The ocean roared outside my studio, waves crashing like they were arguing with the dawn. I stood at my easel, paintbrush dripping indigo, smearing a stormy sea across the canvas. The air smelled of salt and turpentine, my fingers speckled with blues and grays that wouldn't wash off. My shack perched on Haven's End's rocky shore, its weathered boards creaking with every gust.
I dipped my brush again, chasing the curve of a wave, my heart pounding like it was trying to match the tide. Painting was my way of holding onto things, memories, feelings, the way the world felt too big sometimes. I twirled the brush, humming a sea shanty, the same one Mom used to sing when we'd sit on the pier, our feet dangling over the water.
The melody caught in my throat, heavy with her absence. Three months since she was gone, and I still expected her to walk in, her laugh filling the room. I shook my head, focusing on the lighthouse I'd painted, its beam cutting through the fog. It felt like me right now searching for something solid in the haze.
My phone buzzed, rattling the shelf cluttered with paint tubes and seashells. I wiped my hands on my apron, smearing blue across the fabric, and grabbed it. The screen flashed Unknown Number, and my stomach did a little flip. Dawn calls weren't my thing.
I hesitated, then answered, my voice soft as the morning mist. "Hello?" "Bella!" The voice burst through, warm and loud, like a summer day crashing into winter. "It's Marco! Your cousin, remember me?"
I laughed, the sound surprising me. Marco Cruz, his goofy grin, the way he'd sneak me cookies at family picnics, our races across Diego's lawn. I could almost see him, ten years old, daring me to jump off the dock at his uncle's fancy estate.
"Marco? No way! How'd you find me?" "Got my ways," he said, and I heard city noise,horns blaring, voices shouting. "Listen, Bella, you gotta come to New York. Uncle Diego's throwing a big family reunion at the estate. Everyone's gonna be there, and I need my favorite cousin. It's been too long."
My heart skipped, memories flooding back running through Diego's mansion, hiding in its endless rooms, the lion fountain sparkling under the sun. I hadn't been back since I was ten, when Mom packed us up and moved us here. She'd never explained why, just said Diego's business kept him too busy for us.
I leaned against the studio wall, the rough wood cool under my palm. "A reunion? I don't know, Marco. It's been forever." "Come on," he coaxed, his voice dropping softer. "It's not the same without you. Diego's asking for you, Bella. One weekend, think of the fun we'll have, like old times. I'll show you the city, the works."
I glanced at my painting, the lighthouse standing alone against the storm. Marco's voice tugged at me, like a current pulling me toward a past I had half-forgotten. Mom's warnings flickered " Stay away from Diego" but they felt distant, drowned out by the thought of seeing Marco, the estate, maybe even seeing Diego
"Okay," I said, my voice barely above the waves outside. "I'm in." "Yes!" Marco whooped, the city noise spiking. "You won't regret it.
He hung up, and I stood there, phone warm in my hand, the ocean's roar louder now. The studio felt smaller, like it couldn't hold the excitement bubbling in my chest.
I walked to the window, the glass fogged with salt spray. Dawn painted the sea gold, and gulls swooped, their cries sharp. Haven's End was my safe place, but Marco's call had stirred something restless, like a wave I couldn't paint yet.
By noon, a knock rattled the door. A delivery guy stood outside, his van humming in the gravel lot. He handed me a thick envelope, cream-colored with a gold lion's head stamped on it, fancy enough to make me raise an eyebrow. I tore it open, my fingers smudging paint on the edges. A note inside, written in neat cursive, read:
Isabella, come to the reunion. Let's reconnect.
by Diego.
A plane ticket to New York, dated tomorrow, slipped out, fluttering to the floor. I traced the lion stamp, my pulse quickening.
I stood there, the plane ticket in my hand, feeling a mix of emotions. Excitement and curiosity wrestled with a sense of unease. What would it be like to see Diego again? To confront the past and the family I had left behind?
As I looked out the window, the ocean's roar seemed to grow louder, as if urging me to take the leap. I felt a shiver run down my spine, and I knew I had to go. I had to see what lay ahead, what secrets Diego might reveal, and what memories I might uncover.
I tucked the plane ticket into my pocket, feeling a sense of determination wash over me. Tomorrow, I'd leave for New York, and my life would change forever.
The rest of the day passed in a blur as I packed and prepared for my trip. As the sun began to set, casting a golden glow over the ocean, I walked out to the pier, the same one where Mom and I used to sit and watch the waves.
The pier creaked beneath my feet, and I felt a sense of nostalgia wash over me. I closed my eyes, listening to the sound of the waves and the gulls crying overhead. The air was cool and salty, and I felt at peace.
But as I stood there, I noticed something strange. A light flickered at the far end of the pier, quick and faint, like a star falling into the sea. It flashed once, then vanished, leaving only darkness.
My heart thudded, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. Someone was out there, watching me. I spun around, but there was no one in sight. The light had disappeared, leaving me with more questions than answers.
I stood there, frozen, my heart pounding in my chest. What was going on? And who was behind the mysterious light?
The darkness seemed to press in around me, and I knew I had to get back to my studio. I turned and walked back, my senses on high alert, wondering what other secrets lay hidden in the shadows.
As I reached my studio, I felt a sense of relief wash over me. I locked the door behind me and tried to shake off the feeling of unease. But the image of the flickering light lingered, and I couldn't shake the feeling that my life was about to change in ways I couldn't imagine.