by Sylvie<\/p>\n\n\n\n
This moment will evade me. Salty beach air. Mist clinging to my leather jacket. Green-gray Pacific waves crashing and frothing and foaming. Sand whispering under my Chelsea boots. Hands shaking in my jean pockets. And tears trailing down my pale cheeks.
\nMy mind is replaying the moment like a broken videotape. I\u2019m sitting on the outdoor patio, dragging on a cigarette, releasing plumes of smoke into the cold air. The kids are playing Cowboys and Indians in the yard. \u201cI gotcha Jesse!\u201d \u201cOh no you don\u2019t, Anna!\u201d I glance over, a tiny smile curving across my face. But my eyes mist over. When push comes to shove, they\u2019ll go with Sara.
\nI stub the cigarette out, humming quietly to myself. The notebook sits open to the page titled Simple Twist of Fate. I don\u2019t know if I\u2019m going to record it yet.
\nA seagull rides the wide over my head, barely flapping its wings. I watch it disappear over the hedge, and then I hear the door open. I swivel around to notice Maria. Her face is red and stained with tears. \u201cDad,\u201d she sobs.
\nI furrow my brow. Maria barely talks to me. \u201cWhat\u2019s a matter?\u201d
\nShe points to the door. \u201cMom wants to talk to you.\u201d
\nI mutter a curse under my breath and hurry inside. The wooden floor creaks under my boots. \u201cSara,\u201d I call frantically. \u201cHoney, what\u2019s wrong?\u201d
\nAnd then I see her. Telephone clenched in her fist like a weapon, knuckles white, jaw straining with how tight it\u2019s clamped. \u201cMy god,\u201d she grits out. \u201cLisa\u2019s on the phone. Say hi to the one you truly love.\u201d
\nMy eyes widen, lips part. \u201cSara, darling, I\u2013\u201d
\nShe stamps her foot. My back goes ramrod straight. \u201cDon\u2019t you dare. Your agent? You have got to be kidding me. I picked up and she said \u2018Hey baby, is Sara home?\u2019\u201d
\nMy jaw drops and I lunge, grabbing the phone. \u201cLisa, what in the world! It was a year ago!\u201d
\nShe giggles. \u201cOne year too long.\u201d
\nI roar, slamming the phone down. My fists clench at my sides, my breath coming in hot gusts. \u201cGod, I\u2019m firing her.\u201d
\nSara\u2019s shoulders quake with tears unshed. \u201cIt\u2019s too late. You betrayed me.\u201d
\nI don\u2019t even process what I\u2019m doing when I pounce forward, caging her to the wall. \u201cI love you, Sara. You don\u2019t even know.\u201d My vision blurs\u2013I blink, and I feel hot tears roll down my cheeks. Sara weeps silently. I look down at my stiff hands braced against the wall and step back. \u201cI\u2019m sorry. I\u2019m a bad person,\u201d I sob, voice cracking.
\nShe sighs, a teardrop falling onto her sweater vest. \u201cJust leave. Never come back.\u201d
\n\u201cSara\u2013please\u2013\u201d
\n\u201cI SAID, NEVER COME BACK!\u201d
\nHer heeled boot collides with the floorboards. I jump back, scurry outside, and scoop up my notebook. I can feel the kids\u2019 eyes on my back as I slam myself into my Rolls-Royce. I pull out of the driveway, turn onto the road, and get on the freeway to Leo Carillo Beach.
\nNow here I am, sitting on the pale sand. I wring my hands together. The notebook is blown open by the wind, the sound of flapping paper swallowed by the rough, crashing waves and the sharp cries of seagulls. \nI feel a soft tap on my shoulder. I quickly wipe away my tears and turn to face an old man, hunched over, cigar hanging from his lips. \u201cWhat\u2019s in the notebook, son?\u201d\n<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
by Sylvie This moment will evade me. Salty beach air. Mist clinging to my leather jacket. Green-gray Pacific waves crashing and frothing and foaming. Sand whispering under my Chelsea boots. Hands shaking in my jean pockets. And tears trailing down my pale cheeks. My mind is replaying the moment like a broken videotape. I\u2019m sitting […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-208","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/wellbewriteback.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/208","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/wellbewriteback.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/wellbewriteback.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wellbewriteback.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wellbewriteback.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=208"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/wellbewriteback.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/208\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":209,"href":"https:\/\/wellbewriteback.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/208\/revisions\/209"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/wellbewriteback.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=208"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}