Shallow Shores

Chapter 1: Stormy Seas, Ahoy!

I heard the hiss of the bacon downstairs, sss sss sss, the house smelled of breakfast.
Was Dad home? Nana only cooked breakfast when Dad came home.
A smile spread across my face that I couldn't fight. I threw off the covers in a desperate attempt to get downstairs as if a few seconds would matter; but they did.
Dad was home.
The idea of his return made me feel as if I were on cloud nine; running down the stairs my smile turned to a looked of confusion.
"Nana?... Where's Dad?... Isn't he home?" Looking around my eyebrows furrowed together in confusion.
"Nana?"
She still refused to respond. With her back turned against me in a stern stance she had only used on the house realtors and salesmen who refused to back down to a simple 'no.' The fresh sizzle of the food cooking in the frying pan continued but suddenly I had lost every bit of appetite I had.
"Listen I know I forgot to take the trash out last night and I'm sorry but- Nana?"
Suddenly she turned to me.
Tears streaked her face as suddenly, my once elegant and regal Nana looked worn. Worn like old books that I loved, her eyes would remind me of the words, enticing and interesting, her face would remind me of the pages of the book. Nana's face was older, wrinkled slightly like the crinkles on old pages yet she had not given into the rot of old books or the decay. No my Nana was strong.
Was this Nana?
No it couldn't be.
Nana was beautiful, aging gracefully and seemingly glowing all the time, this didn't look like Nana. This woman had wrinkles and old age written across her face like the old and dead books we had despised so much for their impurity; she had a mess of white hair in what used to be a nice and neat bun with mismatched clothing. My Nana was always neat, wearing matching dresses with her hair up in a neat bun, and always had her nose stuck in a book.
"Nana?" I couldn't believe my own voice as the look on her face hit me full force; I felt like someone had punched me right in the chest and all the air was knocked from my lungs.
Nana doesn't cry; what's going on?
"T-" Nana cut herself off.
Never once in my life had I seen Nana cry.
Not when Mom died, not when Grandpa died, not even when she burnt herself while cooking dinner. What had made the strongest woman I know crumble like a cookie? "There has been an accident." Nana said softly, her graceful and polite manner diminished, only replaced with a poor hollowed out version of Nana that didn't even shine as bright as a candle that was burning out.
"Your father isn't coming home today, or tomorrow, or ever again. I'm so sorry Elspeth." Her voice broke off in pain on the last word as she turned around again. With her back to me, I could see her as she gripped the counter tightly, her knuckles turning white from the grip. Grief and pain crippled me as suddenly I collapsed to my knees on the floor with a loud thump as her words echoed through my head.
"Dad?"
The word seemed familiar, but also like a strange word in my mouth. The last thing I had to real blood. Real family.
Gone.
I stayed there, collapsed onto my knees, not a single tear fell, not a noise escaped my throat as if a huge lump had been placed there. The lump blocked not only my voice but also my air. The room started to spin and black out around the edges as I faintly heard Nana sobbing in the background as I realized someone was screaming.
Is that me? How had five words change my life so much?
"There's been an accident."
The words echoed through my head.
I couldn't stop screaming; it was as if someone inside of me had snapped that couldn't be fixed again.
Mom. Dad. Grandpa. Brendon. Davis.
It felt like everyone had left Nana and me here, all alone.
What are we going to do? This is too much.
A pressure built on my chest as I felt someone lift me up. I had stopped screaming but now sobs racked my body as I shook. The lump disappeared as the I was dragged outside kicking, screaming, and crying. "I want to be with my family!" I screamed childishly at the top of my lungs those words exactly, over and over until I was so hoarse that I couldn't scream any longer but at this point: it wasn't possible.

↣↣↣↣

I'm sure hours have passed, I'm still outside by beach as the water slowly crept up to my feet as if to say hello but only to shy away again.
Peter was the one who dragged me outside.
My best friend. It seemed like usually I was the one dragging him from fights but today he had to be the strong one.
For the two of us.
Wrapping an arm around my shoulders, I glanced over at him.
Peter was handsome, with a strong jaw, a little stubble, dark brown hair cut roughly (only since he did it himself) somewhere in between short a or medium length. His eyes were steely gray. Darker today than usual, they reminded me of the storm approaching on the horizon of the ocean. "Peter?"
I whispered his name, my throat already hoarse from crying.
"Why-?" I paused for a moment. "How did you know to come?"
His steely eyes looked over in my direction. "Because I knew you needed me." He whispered back, he muttered something else but it was lost to the wind as the storm started to pick up. I didn't try to pry into him to find out what he had said, he had lost Dad too, almost like he were my brother from our relationship with him. Dad had been there for both of us; going to basketball, baseball, and football games with Peter. Sticking around through my rough and hormonal middle school years. Never did he give up on us.
I felt too exhausted. Too tired. Too hoarse. I just wanted to sleep everything off and pretend like it was all a bad dream.
The usually calm and smooth water was in a rough tumble with the wind as the waves began to crash into one another. I buried my face into Peter's side; not caring for the rain, I wasn't sure how much more I could stand. As the rain began to fall I felt Peter slowly start to shift underneath me.
"Come on Circe. It's time to go inside." He said softly to me. Standing and offering his hand he stood me upright and walked me inside. Leading up to my room I could see Nana from a crack in her door.
Limp on her bed she was clutching the last family photo we had taken before the fire. I had a similar photo right next to my bed that I liked to kiss every night before bed hoping that maybe one day I could be happy like in the picture.
The fire.
It hurt to think of it as I shivered slightly. I was too young. Too young to understand why my mom and brothers were gone but I still remember them and it hurts just as bad as it did seeing them all lined up in their coffins. I still have the scars.
Waking me from my thoughts Peter laid me down and tucked me in with promises of return in the early morning to check on me. I closed my eyes and let the black oblivion take me; the thunder faded slowly into the background as I ignored the pain of old aching and re-opened scars.