Page 135 of Beautiful Place By the Sea

“What time is Oliver supposed to get here with Simon?” Mom asks.

I peek over my shoulder at the microwave clock. “Should be any minute. Want to put your bags in your room, then we can meet them on the beach?”

I help my parents bring their luggage to the bedroom Laurel and I never touched during our trip last year. The bedding is new, and I even rented a carpet cleaner to rid the space of its musty smell.

“You’ve done a lot for the place.” A smile comes to rest on my father’s face. “Simon’s going to be thrilled.”

Even though I’m a grown woman, hearing praise from my parents still makes my chest swell with pride. “Thanks, Dad.”

“Ready, my loves?” Mom presses a kiss to Dad’s cheek.

“Ready,” he replies with a grin.

Ever since so many truths tumbled out last summer, my parents have been going to couples therapy.

“It’s sort of unfair,” Dad always jokes. “She’s a therapist already, so she’s going to win no matter what I do.”

“It isn’t a contest, Steven,” Mom will retort, but she lets her amusement show. “And I’m not a therapist; I’m a psychologist.”

“What’s the difference?” he’ll quip.

“You’re the worst,” Mom often replies. “But as long we’re together, I think we’re both winning.” A lot of the time, they’ll be all over each other after that, and I’ll step out of the room.

It’s both heartwarming and kind of disgusting when your parents rediscover they’re attracted to each other.

We’re sitting on the porch when Oliver comes around the corner of Beach Haven, holding an arm out to steady Simon.

“It looks just the same,” Simon remarks, holding a hand above his eyes as he gazes out at the sea.

I can’t tell if he’s joking, because of course the ocean never really changes. I mean, over centuries, of course, its constant nudging eventually reshapes the land according to its whims. But more abstractly, the ocean doesn’t change. Instead, it changes us.

Just then, I catch a glimpse of Laurel and her parents striding toward us through the sand from the direction of their rental cottage. She raises her hand in a friendly wave. I run and tackle her in a hug.

Uncle Greg and Aunt Bea look amused. “I’ve missed you,” I murmur. Ever since I moved to Ogunquit and Laurel successfully defended her dissertation, we’ve both been pretty busy—me, running Shoreline with Oliver, and her, teaching about 8,000 classes a semester at her alma mater, which snapped her up immediately.

“Me too,” she answers. It took effort, but we’ve more than gotten past our disagreement from last summer, and we’re in a much better place. Laurel even decided to read Eleanor’s diary in its entirety. She just needed space to process everything in her own time.

So did Uncle Greg, but he snapped back pretty quickly. “I always thought there was something special about Simon,” he’d said. “I’m so glad to finally know how important he really was to Dad.”

When we’re all gathered in front of Beach Haven, there’s a strange energy hanging in the air—like we all know this is one of those moments we’re going to remember for the rest of our lives.

“Are we ready?” I hold out Eleanor’s diary. I’ve taped the missing pages back in their rightful place at its center.

Oliver wraps his arm around my waist and presses a kiss to the top of my head.

“Ready,” my father says confidently. Everyone else follows suit, a syncopated chorus of voices.

Simon’s eyes brim with tears. “Let’s get Eleanor back where she belongs.”

We work together to dig a hole in the sand 20 yards in front of Beach Haven. “So she can feel the sun,” Simon suggests.

Then, Uncle Greg holds out a small metal lockbox. Hands shaking, I place the diary inside. Laurel turns the key, then hands it to her father. Greg raises an eyebrow in question, and my dad nods, taking the box and lowering it into the hole on the beach.

We take turns throwing sand on top of the box, swapping stories about Eleanor and Charlie all the while. Aunt Bea pulls a bottle of champagne out of her bag, and we pass it around, sipping and reminiscing beneath the cotton candy sunset.

When my father first suggested we bury the diary, I wasn’t sure what to think. But we all discussed it and decided it was time. Perhaps even more than time. We’d learned the truth, and while it had brought us clarity, and closure, and Simon, we didn’t need it anymore.

The diary had almost destroyed us, and now we’d done the hard work of coming back together. We agreed together it was time to leave Eleanor and Charlie’s secrets in the past, and let her words live forever on the beach she loved so much.