Zoey stared out over the ocean as the tide relentlessly pulled the memorial flowers out to sea. She stood at the very edge of the rock pier, as if by standing surrounded by the crashing sea on nearly all sides she could somehow be closer to her dad. A salty and cold wind lashed raindrops into her face, but she forced herself not to blink. She watched her wreath of roses dip and surge on the waves, moving towards the horizon and her father’s final resting place.

A soft hand slipped into hers and Zoey turned to face her little brother, Jack. Rain mixed with his tears, creating streaks down his freckled face. His hazel eyes looked up into his sister’s, wordlessly telling her, “It’s okay to cry, you know.”

“It’ll be alright, Jack,” Zoey said, trying to be brave. “We still have each other. You, me, and Mati.”

Jack nodded, then drifted away, sensing Zoey’s need to be alone and, as usual, placing it above his desire for his big sister’s company. Zoey turned back to the sea, but the flowers had drifted out of sight.

Mati. Baby sister Mati. As soon as the memorial service ended, she had scuttled for cover in the car, and was now probably in a corner glued to her phone. How could she so easily forget? Anger rose in Zoey’s heart, muddling with her grief; she clenched her fists at her side.

First Ma…then Junior…Uncle Denver…and now Dad… What is wrong with me? Why is everyone I love dying? Is it too much to ask to have one person there for me? I need you to stay with me…

An umbrella loomed over Zoey’s head, and she started in surprise. She turned to look up at Aunt Mae, a tender brunette still in her mid-thirties. Her soft green eyes and pink cheeks carried premature aging caused by grief. Mae hardly had an easy life, but she continued to smile and encourage her nieces and nephew through the storms of living.

Zoey pushed the umbrella away. “I’m fine, Aunt Mae. Really.”

Mae bit her lip and tried to put her arm around Zoey, but she twisted free. “Zoey, this isn’t going to bring your father back. Say goodbye and let’s go back home.”

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Zoey shook her head vigorously, lashing her face with black ropes of wet hair. She turned and looked back towards the curb side. The rest of the mourners had already driven off, while Jack and Mati sat together in the car. Mati, as usual, was on her phone. Jack watched what she was doing, but then, as if he could sense Zoey’s eyes on him, he looked up at his elder sister. Zoey quickly turned back to the sea.

“How can they move on so quickly?”

“They’re younger than you, Zoey. And you don’t know that they have moved on. To them, your father is still out on that fishing trip and will be home soon. It will take time for them to realize that ‘soon’ may never come.”

Zoey grimaced, the anger rising in her. “It’s not right!” she growled. “He’s alive — I just know it! This whole thing is just one big mistake.”

Mae nodded. “Sometimes hope is the best medicine for grief,” she said. “And perhaps that’s why your siblings are taking it well. They have hope he’s not dead.”

“I would give anything for that to be true.”

“Is that not what you believe in your heart?”

Zoey looked down and whispered, “What I believe doesn’t matter if it’s not the truth.” She turned away, pulling up her coat collar, and walked to the car. She sat in stolid silence the entire ride home, ignoring Mati’s happy chatter about how pretty the flowers were. All Zoey could see was her dad, somewhere out in that angry ocean, drowning.

When they reached the house, Zoey sulked up to the bedroom she shared with her siblings and locked the door. She needed to be alone. She climbed up the ladder to her top bunk and plunged her face into her pillow, sprawling her arms out to either side. Her left hand touched something stuck between the bed and the wall, and she mechanically fished it out. “My phone?” she wondered. It had been missing for a few days. Flipping over onto her back, she idly turned it on and checked the call log. She had a new voicemail from an unidentified number, so she dialled in and started listening. She sucked in her breath as she realized who was speaking, a large, painful lump forming in her throat. When the recording ended, she let the phone drop from her hand and lay staring at the ceiling. Her lips began to quiver as the tears spilled unhindered from her eyes.

“Dad,” she sobbed, turning to face the wall. “You promised, right? You’ll come back.” Her heart agreed with the assertion, but her head followed logic and berated her for the childish behaviour. She was too torn though to care. “I love you too, Dad,” Zoey whispered. “I love you too.”