Nightstands were very personal spaces. What if her unabashedly wild-at-heart grandmother kept secret love letters or sexy romance novels hidden in there? Did she want to know? Did she dare look inside? She opened the drawer, supporting the side with the broken runner with her left hand. A five-by-eight notebook with a recycled paper cover adorned with pressed flowers lay next to a few pens, a very old camera, a rather large multi-tool camping knife, a colorfully woven, empty change purse that looked like it had been made somewhere in South America and the remains of a small ball of yarn with a crochet needle stuck through it. Leave it to Nana to have such an eclectic collection of items.
Mandi picked up the journal and did a quick flip of the pages. They were yellowing around the edges and one had what looked like coffee stains. “Journal #2” was written inside the cover, but there wasn’t another notebook in the drawer. Apparently, Nana had another tucked away somewhere. What was odd was that this one was mostly empty. There were only a few entries, the first of which was dated a couple of decades ago, around the time when Mandi’s mother left town. She held Nana’s difficult-to-read cursive scribbles up to the light.
I haven’t written in many, many years. Not since returning to Turtleback. But I thought it was time to try again. I haven’t been able to write since I lost the two most important people in my life. The only trusted, loved, closest friends I’ve ever had and ever will. That pain still lingers in my chest and haunts me in the early morning hours when I walk the beach. They would have loved this beach. They would have understood my need to protect the turtle nests...to save lives. Lives hidden secretly beneath the sand, waiting for the chance to break free and truly live. But some secrets can never surface. They would have understood that, too.
After they died, writing about my days didn’t seem as important as returning home, picking up the pieces, building a new life and figuring out how I was going to raise my unborn child. I had survived the worst in life and knew I’d survive this, but I didn’t know I’d fail at it. I failed my only child. I spoiled John when I thought I was giving him everything I didn’t have. He has never learned the true value of life...and love. Audra left them last night. She left John and her sweet little girl without warning. I sensed it would happen sooner or later. It makes me so sad to know that Mandi won’t have her mother around. I love that little girl with all my heart. I’ll be there for her. I’ll do my best and hope that this time, I won’t fail at parenthood. My hope for her is that she will someday experience love as deeply as I have and that it never leaves her behind.
Mandi wiped her face on her sleeve, but the tears kept falling. All she’d ever been told was that her grandfather had died at war. Nana had never expressed or shown in any way just how heartbroken she was, nor had she mentioned this other friend in her life. What secrets was she talking about that could never surface? Did everyone have secrets they were keeping from her? Like Gray?
Mandi grabbed a tissue and blew her nose. Her grandmother didn’t say anything specific about why Audra had left. All she’d ever told Mandi was that it wasn’t because of her. And her father had declared the subject off-limits more than once, during her teen years.
She turned to the next page and double-checked the date. This entry was only written about two years ago. That was strange. It seemed that her grandmother’s attempt to start journaling again hadn’t worked out. Why? There weren’t any entries made during the years since Mandi’s mother, Audra, had abandoned them. The only other entry was on the day Mandi had almost become a bride. It was a little shorter and the handwriting slightly messier, no doubt a reflection of Nana’s age and arthritis.
I failed again. Mandi did find the kind of love I had wished for her, but I had asked for it to never leave her. Love didn’t leave Mandi. I know this because I saw the pain she left in her wake. She was the one to abandon love. Maybe her father was right, for once, in saying that she was too young. He and Audra had been too young. I hope that someday Mandi embraces her inner strength and confidence and proves to herself that she can achieve anything she puts her mind to. I hope she finds success and understands the true meaning of it. And, most importantly, I hope she learns to love herself.
Mandi closed the journal. She had no more tears. Instead, she suddenly felt empty and cold. She’d never known anyone to exude confidence like her grandmother. Nana had been her rock. Yet, these two entries mentioned failure and loss. They were tinged with disappointment. Why hadn’t she written about the good times, when Mandi was growing up? Had she been too busy helping to raise her? Did she only write about bad times? If so, that made Mandi wonder even more what her secrets were and where the first journal was hidden. Maybe it had answers. As for Mandi’s finding success, she hoped Nana had seen that happen over the past couple of years. Maybe that’s why she hadn’t written another entry. All was good and she felt Mandi had picked up the pieces of her life and was on the right track. She had told Mandi, during her last visit to New York, that she was proud of her.
Mandi shut the drawer and quickly rummaged through the opposite nightstand, top shelf in the small closet and dresser drawers. The other journal wasn’t in the room, but she’d find it. Not this minute—for all the hours she’d spent trying to sleep, her body and mind felt wrung dry—but she would probably find it while sorting through Nana’s belongings. She turned off the light.
“Nana, if you can hear me now, know that you didn’t fail. You were always amazing and so important to me. I won’t fail you. I’ll prove you did everything right. I will be strong and I’ll continue to prove I can be successful. I promise.”
She would. As soon as she wrapped things up in Turtleback, she was more determined than ever to put all her drive and energy into her new job She’d make that advertising company wish they could clone her. She’d make other companies in New York wish they could have her. She’d channel her grandmother’s strength and show the world what she could do.
Her stomach growled and she pressed her hand against it. She didn’t actually have an appetite, but maybe the lack of food had something to do with how weak she felt.
She walked over to the window and peered out. The beach was dark and quiet with nothing moving but the moonlight skipping on the water. She closed the blinds and went to the kitchen. Maybe a cup of tea would be enough to shut her stomach up and open up her appetite. And going through emails might get her mind off things.
She turned on the kitchen light, set the water to boil and checked messages on her phone while her laptop booted up on the breakfast table. A few messages were from new acquaintances at work letting her know about where they were planning to meet for Friday night happy hour. She ignored them. One was from Lana, her college apartment roommate and friend sending her sympathy from New York. She’d met her through the same master’s program. Mandi sent her a quick reply. She scrolled down and almost missed the one from a name she recognized as Nana’s lawyer and old friend.
She had forgotten all about that part of dealing with a loved one’s passing. She was supposed to meet him this morning at nine regarding Nana’s will. He was confirming the time. She’d be there, but she dreaded it. Hearing Joel read off Nana’s will would only grind in the reality that had hit her today at the funeral.
She stared at the message for a second. Nana’s will. She knew she would have to help sort through her grandmother’s personal items, but in her mind, she pictured the house and everything in it as staying the same forever. But for what? Her father? He’d likely inherit it, but he had his own place on the sound side and never really cared for the cottage. He claimed that it was a money pit in need of too much restoration and repairs, especially after hurricanes. True, the salty air and frequent storms had weathered the place and it needed constant upkeep, like most homes along the Outer Banks, but it had charm and told a story, like the lines on the face of someone who’d experienced more than their share of life. Someone like Nana.
But
