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I’d never seen anything like it.
I remember standing in that hallway and that illogical thought—that I might be looking at the future mother of my children.
“She was just… unique. Nice, and thoughtful, and quiet until you got her talking. Then, she could go on and on about the silliest and weirdest stuff.”
Nola nudges her paw toward my arm. She gives a soft whine.
“Aw, thanks, girl.” I ruffle the fur on her head to thank her for her empathy. “She liked animals, too. She talked to them like I talk to you. Right out loud.”
When I think about the sea turtles, a thought hits me. It’s this weekend that they’re getting released into the ocean.
I waited for her to call. I waited and waited and waited.
The resort is having a ceremony.
I’ve been checking the resort’s website for weeks, getting peeks at the turtles I started caring about. One page of the website has live camera footage. It’s cool to see them nibbling lettuce, getting sun, and slipping into the dark water of the lagoon.
I lean back and straighten my aching leg to reach my phone in my pocket. Then, I pull up the resort website and tap the option to watch the lagoon’s live video feed.
I’ve done this so many times over the past few weeks. It’s an excellent way to spend a few minutes of the day.
Somehow, it’s helping me stay connected to Hawaii and the changes I went through there.
I arrived on the island one person and came home another.
It hurts that it didn’t work with Hazel. I might miss her every day for as long as I live.
I might always wonder, what if?
But—at least I’ll have memories of our time at the Hanu Resort.
I have to flip the truck’s sun visor to see my phone screen better. There’s the dark, murky green water, so full of algae.
A few guests wander past, wrapped in sarongs and shrouded in straw hats.
I can’t see the turtles. Neither one. Not Chester, not his mate.
Hopefully, I’ll catch sight of them before the big ceremony happens tomorrow. I’d like to see Chester Dude one more time before he’s freed into the ocean.
I’m about to click the live feed closed when the sight of a woman leaning on the rail stops me.
She’s slender, and she wears a floppy, black hat.
I can’t see her face, but her figure… and that sundress…
I think I recognize the delicate curve of her shoulder and how she lists over the railing like a bendy sapling.
But that doesn’t make sense.
Hazel’s not in Hawaii.
It’s more of my wishful thinking.
I’m seeing what I want to see because I’m stubborn and willful, and?—
Hold up.
Did she just pull a bag of carrots out of her purse?
