The Prodigal Daughter

I

San Diego, CA June 2019 

Mission Beach 3:00 PM

The sand was gritty but soft at the same time, and warmer than expected. The waves made this beautiful sound, one I  would always appreciate. I felt the wind on my skin, it was windy today, but it was soft and didn't hurt. I opened  my eyes and looked to the overcast sky. The clouds were moving a  little faster than usual, today was a fluke. There had been a string of summer-y days, full of sunshine and warmth. Today, it was a little cooler than usual, a little more depressing, too.

It's like  the universe knows.

"You've been quiet for like five minutes, dude." I turned to see Elena looking at me like I was crazy.  I asked for this last minute stop at the beach,  and we haven't said a word.

Elena put her long tanned arms around  my shoulder  in a comforting side-hug. Her dark hair was in a long braid down her back. her oversized and tattered UCLA sweatshirt  was  more like a dress. She  doesn't wear  much makeup, she has  granny-style glasses  and is still one of the  most beautiful people  I know. It's infuriating.

I leaned my head on her shoulder. "I  just don't know what to expect. I don't know what  to do."  I  looked  at her straight on.   

Her  brown eyes shone with love and sincerity. "You grieve, Ally. He was your Dad."

I sighed, and I tightened the hair tie on my dirty blonde hair--the color I  got  from my father. Whose dead.

"Seven years. Elena. Seven. I have a life here. Peace." I looked to the  ocean  again and  twirled with  my tennis shoes in my hand. My stomach ached with fear, and sadness. I felt an exhaustion I hadn't felt  in years.

Seven years ago I was a naive  and scared child who wanted to see the world--the wolf-free world--and even though that's a part of who I am, I got a  normal career,  a normal  education. I work  in a  trauma  ER as an intern. My parents didn't come to my graduations or my white coat ceremony. I told them not to.

My friends--sans Elena, because I am here  on her Dad's courtesy (and pay roll)--had no idea what I  was. The  drama I dealt with was relationship crap, shitty landlords, and the occasional car breakdown. Work was great. I'm making a difference.

I  have good friends, a job where  I make a difference and save people. All  of  this  a few thousands of miles away from home.  I missed my family every day, but that life...I knew at eighteen I couldn't do  it anymore.

Here I am, walking away from the beach, my best friend  beside me, about to dive into the ghosts  of my past.

*

I was overcome  with nerves and a strange feeling of both  excitement/dread as the Range Rover drove quietly through upstate New York. June in New York was warm, and it was fun  to  travel through the state. There was so much to do, but it was different than California. There was magic in the air, and I  missed it. 

We approached a gate, two  armed guards in front, dark sunglasses preventing  you from knowing  where they're  looking. The gate had several security cameras, which turned on my  driver. Some Uber guy.

The  Uber Guy  rolled down his window as a guard  approached him. "Who's the passenger?"

"Some  girl. From JFK." His accent was almost Canadian. Pretty sure he moved down to New York and wasn't a native. 

The guard walked to my window, I rolled it down and  gave him an exhausted smile. "May I  help you?"

His face didn't twitch. "This is a private subdivision. Residents and approved guests  only. I'll need name and ID to call in."

I reached for my wallet and grabbed my license, and handed it over.  The guard read it--probably several times--and then took off his glasses. 

"Ay, McGee! Come here!" He called the other guard over and  looked at the license then they both looked at me. They spoke to each other quietly, both holding their  loaded semi-automatics. The first guard ordered McGee backed to his post and handed me my license.

"Are we cleared?" I asked with a little bit of a snarky tone. This security was excessive. 

"Yes, ma'am. I apologize. Welcome to White Oak." The gate opened and we began the fifteen minute drive down a tree-covered road to the White Oak Pack's residence.

Home sweet home. Right?