The mid-morning sun is already brutal, the heat shimmering off the ground as I follow what appears to be an overgrown path toward the sound of running water. The landscape is beautiful in a wild, untamed way–so different from the coastal towns and crowded cities I typically write about.
I find the river where the land dips down, shaded by massive oak trees. It's wider than I expected, the water clear enough to see the rocky bottom in some places. The current looks manageable – strong enough for resistance training but not dangerously so.
I kneel at the edge of the water, the grass damp beneath my knees. My fingers stretch out and skim the surface. The water is cool, smooth, familiar in a way that knocks the air from my lungs. It flows over my skin, that triggers a cascade of memories I usually keep carefully locked away.
Closing my eyes, I feel the sun warm on my face, and just like that, I’m not here anymore.
I’m eight years old, and my mom’s laughter, sharp and sparkling, fills the air as clearly as if she were right here beside me.
Feeling her soft skin under my little hands and gentle kisses on my cheek—my arms locked tight around her neck, as we drift through the bay near our house.Her perfume always something light and sweet, but in the water, she just smelled like home.
She’d always let me hang on, even when I was too big to be carried.
The memories flow into my mind of how she’d hum a little tune under her breath, off-key and cheerful, as she taught me how to float.
“Float like a starfish, my love,” she’d coax with a smile, her hands cool and steady beneath my back. “The water wants to hold you. Just let it.”
And I believed her.
Because she said it with the kind of certainty that made the world feel safe, like all I had to do was listen to her voice and I’d be okay. Even when my chin dipped under and I gasped in a mouthful of salt and fear. Even when I panicked about nothing at all. She never once flinched. She’d lift me with calm, sure arms, push the wet hair from my cheeks, and say gently, “You’re alright. I’ve got you, my love.”
And she always did.
She’d hold me tight and whisper “Even brave girls still get scared,” her lips close to my ear. “The difference is—they try anyway.”
I try to hold it together, but that memory—those exact words—scrape against something tender in me.
A tear rolls down my cheek and falls into the water, bringing another part of me, closer to her.
And now, kneeling at the edge of this lake, I swear I can still hear her humming—just faintly, just beneath the breeze. It curls around my heart and squeezes.
Her memory moves through me like a tide I can’t resist—fierce and soft and filled with love that still lives inside every molecule of water she once swam in.
She’s gone.
But somehow, here, she doesn’t feel so far away.
I open my eyes and tilt my head back, soaking in the sun as it filters through the trees. I take a deep breath. This spot feels like her. Safe. Familiar. Full of love.
“You've found the swimming hole.” I startle at the deep voice behind me, nearly toppling into the water. Grant stands a few feet away, his expression unreadable as he watches me.
“Sorry,” he says, taking a step closer. “Didn't mean to scare you.”
“It's fine,” I say, clearing my throat and trying to slow my racing heart. “I was just checking it out.”
Grant nods, his eyes moving from me to the water and back again. There's tension in his shoulders I haven't noticed before.
“You swim here sometimes?” I ask, rising to my feet.
Something flickers across his face – pain, maybe – before he masks it with a casual shrug. “Not anymore.”
Before I can ask what he means, the sound of hoofbeats draws our attention. Lily appears on a chestnut horse, leading two others behind her.
“Perfect timing!” she calls out, her grin bright in the sunlight. “I was just about to ask if you'd like a tour of the property, Mia? Best way to see it is on horseback.” She beams with excitement.
I hesitate, looking between the siblings. “I haven't ridden since I was a kid.”
“Don't worry,” Grant says, a hint of challenge in his voice. “We'll start slow, and I won't let you fall.”
