Page 27 of Tides of Love

“Well, if you need signatures for anything, you make sure to keep me in mind, I’ll get my book club, oh and my husband can get his ‘sip and paint’ buddies involved too!” She seemed excited to potentially be involved. He liked her enthusiasm.

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind but really, we’re hoping these documents confirm the land is still under the necessary protections.” Lucky smiled, pointing at the manilla folder in her hands. He was surprised by how thick it was but then these types of documents tended to have pages and pages of text that were more boilerplate than meaningful.

“I took my grandkids to the Marine Center a few months ago, they were so excited! My youngest granddaughter keeps telling everyone she’s going to be a starfish doctor.” The woman laughed, shaking her head as she placed a clipboard in front of him, “Just sign there and you’ll be all set dear.”

Lucky signed his name with a flourish. “We actually just expanded the educational touch tank. Next time you bring her, there will be even more starfish for her to learn about.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for her birthday!” She handed him the manilla folder, “Anything else I can help you with?”

“Nope, that’ll do it.” Lucky gave her a wave and tucked the folder into his messenger bag.

With every step, anxiety squirmed beneath his skin. It was like having his body picked apart by a million ghost crabs. Tiny, endless pinpricks from his toes to his forehead. The elastic pulling his hair into a puffy ponytail at the base of his neck felt too tight. The strap of his tank top suddenly bit into his shoulder in an inescapable way. He was hyperaware of every inch of flesh.

The air conditioner in his father’s old truck took terribly long to actually blow cool air. For a moment, Lucky was certain he was going to rip apart at the seams or melt or worse… puke.

But that blessed icy breeze started and suddenly his lungs fit properly within his chest. He tipped his head back, breathing slowly. In. Out. In. Out. And the whole while, his bag sat heavy on his lap.

Lucky worked his fingers inside to pry the folder from its depths. A few more deep breaths. A few more seconds of avoiding reality by pulling the hair-tie free and slipping the straps of his tank top off. When there was no reason to avoid it, he finally undid the seal and pulled the stack of stapled papers out.

The proposal for protective status of Playa del Tesoro.

His mother’s name stood in lovely bold beneath the title. On behalf of the residents of Rosaria and with the backing of the Marine Research and Rehabilitation center, she pitched the idea three years before they actually released the eggs. But the document bore two dates on the cover. The submission date stood next to the finalization date stamped there just three days before Maria Victoria Wilde passed away.

He traced his fingers along her name. “I won’t let you down, mama.”

The first few pages simply outlined the proposal request. It was a short research paper on the Paradise Leatherbacks, a condensed history and their importance to the ecosystem. Seven pages of two column ten-point font.

Lucky read every word.

It was like coming home. He could hear her voice in every letter, in every word, in every punctuation. When he reached the final page, where the acknowledgements were laid out, he brushed his fingers across his own name. She always listed their little family. It wasn’t the usual way of things, but she liked to include them and seeing it now made his heart ache fiercely.

Figures, charts, and tables made up the next several pages. Paradise Leatherbacks were smaller than others in the same group. Their smaller size contributed to their habit of staying closer to their hatching grounds though they still swam out to deep waters for most of their life.

Her words and her supporting materials outlined their importance to the ecosystem and what would be needed to restore them. The paper suggested a timeline of ten to twenty years.

Fifteen was the magic number. If the final signed petition said fifteen years or more, then everything else was moot. They could file for an extension, and they could keep any construction from being considered with research tailored to the protection of Playa del Tesoro. Anything less would make their lives infinitely harder…

Lucky began flipping through the pages of legal work. The outline of the project, the review, and finally – the bounds of the request.

An unnatural cold settled in his bones.

It started in his face. His cheeks were stiff, his lips trembled, then his skin prickled with bumps and his hands began to shake. His eyes burned as the papers slipped from his fingers. The file fell heavily into his lap.

What was he gonna do?

Lucky wasn’t sure how he got home. He didn’t remember the drive at all. His body was on autopilot, making moves without a single thought passing his brain. It was pure luck that he didn’t crash and die… And it was also luck that Jack was outside watering the plants when he pulled in.

He must have looked a wreck as he stepped out of the truck because Jack’s smile vanished halfway through his greeting.

It felt like he was underwater. He couldn’t quite hear Jack, but the warmth of his brother’s hands on his arms nearly burned. That’s what broke the dam. Hot tears burned tracks down his face as his lips quivered. “Jackie…”

To Lucky, there was no one as reliable as Jack.

Jack, who helped him sit on the pavement when he wobbled dangerously on his feet. Jack, who went to the car, fetched the keys and picked up scattered papers. Jack, who read them over with fast eyes and grit teeth.

Lucky knew exactly what his brother would see. Grainy scans of their mother’s handwriting, a 10 or a 15 that couldn’t be distinguished, and ultimately a finalized print document that read ‘protection granted for ten years’ with their mother’s initials on the final page. It was dated just a few days before she passed. Her handwriting was smudged everywhere, and the scanning process did nothing to help.

“Okay.” Jack said, and Lucky could only shake his head mutely. Nothing was okay. Nothing could possibly be okay. But Jack’s hands were back on his arms, and Lucky was given no choice but to stumble into the house.