Page 132 of Beautiful Place By the Sea

No one modeled healing or working through loss for him. All he saw was a picture-perfect marriage. Eleanor and Charlie did a lot right, but by keeping the truth from their children, they withheld important lessons about sacrifice and compromise, and how you have to fix your own problems before you can ever hope to be there for someone else. To be an active partner in your own relationship.

And my mom tried. She tried to help my father through his grief; his confusion. But at the end of the day, she didn’t feel like my dad was present in their marriage anymore. He wasn’t willing or able to do the work of healing, and he lost himself in the process. He lost the ability to connect with her, and she was crying out in pain.

Where I’d once blamed my mom for what seemed like abandonment, I now understand was something else entirely: self-respect and a desperate attempt to preserve her own mental health. To give my father the space to work through his feelings, in hopes that he might come back to her someday when he was able.

It wasn’t her fault, and it wasn’t his. They were both doing their best with an incredibly challenging set of circumstances. But the deterioration of their marriage had felt cautionary.

I hadn’t wanted to take an opportunity away from Oliver, because he had so little else. Even though he would have loved for me to stay here with him, I didn’t want him to resent me deep down for holding him back. He already felt trapped here, like there was no future for him anywhere else. I could see that future playing out for us—if he continued to shove down what he wanted, then someday, he’d be a shell of his former self, and neither of us would have anything left.

But it occurs to me now that two people sacrificing for each other only works if both people want it; if both people are served by the compromise. Charlie was right about that.

Oliver and I tried to protect each other, and it came from a good place. Like my grandparents, we both wanted to make the sacrifice. But ultimately, the offerings we placed at the altar of good intentions would never make either of us happy.

With Maisie’s revelation sparking through my mind, lighting up every corner such that the reality hits me again and again, I realize that Laurel was right. Charlie was right. There’s always another way. And when I look back on my life, I don’t want to remember this moment and know I didn’t try hard enough to find a solution. To know that I walked away from love.

Suddenly, an idea blooms all at once. I have no idea where it came from; it’s like the answer was sent to me on the breeze. But I’m so grateful for it, whatever its provenance, because now I know exactly what I have to do.

thirty-eight

“Ithink this is the last box.” I nod toward the carton labeled “Books” sitting by the front door of my Brookline condo.

“I’m not sure you have enough to read,” my father jokes. He’s right; we’ve dealt with 15 other boxes with the same label already.

“Hey, I learned from Grandma.”

“You sure did. I’ll bring this one out to the moving van, okay?”

I nod. “Thanks.” As the door shuts behind him, I survey the empty shell of my life in Brookline. Memories are flying like sparks from a campfire with each pass—the pride I’d felt when I signed the closing papers; the kitchen where I’d made (and burned) my first Thanksgiving turkey; the living room where Kyle kissed me on a Tuesday night. The table where I’d read the offer letter for Farnsworth; the little balcony where I’d sit and cry in the months following the loss of Eleanor. Even though it was late fall then, the cold air helped keep me grounded. It reminded me that I needed to go inside, to come back to reality eventually.

Yes, this place has seen me through many an up and down. And now it’s time to let it go.

I follow my dad outside.

“You know,” he remarks when he sees me, “after hefting all these books of yours into this truck, I have to say—your new job is lucky to get such a well-read young lady.”

The back of the truck slams shut. “You have no idea how lucky,” Oliver says, walking toward me with a huge grin on his face.

My father smiles, too. “You’re both pretty lucky, I think.”

“You’ve got that right,” I agree.

Dad’s driving the moving truck to Ogunquit for me. He’ll stay at Beach Haven for a few days and work on unloading everything. I feel horrible that I can’t be there to help him, but Oliver and I have somewhere we have to be this weekend, and my father insisted that he didn’t mind.

“I think I need some time at the beach,” he’d admitted. “It’s been calling to me.”

I’d nodded my understanding. “It’ll be good for you to be there.”

“Ready?” Oliver asks.

“Ready.” We say goodbye to my father, and Oliver helps me up into his truck.

“So, are there any particularly frightening relatives I should know about ahead of this wedding?” I joke when we pull away.

His smile starts. “Oh, did I not warn you about my Aunt Marcy?”

“No…why?”

He shakes his head in feigned disgust. “Let’s just say you’d better brush up on your political conspiracy small talk.”