We piled all our things into Dad’s rickety old van: boxes filled to the brim with household items, suitcases, an antique lamp (my mother’s favorite), an oriental carpet, a few plants, and, of course, lots of books. In the early morning hours, we left our home in Winsted, a small town in the northwestern side of the state. I imagined we were gypsies on a wild adventure. But after an hour on the road, I grew tired and irritable.

By the time we arrived in Penbrook, it was eight thirty in the morning. While my friends at home were in class, Mom drove me to the nearest beach to cheer me up. I flung myself out of the van and ran through the parking lot. At the entrance of the small boardwalk that led to the beach, I took off my sneakers and socks in one fell swoop and pulled off my sweatshirt, letting it land near the dunes. But as I stepped across the wooden planks, my pace slowed and my breath halted. This wasn’t the first time I’d been to the beach, but something felt different. The sights and sounds of the waves tumbling onto the shoreline overwhelmed me. When my bare feet touched the warm sand, I ran straight to the water’s edge.

By the time Mom caught up with me, I was enjoying the sensation of the water pooling at my feet while the tide rose and receded, only to rise again until my hot temper drifted away, replaced by a peace and calm I hadn’t known for many months. I imagined myself sailing beyond that thin line on the horizon. And, in that moment, I understood the raw power of the sea, whose vastness could either swallow me whole or soothe my tired wounds, reminding me of my tiny place in the universe.

A crab scuttled around my foot and dove headfirst into the sand as the water receded, leaving tiny air bubbles in its wake. I took a deep breath and let the sea-salt air wash over me as I tilted my head like a flower toward the sun.

At thirteen years old, I was almost as tall as my mom, who stood by my side with her arm wrapped around my waist. I inhaled her comforting Burberry perfume mingled with the fresh-airy scent of the ocean.

“We’re home,” I humbly whispered.

She smiled, tucked a wisp of blonde hair behind her ear, and gave me a gentle squeeze. “Yes, we are, Madeline. This is our new beginning.”

I closed my eyes and envisioned my dad standing with us…the glassy sheen in his eyes, fingernails blotchy with paint, the smell of smoke mixed with turpentine. I could see him raising his thumbs up as if to frame this scene as a picture in his mind’s eye. He would’ve said the sky was azure, his favorite color. While I felt him float away, I pushed down the lump in my throat. Silent tears dotted my eyes. His death, just three months ago, had left a deep cavern inside me.

I knew Mom felt the pain of his loss too, but in a different way, one that made her want to escape, leave our home, and put the past behind her for good. Even the slightest mention of Dad would cause her to frown and turn away.

So, that’s why we’d packed up and headed to the coast. Mom said it was time to be near her side of the family for a change, which was a funny way to phrase it because there wasn’t a whole side, just one person—her sister, my Aunt Phoebe, who lived in Penbrook.

This surprised me because my aunt was the exact opposite of my mom, who often complained about her sister’s “new age” lifestyle. After being married to my dad, an artist who drank alcohol just as much as he painted, Mother had a disdain for creative “hippie” types and, according to her, my aunt fit that category to a T.

I moved farther out into the water, letting my feet sink deeper into the sand, when out of nowhere a rogue wave hit me hard in the knees. I had the sudden urge to dive in headfirst but stopped short when I spotted something odd just a few feet away. It was the color that caught my eye—pinkish pearl mingled with turquoise green, a shiny dance of color and light at play under the water.

I looked over at my mom. When she stepped closer and leaned in to get a better look, her eyes grew wide.

“Oh my, it looks luminescent,” she whispered.

I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I knew we were seeing something rare and special.

Then a huge tail splashed, causing us to jump back in surprise. When I grabbed Mom’s waist for support, I could have sworn a long mane of reddish, wavy hair rushed past me as it glided out to sea.

***

Twenty-two years later: August 2, 2018

I waited at a corner table in front of tall glass windows overlooking the ocean at Fish Tales, my favorite restaurant.

My hand twitched while I tried in vain to resist checking my cell phone again. My friend, Chelsea, was sixteen-plus minutes late, which was typical for her but a lesson in patience for me.

I’ve known Chelsea since we were in high school, and even after all these years, I’m still not sure what binds us together. She’s the exact opposite of me, a lively extrovert who lives to socialize. My head spins when she shows me her calendar because she has events or parties scheduled nearly every night. As a true introvert, I’ve always hated the mindless chatter of cocktail parties, preferring to relax on the couch in my fluffy robe with a good book and my black cat, Poe, snuggled up beside me. But, in a weird way, Chelsea and I balance each other out. I’m reserved, a perfectionist with a critical eye for detail, while Chelsea is wild, flamboyant, and easily distracted, hence always late.

While I scanned the emails on my cell, I glanced up and spotted an older man sitting at a small table a few feet away. His clothes caught my attention because he wore a burgundy sweater, which was odd for mid-August. With his ruddy, weather-beaten complexion, he looked like a sailor who had spent too many years at sea. He had a stocky build and a reddish beard peppered with gray. He must have been at least seventy, maybe older. I noticed the end of a slim white pipe sticking out from his breast pocket as he sipped his beer and recalled from our local museum that those clay pipes had been used over a century ago. How odd.

I felt drawn to speak to him, so I debated whether to walk over and introduce myself, but just then my stomach growled so loud I could have sworn the people sitting nearby could hear it. Oh dammit, I’m starving.

Embarrassed, I flagged down Maggie, the server, and asked her to bring a basket of cheese biscuits along with a bottle of chardonnay, Chelsea’s favorite. I used to babysit for Maggie when she was just a kid, and now she was taller than me. This is what I enjoyed about living in a small town, seeing familiar faces like Maggie’s. Even though Penbrook had grown a lot since my mom and I moved here, it was still a close-knit community.

I glanced at a picture of the crab bisque featured on the menu, one of Fish Tale’s signature dishes. The savory cream with a hint of sherry and meaty chunks of fresh crab meat got me every time. I was conjuring up the taste when Chelsea walked up behind me, her sing-song voice breaking my thoughts.

“So sorry I’m late, Madeline. The nutty client I told you about insists on having a call every Friday afternoon at four thirty, and tonight he kept rambling on and on. I couldn’t get him to quit.” Chelsea worked as an account executive for Bradford & Clarke Public Relations, the largest PR firm in town.

“No problem,” my voice squeaked, trying to hide my lie.

Holding a Kate Spade purse in one hand and her cell phone in the other, Chelsea sat down across from me just as Maggie walked over with the basket and bottle of chardonnay.

Chelsea started speaking in that rapid-fire way of hers.

I pretended to listen while glancing over to where the old man sat. But he was gone. The table had been cleared, and there was no sign of him. I could have sworn he’d had a full beer just a minute or two ago.

My friend paused midsentence and frowned. “What’s up with your hair?”

I put my hands in my messy bun and felt around for a pen, thinking I might have left it there when I was working at the front desk of my store, but my fingers came up empty. “What do you mean?”

“Well, for one thing, it looks like a hornet’s nest.”

I pulled out a compact mirror from my purse, wishing I had taken the time to check my reflection before leaving the shop. In a quick motion, I smoothed my fingers through my hair and redid the bun, which was still messy but I no longer looked like Medusa.

Chelsea continued to size me up. “And look at your hands?”

My fingers were laced with speckles of paint. “Oh, it’s just some leftover residue. I finished renovating that cabinet I told you about, the one that’s part of my latest collection of beach-style furniture.”

A look of horror spread over her face as she strummed the table with her perfectly manicured, pale pink nails. When she shook her head in indignation, her red-tasseled earrings mesmerized me, swinging back and forth in unison with her movement.

I had always admired my friend’s artful style. With her long blonde hair and pale blue eyes, heads turned everywhere she went, not just because of her fashion sense but her model-like beauty. I gravitated toward the same palette—gray, black, and navy. I couldn’t remember the last time I had gone to the nail salon or even the hairdresser. My business consumed most of my time and energy. I braced myself, waiting for one of Chelsea’s fashion critiques, but, to her credit, she changed the subject.

“Did you get the text I sent you?” she asked.

“You mean the one with the link to another dating app? How many dating sites are out there?”

“You’d be surprised.” She smiled and took a sip of wine. “But this one is different. It’s for Mensa-types, bookworms just like you.”

“Really,” I huffed. “That’s even worse than the previous one you sent me with the cowboys.”

“They’re farmers. You know, men who make a good living off the land, not riding horses in a rodeo. There are plenty of farmers in Connecticut.”

“Penbrook may not be a big city, but it’s not exactly farm country either,” I replied, feeling both defensive and self-righteous at the same time. “I don’t know why we’re having this conversation, since you know I have no desire to date.”

“I’m worried you’re becoming a hermit,” she declared a bit too loud. “You need to get out more.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, come on. Just because I don’t like to go out every night doesn’t make me a hermit.”

“Uh huh?” She picked out a cheese biscuit from the basket, took a bite, and gave me a dubious look, oblivious to the crumbs that scattered across her small plate and onto the table.

I bit back the urge to gather up the crumbs with my napkin.

“When was the last time you went to a party or even just a dinner with friends?” she whispered, as if my lack of social life was some big, dark secret.

My spine stiffened. I paused for a moment, searching my memory. Had it really been that long? Dating had been off the table since my last relationship disaster. Other than Chelsea, I hadn’t gone out with friends in months. I had even lost touch with my college buddies at Hartford. After an endless minute, I blurted out, “Just last Friday I went to an estate sale with Aunt Phoebe.” My cheeks reddened in embarrassment. I knew this was lame, but it was all I had.

Chelsea pointed her finger at me. “That was for work, and you know it.”

I struggled to find something to save face. I had gone to a few restaurants but to pick up my usual takeout. Last Tuesday it was Chinese, and the previous Friday, spaghetti and meatballs from a small Italian restaurant around the corner. Maybe Chelsea was right. Maybe I had become too much of a recluse.

“I guess a trip to the library doesn’t count?” I murmured.

Chelsea slapped her hands down on the table. “I rest my case.”

“Okay, I get your point.” I waved my hands in the air in mock surrender. “But I’m not like you, Ms. Extrovert. I don’t need to be the life of the party, and I enjoy being alone. My store is making a profit, so I’m not stressed for a change. Trust me, I’m in a good place.”

Chelsea crossed her arms over her chest, leaning forward. “I still think you should start dating ag—”

I couldn’t stop myself from narrowing my eyes and cocking my head at her.

“Oh no, don’t give me that look. It’s been over three years since you jilted Andrew.”

“He cheated on me!” I blurted out as the heat rose to my face.

Chelsea’s eyebrow quirked. “Oh yeah, hmm…he did. And if my memory serves me right, you were planning to break up with him anyway. Even you must admit, his cheating was a convenient excuse. It gave you an easy out.”

“I still felt betrayed. After all, he didn’t know what I was planning.”

“Oh please, we both know Andrew is not worth all this drama.” Chelsea slapped her napkin over her lap. “You and I are going out next Saturday night, and I won’t take no for an answer. I’ll pick you up at eight.”

Just the thought of going to a bar while Chelsea tried to fix me up made my stomach churn. I took a long sip of wine and turned to stare out the window. The full moon cast a pale bloom over the sea, reflecting pinpricks of light like tiny stars against an inky cobalt sky. The view had a calming effect on me, which helped drown out Chelsea’s demand. The ocean was even more mysterious at night, making me wonder how many secrets lay beneath those watery depths.