Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 129676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 519(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 519(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
“Bill’s been taken care of. So has the tip.” He leaned to place a hot kiss on my lips, whispering, “But I haven’t touched dessert, so if you could open those legs for me when you get back, I’d much appreciate it.”
Now that I was alone, I took the mocktail and brought it to my lips, closing my eyes. I couldn’t wait to feel the baby growing and kicking inside me. Couldn’t wait to raise them in England, far away from the mayhem and insanity.
My eyes trailed the pearly white sand. Brightly colored houses in turquoise and pink and green sprouted along the shore, with arched balconies and red roofs. The waves gently teased the smooth sand, and I hugged my arms, relishing my tranquility. My eyes trailed the edge of the shore, where I spotted a young family enjoying the last rays of sunshine. The couple was sitting in their swimwear by the water, toes curled in the sand, deep in conversation. Next to them was a girl, maybe five or six years old, with dark skin and a mermaid metallic swimming costume in purples, silvers, and pinks. She was holding a bucket in her hand, picking up a seashell, squinting at it, then tossing it back in the sand. I smiled privately. A perfectionist.
Something about her reminded me of myself, and an acute desire to help her overcame me. I stood up, my legs carrying me to her. She was tossing another seashell back to the ocean with a heavy sigh when I reached her.
“Hi,” I said.
She looked up, her face a mask of confusion. “Um, hi?”
“Are you looking for a particular seashell?” I asked.
Her parents stopped talking and looked over at us, probably to make sure I wasn’t trying to kidnap their daughter.
“Yes.” She nodded briskly. “The Scaphella junonia shell.” She had an American accent and a bossy, no-bullshit attitude I adored. I was right. She did remind me of myself. “It’s so rare that they can be worth thousands of dollars, but on this beach, people have found them. I asked my mommy and daddy to come here.” The words rushed out of her mouth. “For my birthday. Because I wanted it. But now I don’t think I’ll find it. They only wash up in powerful storms. It’s our last night here, and I’ve been looking every day, and, well…” She trailed off, shoulders slumping, her gaze dropping to her sand-covered toes.
“Is it something like this?” I thrust my wrist in her direction, exhibiting the studded bracelet Tate had given me.
“Yes!” The girl’s face opened, brightening at once. “Exactly like this one! Wow. So cool. Where’d you find it?” Her fingers twitched, struggling not to reach for it.
“You can touch it if you want.”
She did, rolling it between her small fingers, careful not to touch me. Her parents looked on, unsure what to make of it but perhaps rightly not wanting to cut off what looked like an innocent exchange.
“And to your question, it was my husband who found this one for me. See, I had an identical one when I was younger too. My dad and I found it, on this very beach actually. And when I lost it, I was so sad, my husband flew here all the way from New York to find one.”
“Wow.” Her eyes were as big as saucers, gaping at me. “He must really love you. Mommy gets excited when Daddy gets her surprise Sephora bags for no reason.”
I laughed, and so did her parents. I shook my head. “I don’t know what it is about this particular seashell, but it’s always been more than a pretty shell to me. It represents hope and love and…something else important. Believing in myself.” I loosened the bracelet from my wrist, unlocking it before extending my open palm to the girl. “It’s yours.”
The little girl’s mouth hung open. She looked up at me like this was a practical joke. A test her parents put me to. She whipped her head in question toward her parents.
“No.” Her mother stood up, rushing toward us. “We can’t. Thank you, but this is too much.”
“Not at all,” I said. “I want her to have it.”
“But…why?” The mother studied me.
Al mal tiempo, buena cara.
“Because.” I put a hand on my belly. “Once upon a time, I was much like her, standing on this beach, looking for something pretty, and this seashell that I found…it would be a part of my story for many years to come. It was my good luck charm, and now I no longer need it. I got my happy ending. Now I want her to have hers.”
Gingerly, the girl took the bracelet from me. The moment her skin touched mine, her fingers lifting the shell and the diamonds and the weight of the bracelet, I understood the power of giving back once your cup has been filled.