Kitchen Witch

8 | Night Tide

Charlotte tossed in bed, flipping over to her left side and throwing the covers off her for what seemed like that hundredth time. She reached for her phone, the cool light illuminating the screen to show 3 am. Almost an hour since she had last checked, she could swear she had spent that time flipping the covers on and off from a bone-cold chatter to a slow-burning hot sweat that started at her feet and spread. Charlie was curled up at the far end of the bed in a nest of his covers, seemingly unbothered by Charlotte's nightly acrobatics. Charlotte looked at him, snoring softly, frustrated and jealous of his sleeping so easily. 

The house seemed to match Charlotte's mood as it shuttered and creaked with the winds howling outside. It was a windy night, and with the window left a crack open, she could hear it singing loudly outside, almost like a siren calling to her. Tonight, the winds seemed as unsettled as Charlotte was. Charlotte let out a big sigh and swung her feet off the bed; sleep was not in her cards anytime soon, and instead of playing a couple more hours of blanket flipping, she thought she might as well get up. It wasn't unheard of for her to get up and spend an hour or so in her kitchen back in Stonebridge fiddling with tea preparations or even making herself a special cup to help lull her back to sleep and regulate her temperature. 

But tonight, she felt drawn to the wind outside; even Charlie sensed something was amiss and stirred from his slumber to follow Charlotte out of the bedroom. Charlotte's bare feet padded down the wooden stairs, creaking on the odd step toward the apothecary room, where she grabbed her warm buffalo check barn jacket. As she zipped the heavy jacket up, she smiled at her latest purchase from town, beginning to feel like an Islander. She shoved her feet into a pair of lined Hunter rubber boots, the extravagant purchase from her other life now having a practical purpose.

Charlie and Charlotte headed out the back door toward the dunes. The night was lit with a full moon hanging heavy in the sky. It was as if God had turned a night light on to help guide them to the beach. Charlotte extended a hand as she walked, letting the grasses of the dunes tickle her fingers. She had had a difficult time falling asleep that night, having received a shocking call from Heather earlier that evening. She sensed something was wrong as soon as she answered the call.

Martha's son had passed. 

He was gone. 

She felt bone cold and wrapped her arms around herself. She still couldn't believe it. She hadn't even known he was sick. She felt horrible for not having been in touch and for Heather to have had to call her to let her know. But Maratha wasn't doing well and was barely reaching out to anyone. He had gotten sick, despite all the precautions, and because of the damn restrictions, Maratha hadn't even been able to hold a proper funeral with the support of her friends. She couldn't even fathom the pain that Maratha must be in, her only child. Parents weren't supposed to outlive their children. She couldn't imagine losing Airlie or Bree, even if they were already so far away.

Charlotte made her way toward the beach, and as she crested the dune, she let out an audible "aww" at the waves crashing into shore with violent ferocity. The tide was in, and the waves were turning over, forming white caps in the strong winds. The night air was sharp as the sand that stung her face, and her tongue could taste the salt in the air. She could make out drifts of sand dancing across what little beach was left exposed, like ribbons dancing in the wind. She tried to shield her eyes from the biting sand and wind, not wanting to leave the beach. Charlie started to bark, obviously not enjoying the sandstorm, and circled Charlotte's legs. 

But Charlotte seemed oblivious to his urges to leave and instead stared out at the water, entirely captivated by the waves as they curled and crashed onto the shore. She stood frozen there on the spot, lost in a trance, her forefinger and thumb wringing her wrist. Her emotions matched the waves as guilt and memories turned over in her mind. She had left her life in Stonebridge behind with such a decisive cut to start over that she had forgotten her friends in the process, especially the one that helped save her.