Ebb and Flow

The waves washed over Jamie’s toes, hiding them, then revealing them once more, leaving tiny grains of sand.  She giggled, wiggling her toes in the sand, delighted by the never-ending game with the ocean.  Jamie splashed into the water, laughing.  A wave lifted her and carried her further out to sea.  A small hand of panic gripped her, and she struggled against the ebb and flow of the current.  Jamie made it to shore easily and sprawled onto the sand, knowing her sudden panic had been silly.

“Jamie,” her father’s voice rumbled.

Jamie turned her face to look up at the towering man she associated with the champion of closet monsters and things that went bump in the night.  She gave him a gap-toothed smile, squinting at his figure silhouetted against the bright sun.

“Let’s go honey.”

Jamie slipped her small hand into his large calloused one.  It was a comforting hand, strong and reassuring.  She knew no harm could come to her as long as she held onto it.   

“Daddy, why do the waves do that?”  Jamie pointed to the receding waves.

“They do that to say hello and good-bye to you,” he answered, giving her hand a small squeeze.

Jamie nodded and accepted the explanation without question, not telling him her own thoughts of why they acted in such a way, and following her father to the car where her mother was closing the trunk, their beach chairs packed away. 

Jamie was about to climb into the backseat of the car when something caught her eye.  A perfectly shaped seashell lay in the bright hot sand.  Its inside was pink, the outside white with brown and black speckles.  Jamie knelt and scooped up her treasure, showing her father.

“That’s very beautiful, Jamie,” her father smiled. 

Wordlessly, Jamie put it in his hand, closing the big fingers around the shell to protect it.

“Don’t you want to keep it?” he asked her quizzically.  Jamie shook her head, unable to explain her sudden desire to make sure the shell came to no harm, and knowing her father was just the protection it needed.

“It’s for you.  It will keep you safe when you go on another trip,” she explained, as if this were obvious.

Her father opened his mouth to say something, then closed it.  Jamie looked back, confused by the strange expression on his face.  Finally he swept her into a great hug and kissed the top of her blonde head.  Not knowing what else to do, she wrapped her small arms around his neck and hugged him, settling her head in his large shoulder. 

***

Jamie looked down at her father.  Once a helicopter pilot for the military, he lay in the hospital bed, hooked up to a machine that showed his life in a green line, beeping with each apex that flashed across the screen, signifying all he had been and done.  It was a pathetic way to signal the life that had accomplished so much.

He gave her a tired smile, the wrinkles around his dark brown eyes crinkling.  His bald head was frail and she desperately wanted to shelter it from the outside world somehow.  Instead, Jamie returned the smile as well as she could, trying to hide her anger and frustration at her strong father’s frailty.   

“How are you?” Jamie asked quietly, afraid to disturb the quiet atmosphere of the hospital room.  The cream colored walls were a poor attempt by the designers to make the room friendly.  It was a lie desperately wanting to be truth.  She hated the color with sudden ferocity and wanted to clamp her eyes shut so she could no longer see it.

“I’ve been better,” he said truthfully.  That was the thing with him, he always told the truth, never one to lie to put others at ease, not like the walls.  He believed in stark truth, and in his advanced age refused to sugar-coat anything for the mental well-being of another.  Jamie felt a huge wave of love for her father wash over her, ecstatic that the illness had been unable to take this part of him away.  It had taken so much, but it had not taken his mind, and for that she was grateful.

Jamie’s smile faltered, and her facade cracked.  If he was still bent on telling the truth, then so would she.  Warmth welled in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.  A large calloused hand reached up and wiped the tear away.  Jamie grasped it and held on tight, knowing that she was protected as long as she did not let go. 

“Jamie,” he whispered.  She looked up, trying to rein in her emotions.  She had not felt so defeated since the doctor had given them the diagnosis. 

He smiled and held out his protective hand.  Jamie reached up to take what he was holding.  A small curved object fell into her hand.  She looked at it, and fresh tears began to fall. 

“This is yours,” she whispered, trying to give the perfectly shaped shell back. 

“And now it’s yours,” he replied.  “I’ve had it for years.  It kept me safe on all my missions, Jamie.  It did its job.  It’s time you get to use it.”  He closed her fingers around the shell. 

Jamie nodded and took the shell, holding back more tears, kissed the old crinkled forehead, and held his hand as he fell asleep.  For hours the green line continued to ebb and flow, and then became flat.  Jamie smoothed her father’s brow, stood, and left the room. 

Getting into her car, she took the fastest route to the ocean, no longer afraid, because the bit of her father she held in her hand would keep her safe.