Paradise on the Dunes

Chapter 3

Don't let the sun go down on your anger. The words echoed in her mind. It wasn't Jenny's fault she felt edgy most of the time since Marco died. Adding to her irritability was the fact that Paradise Point stood alone on the dunes. No neighbors close by, no alarm system. These two years after losing Marco brought up the fear of losing Jenny as well. That year of chemo corroded her faith. The powerful and ineffective medication had sabotaged Marco's health and Shelly's hope.

The muscular man with his dog coming by their house put her in high alert mode.

Turning off the blow drier, Shelly combed her shoulder-length hair, took off the bathrobe, and put on her pajamas. She heard music coming from Jenny's bedroom: an Italian folk song. Shelly's shoulders sagged. Her daughter only listened to that kind of song when Marco's absence was unbearable.

Shelly made her way down the hallway and rapped on Jenny's door. Without waiting for a response, she cracked the door open. "Can we talk?"

Jenny was sitting on the floor, her back resting on the bare mattress. She looked up and closed her diary. The pink pajamas made her look younger. Shelly's heart swelled with an overwhelming sense of love.

"Sure." Jenny shrugged her shoulders.

Shelly sat down beside Jenny. "Sorry. I'm so sorry I snapped at you."

Jenny turned off the music on her cellphone. "Trust me, mom."

How would she trust her teenage daughter if Shelly didn't trust herself? Rationally she understood the importance of letting Jenny grow. But she wasn't acting rationally these days. Her feelings were debilitating.

"I'm trying, Jenny."

"We can't live like this anymore." Jenny turned her body to face Shelly. "It's eating you up."

Shelly's face burned. "Living like what?"

"In constant fear. You weren't like this before. And it is getting worse." Jenny started braiding her hair, fingers fast and shaky.

Shelly felt like a train derailing. The pain, the longing, the confusion. These were the cars of her train. She swallowed hard, her saliva feeling like oil. Jenny was right, but how could she stop her derailing train? The day Marco died, Shelly thought that would be the worst part of losing somebody, the immediate grief, the desperation, the empty chest. Oh, was she ever wrong. The days and weeks that followed haunted her. The empty drawers in their dresser, the vacate side of her bed, the table set for two, the single bath towel on the holder, the SUV parked alone in the garage. Then came the responsibilities, social obligations, bills. She had relied on Marco for so many things. How to start all over with the crippling fear that she had no control over life and death? Such obvious concept that she only learned when death knocked at her door.

"I don't know what to do," Shelly whispered.

Jenny held her mother's hand. "Me neither. But dad would say that there's always a way when we have faith. When things don't work out, we can start something different. That's what he said."

"Your dad was wise. But I'm not him."

"You don't have to be him or like him, but we can start something different, something new," Jenny said.

"Where do we start?" Shelly attempted a smile.

Jenny stood up and moved her index finger in the air. "Here. We start here in this house. Then we expand our boundaries and meet new people."