Page 34

34

EMMETT

T he girls dance under the moonlight as the other four make their way over to us. “You guys good?” Briar asks, her eyebrow raised at me.

“Yeah, we’re okay,” Heidi’s smile lights up under the moonlight.

“We’re going to go in and watch a movie if you guys want to join us.” Isla eyes Heidi beside me.

“You guys go ahead. I want to watch the moon a little longer.”

Pressure blooms in my stomach as they whisk the kids away into the house. Other than the violent thrashing of the waves under the full moon, it’s silent.

“What was your most wild dream growing up?” Heidi asks.

We both move some sand to form pillows under our heads. “I used to dream that a polar bear was chasing me up the stairs of my old house,” I tell her honestly. I had the dream almost every single night and I was terrified.

I couldn’t see the polar bear commercials without wanting to hide under a blanket.

Heidi smiles from the corner of my eye. “I had a dream once that I woke up and peeked over my bed to find one of my dolls was not only alive, but also half snake.”

The guffaw that escapes me will never be replicated as long as I live, and by the twinkle in her eye as she looks at me, her smile faltering for just a few seconds, I feel like she likes that she got me that good. “A snake?”

She nods. “Yep. Flickering tongue and all. If I remember correctly, she also had red eyes.”

“That’s actually terrifying,” I shiver, suddenly feeling every single sand granule on my skin.

“No kidding,” she chuckles, and I can’t help but smile.

I watch her as she looks at the stars, her skin pale in the moonlight, her red hair blowing gently in the ocean breeze.

“Do you believe anything is up there?” she asks suddenly.

I swallow, trying to think through my answer. “I’m not sure,” I tell her honestly. “I want to believe that something is. That someone is watching over me, but it’s hard to say that we are loved by Him when I don’t feel very loved, you know?”

She nods slowly.

“What do you believe?”

“I’ve always been spiritual,” she says without skipping a beat. “I think that there’s something out there, but that that something is energy. This massive force that’s driving us. There’s energy in everything. The moon, the stars, our bodies, the plants we see, even the sand. So where does that energy go?” She sighs thoughtfully. “I think the universe in itself is divine. There’s so much good around us, and we mostly get the energy we put out into it.” She pauses. “But bad things happen. And I just, I don’t know. I can’t live my life wondering why someone decided it was my dad that had to be taken away. Or that anyone has to be taken away at all.”

Her eyes are shiny, tears starting to collect in the corner, and I want to reach over and kiss it away.

And I let myself think that. I let myself wonder what would happen if I did.

“So many people think I’m insane because I love crystals,” she chuckles. “But it’s a science that objects hold different frequencies. That’s objectively accepted.” She pauses, snorts, and rolls her eyes. “Well, by most people.”

“What’s that called? That belief system?” I ask.

A stronger gust of wind blows over us, the plants behind us rustling. “I’m not actually sure,” she says finally. “That’s just always a belief I’ve had.”

“How did you find it?”

I’ve struggled with my religion my entire life. Not that I really had one, but there comes a time when sometimes it’s a comfort to have something to fall back on. Someone to talk to in your darkest hours. Something to keep you going when you feel like you have nothing.

But I’ve never quite gotten there. Never quite put a name to what I believe, or chosen a religion.

I know that I love everyone. And I believe everyone has an equal right to be here and love who they love. I know that I believe that there’s something out there, but I’m not sure if it’s a God.

As hard as I try, I want the comfort in believing that we’re not alone while not adding terms and conditions. I just want to be a good person and for that to be enough.

“My mom is spiritual,” she tells me. “She got even more so when my dad passed away. I grew up around crystals, pendulums, and tarot. All of that.”

“Like saging and all of that?”

“Sometimes, but not white sage.”

“Why not?”

She shakes her head. “Smudging with white sage is a closed practice.”

I bite my bottom lip, wracking my brain for what that means. When she looks at me, she can tell I’m confused and adds, “A closed practice is when a spiritual tradition is considered specific and exclusive to a group of people. Smudging is really rooted in Native American culture.”

“So, it’s out of respect.”

“It’s respect for sure. It’s a huge cultural significance to them, and there’s also the simple fact that it’s not technically endangered, but there is limited access to it. It gets over harvested and unfortunately the Native people are generally the last to get their hands on it. I don’t know. If I’m practicing something spiritually, I want it to be pure. A lot of traditions come from other places and it all has to be respected.”

“But you love crystals? I don’t think I’ve seen you with any.”

She smiles, pulling a small chain from around her neck, a small purple crystal in the center.

“What does it mean?”

She sighs, dropping it. “It’s amethyst. My mom gave it to me. It’s supposed to be healing.”

“Would it heal me?”

“If you believe it will. If you have it and don’t respect it, probably not. There’s a lot of people that go into things they know nothing about with the intention of finding fault in it.”

“I’m just about open to anything,” I tell her, and it’s the honest truth.”

“Then maybe I’ll get you a bracelet one day. Or a necklace of your own, if you’re that kinda guy.” She winks.

“I think I could be that kind of guy.”

If you want me to be.