Page 8 of The Seashell of ’Ohana

His dark hair and brown eyes reminded me of my son at that age. My heart tugged, then squeezed. The boy’s father picked him up as his mother and his younger sister ran up to examine the boy’s beach treasure.

That could have been us. If Steve had lived, I would’ve had another child. A daughter or son to follow Tyler around, adoring him and driving him crazy. I inhaled deeply and veered away from the crowd.

I plunked on the sand, far enough from the water that my butt remained dry and close enough for the water to lap at my toes when I stretched my legs. At first, the cold ocean water stung, but I grew numb to the chilly splashes. Wearing only shorts and a tank top, I should have lathered on sunscreen, but I didn’t have any, and I couldn’t bring myself to care that much.

Tyler used to love looking for seashells with me, but lately, he’d lost interest. He had stopped crawling onto my bed in the early morning—had stopped doing a lot of things, actually. It only meant he was growing up.

Whipped-cream clouds floated overhead, and the endless water sparkled like crystals. It reminded me of a painting I had finished recently. As I dug my toes into the wet sand, memories of Steve crashed over me like waves—how we’d met, our wedding, Tyler’s birth, and when he’d told me about his cancer. We had cried in each other’s arms that night.

We had been so young once, thinking we had a whole life ahead of us. But fate had different plans. After he died, I’d wanted to remember every moment we’d had together. That regret made it even harder to let Ty have the independence he craved.

I spoke to Steve in my mind.

It’s been four years since you left us. It seems long ago, and yet it seems like it happened yesterday. Sometimes I don’t know if I can go on … I paused to dab the tears edging at the corners of my eyes. But Tyler gives me the will and strength. I live for him, and though I hear you saying I need to live for myself, too, it’s hard, especially when I see other families doing things we should be doing.

I have no right to be mad, and I know I’m not the only single mother or the only widow in the world, but it sucks. This sucks so much. I miss you, Steve. I miss you so much.

Tears streamed down my face, and I wiped them away. I wrapped my arms around my bended knees and rocked until I had no tears left.

I scooped up wet sand and dumped it next to me with a damp plop to distract myself. I did it again, creating a pile as I spoke to my dead husband.

To be honest, I’ve been a horrible daughter-in-law. I should call your mother and your sister more often, but it hurts, so I don’t. They remind me of you. And then it takes a while to pick myself back up.

The tide crept closer and flicked water on me. I rose quickly and dusted sand off the back of my shorts. As I clapped my hands to shake off the rest, something flashed white in the tumbling water.

I ran to it and picked it up before it could get lost in the wave, intending to add a seashell from this day to my tabletop collection. I dusted sand off the ridged surface and examined it—two perfect clamshells attached side by side at the top, with an elegant shape, long and narrowing at the bottom with grooves radiating from the top corner.

It looked like an angel’s wings, about the size of my fist with lines across it from one end to the other. I had never seen such an extraordinary seashell before.

I curled my fingers around the edges, and my spirit immediately lifted. It felt like a gift from Steve, telling me to be strong and that everything would be fine. And a sign of good things to come. I brought it close to my heart and closed my eyes, then icy water shot up my thighs. With a yelp, I kicked the water again and again, laughing.

People stared at me, so I backed away, picked up my sandals, and walked back to my parked minivan. I stopped by Izzy’s Café, a coffee shop located inside a small shopping center on the way home. A bell chimed when I entered.

Izzy’s green eyes rounded, and she wiggled her sharp nose when she saw me. She smiled brighter than the sun pouring through the windows.

“Hello, Izzy.” I inhaled the smell of fresh ground coffee and stopped at one of the round wooden tables.

In the far back corner by a surfboard on the wall, a couple shared a slab of chocolate cake and sipped from paper cups. I frowned and approached the counter so I wouldn’t have to see them. Usually, seeing couples didn’t bother me, but today wasn’t like other days. A coffee shop at the university had been where I’d met Steve.

“Good afternoon, Abby,” Izzy said in her usual chirpy tone. “I’m happy to see you.”

Her skin crinkled at the corners of her eyes, and the crease on her forehead deepened when she offered a warm smile and a wave at a departing customer. Years in Hawaii had left her fair skin with a golden glow and a lifetime of smile lines. They looked good on her.

I placed my hands on the wood counter near a net tangled with starfishes and seashells. The clam reminded me of the one I had found today and left on my passenger seat.

“Tyler went to a birthday party, and I had some time, so I thought I’d treat myself to a hazelnut latte.”

“With soy milk and one pump.” Not a question, but to confirm, instead.

I had ordered the same latte, made the same way, for the past four years.

“Anything else?” She dusted white powder off her loose olive-green shirt and poked at the tablet to put in my order.

I peered over her head at the blackboard menu. Nothing appealed to me, so I stepped over to the glass display cabinet—chocolate cake, mango muffins, and macadamia nut cookies.

“Give me half a dozen of the cookies. Tyler and I can have them for dessert.”

“How’s my favorite good-looking boy?”