Read Online The Sandcastle Sister by Lisa Wingate - Free Book Online
Authors: Lisa Wingate
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learned about hers. Despite the almost unspeakable things she endured growing up, she has chosen to be happy where she is, to live in the now.
My sister is proof that it’s possible to leave the past in the past, to deny it any further power. I’ve been stuck in reverse , as RC would put it, still tripping over all the things I thought were behind me. I think about the hyperactive tennis game I’ve been playing with my heart —in one court one minute, in another the next. Marry Evan? Yes. No. Maybe.
Why the constant indecision? Why the lack of faith? Isn’t the way RC loves Johnny and the way he loves her proof enough that we have the potential to heal from even the deepest wounds? Look what she has overcome.
Now she points toward a stretch of shore where, last night, we stood with Lily, admiring a sandcastle that some visitor must’ve spent hours building and perfecting when the nor’easter broke and left behind a sunny afternoon. This morning, the beach is as pure as a field of driven snow. Early sunlight casts diamond dust over the damp sand.
“Not a sign of it,” RC observes. “See? It’s ready for a new day. Clean slate.” She brushes a hand toward the horizon. “Just another little miracle, isn’t it?”
“I guess it is.” I’ve never thought of the tides coming and going as miracles, but they are. They’re proof of how very large God is and how very small I am.
I want to be like this stretch of freshly cleared shore. At times I think, I’m ready. Let the waves wash over me. But then I catch myself running from the tide just before it happens. Lily hasn’t stopped nagging me about returning to Europe. I almost did it, but then my head filled with worries about trips to the airport and leaving Lily to drive Evan’s Jaguar back to the mountains. She’s too inexperienced to make that trip alone.
There are reasons not to go running to Paris, not the least of which being that Evan’s book events are finished. He’s been unexpectedly held over a few more days for a banquet sponsored by his French publisher. He’ll see me when he gets home.
And once the tour is over, we’re officially done doing business together, he reminded me on the phone last night, meaning that he wants an answer to the question he asked me in Bath.
Not if you write another book for me, I teased. Then I’m your editor again.
If that’s the problem, I’ll sell the next book to someone else, he joked.
I suspect that Lily really has filled RC in on all of this. I have a feeling RC’s observations about the sandcastle and life lists are meant to show me that it’s possible to let the ocean take care of itself.
“Guess we better get back to roust Lily and see how that man of mine’s doing this morning.” RC turns toward home, and I’m almost reluctant to make the change in direction. I enjoy this time alone with her. I’ve never had a big sister before.
I want to walk across that waiting stretch of new, sun-glittered sand.
I take one more look at it, and something shoots straight from my heart to my mouth without traveling through my brain. “Where’s the closest airport?”
RC pauses midstride, turns and crooks a brow. The morning breeze snaps and pops her windbreaker. “Airport? Well, that’d be Norfolk.”
My mind races toward that freshly laid sand. “I’m going to Paris. I am. I’m going to Paris to meet Evan. I can book a flight to Greenville for Lily and have someone come pick her up there and take her back to Cullowhee.” No more excuses about where to leave the Jaguar or anything else. I’ll find some sort of covered, secured parking for it and just . . . go.
“Well . . . well, that’s a switch.” RC blinks once, twice, three times, seeming strangely concerned. “You sure?”
I start to rethink it, then admonish myself. I am not backtracking this time. I’m not. I’m stepping out across that pristine sand, where all that existed yesterday has been washed away. I’m making new
My sister is proof that it’s possible to leave the past in the past, to deny it any further power. I’ve been stuck in reverse , as RC would put it, still tripping over all the things I thought were behind me. I think about the hyperactive tennis game I’ve been playing with my heart —in one court one minute, in another the next. Marry Evan? Yes. No. Maybe.
Why the constant indecision? Why the lack of faith? Isn’t the way RC loves Johnny and the way he loves her proof enough that we have the potential to heal from even the deepest wounds? Look what she has overcome.
Now she points toward a stretch of shore where, last night, we stood with Lily, admiring a sandcastle that some visitor must’ve spent hours building and perfecting when the nor’easter broke and left behind a sunny afternoon. This morning, the beach is as pure as a field of driven snow. Early sunlight casts diamond dust over the damp sand.
“Not a sign of it,” RC observes. “See? It’s ready for a new day. Clean slate.” She brushes a hand toward the horizon. “Just another little miracle, isn’t it?”
“I guess it is.” I’ve never thought of the tides coming and going as miracles, but they are. They’re proof of how very large God is and how very small I am.
I want to be like this stretch of freshly cleared shore. At times I think, I’m ready. Let the waves wash over me. But then I catch myself running from the tide just before it happens. Lily hasn’t stopped nagging me about returning to Europe. I almost did it, but then my head filled with worries about trips to the airport and leaving Lily to drive Evan’s Jaguar back to the mountains. She’s too inexperienced to make that trip alone.
There are reasons not to go running to Paris, not the least of which being that Evan’s book events are finished. He’s been unexpectedly held over a few more days for a banquet sponsored by his French publisher. He’ll see me when he gets home.
And once the tour is over, we’re officially done doing business together, he reminded me on the phone last night, meaning that he wants an answer to the question he asked me in Bath.
Not if you write another book for me, I teased. Then I’m your editor again.
If that’s the problem, I’ll sell the next book to someone else, he joked.
I suspect that Lily really has filled RC in on all of this. I have a feeling RC’s observations about the sandcastle and life lists are meant to show me that it’s possible to let the ocean take care of itself.
“Guess we better get back to roust Lily and see how that man of mine’s doing this morning.” RC turns toward home, and I’m almost reluctant to make the change in direction. I enjoy this time alone with her. I’ve never had a big sister before.
I want to walk across that waiting stretch of new, sun-glittered sand.
I take one more look at it, and something shoots straight from my heart to my mouth without traveling through my brain. “Where’s the closest airport?”
RC pauses midstride, turns and crooks a brow. The morning breeze snaps and pops her windbreaker. “Airport? Well, that’d be Norfolk.”
My mind races toward that freshly laid sand. “I’m going to Paris. I am. I’m going to Paris to meet Evan. I can book a flight to Greenville for Lily and have someone come pick her up there and take her back to Cullowhee.” No more excuses about where to leave the Jaguar or anything else. I’ll find some sort of covered, secured parking for it and just . . . go.
“Well . . . well, that’s a switch.” RC blinks once, twice, three times, seeming strangely concerned. “You sure?”
I start to rethink it, then admonish myself. I am not backtracking this time. I’m not. I’m stepping out across that pristine sand, where all that existed yesterday has been washed away. I’m making new
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