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TWENTY
rose petals and thorns
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I WAS ABLEto recall, in fine detail, the first time my family and I vacationed in the Cove.
I was ten years old, awkward limbed and sporting a mass of unruly brown curls.
Then, my Pop Jackson was alive and well, and accompanied us that year, funding the vacation out of his deep pockets. He was foul-mouthed and brash, a trait that had certainly disappeared along the Jackson lineage.
Summers prior, we had exhausted the most prominent spots in the world. We had been to Havana, Jamaica, Cancun, and even Santorini. My passport was more of my companion than anyone else.
Although my mother was still her usual cold self, ten-year-old me saw the world with bright eyes, eyes that had yet to wear down into a cynical viewfinder.
My dad was my hero, my brother was a nuisance who rubbed his fist into my head, and Pop Jackson regularly sent me into fits of giggles when he cursed out a waiter who messed something up.
After being in my grandpop's private jet for six hours, naturally, I was a bundle of pent up energy. We didn't always take the jet, but this year, Pop Jackson had insisted firmly.
Unbuckling my seat belt, I sprang up from my beloved window seat. I raced down the aisle as my single French braid swung behind me, ignoring the chastising of my mother.
"Sienna! Did I say you could leave the plane?" my mother scolded, but it fell upon deaf ears.
I had already emerged from cool, controlled climate of the aircraft and into the heat of the island day. Drinking in my surroundings, I nudged my elbow into the rib cage of my brother.
"Wouldn't you rather be in Mexico? The water was clearer," I observed, my eyes scanning the expanse of the water surrounding the island. The Welcome to Paradise Cove Island Resorts sign was huge and flashy, drawing my attention immediately.
Of course, I had been lying.
The water was just as clear as Mexico, but I had firmly disagreed with coming here. I wanted to go to Mexico and hold the monkey on the crook of my arm again. Much to my chagrin, my parents had other plans.
Tristan simply tugged on my braid, smiling and closing his eyes. The breeze tousled his hair, and he sighed against the sun rays that kissed his face.
"Shut up and enjoy it, dummy."
On our first night, we stayed in a hotel. My family had yet to fall in love with the vacation site and purchase a home, so we wound down in a luxurious hotel up to par with my family's standards. My father rented a Lexus convertible to drive to the hotel, and I vividly remember the pleasant feeling of having the top down and cruising through thousands of palm trees.
