek. Mama and I are quiet for a long time, letting our sorrow and grief sit between us.

“We should talk about her more,” Mama says.

The corner of my mouth twitches. “We should.”

“Remember when she convinced you lemon juice was invisible ink?”

The memory surges forward. “I spent an hour scribbling secret messages all over the kitchen walls.”

“And you heated one up with the hairdryer just as I was walking through the door after work…”

“…and nearly set the wall on fire. That was a mess,” I groan, sitting up straight.

Mama laughs, the rich sound of it warming me from the inside. “You two. Always with some caper. I went to take a shower as you scrubbed the wall but ended up listening to both of you having a giggle fit instead.”

“You did?” I didn’t remember that.

“Uh-huh,” she hums. “I loved how much you loved each other.”

My heart contorts, but it’s going to hurt anyway. At least this way, with Mama and me talking, we can get through this together.

A single memory burns bright in my mind, pulling my cheeks into a mischievous smile. This story Mama loves to tell. Anticipating my mom’s laughter, I relax in the warm afternoon sunshine.

“What about the time fireworks went off in the pantry?”