Carving The Waves

The first warm breeze of the season always drifted through the coastal town of Harborview with a salty tang, but to Claudia, it felt like a reminder of what she was missing. She stood on her porch, the coffee in her hands long gone cold, and stared at the narrow path leading to the beach. For the fifth day in a row, she’d failed to walk down it. The idea of facing the crashing waves and the sound of children playing on the shore was exhausting. She’d let the dunes grow wild around her home, let the sea breeze erode the paint on the porch railings until they were splintered and grey.

A sharp bark broke her reverie. Pippin, her mutt with mismatched ears and a perpetually tilted head, pawed at her sandals. He was restless, as always. He wanted a walk, something she used to do without a second thought. Now, the thought of leaving the safety of her house felt monumental—a task so fraught with invisible dangers that it turned her stomach.

“Not today, Pip,” she murmured, though she doubted he believed her anymore.

Her house was a time capsule of her former life, though she’d done her best to strip it bare. Pictures of her and Evan had been removed from the walls, replaced by nothing. His favorite mug sat cracked on the kitchen counter; she’d tried to throw it away three times but always retrieved it before the garbage truck arrived. His watch, the strap fraying from years of use, still sat on the nightstand, as if he might walk in and fasten it around his wrist again.

It had been two years since Evan had passed. Two years since the accident that had left Claudia with a limp and a heart that refused to heal. People said grief softened over time, that it would become a companion instead of an enemy. But for Claudia, grief felt more like a parasite, growing larger with each passing day. She was its unwilling host, and she didn’t know how to evict it.

By mid-morning, the breeze had strengthened, and the sun glinted off the water, casting shimmering reflections across the sand. Pippin barked again, his tail wagging insistently. Claudia sighed, grabbing her light jacket and scarf from the hook by the door. “Fine, you win,” she said, her voice cracking from disuse.

She trudged to the beach, where families built sandcastles and children screamed with glee as they splashed in the shallows. Pippin pulled at the leash, desperate to chase seagulls or join the fray, but Claudia held him back, sticking to the quieter dunes where the tall grass swayed in rhythm with the wind. The stillness here was less accusatory, less filled with reminders of what she’d lost.

They came to the jetty overlooking the harbor, and Claudia’s breath caught in her throat. It looked so unchanged. The weathered bench near the rocks was still there, the one she and Evan had carved their initials into on their first anniversary. She’d avoided this place for months, afraid of the memories it would stir. But now, standing here with Pippin wagging his tail by her side, she felt an odd mixture of sorrow and warmth.

She sat on the bench, running her fingers over the weathered initials. The carving had faded, but she could still make out the “C & E” enclosed in a jagged heart. She remembered how they’d laughed at how bad they were at drawing hearts, how Evan had joked that their love was better represented by a circle—no beginning, no end. The memory tugged at her like an undertow, and she let herself be pulled under.

“I don’t know how to do this without you,” she whispered. Her words were swallowed by the breeze, but they felt like they mattered, as if Evan might somehow hear them.

That night, Claudia dreamt of the accident again. It was always the same: the winding cliffside road, the deer darting out of nowhere, Evan jerking the wheel to avoid it. She could hear the screech of tires, feel the jolt of the impact, and then—nothing. She’d wake up gasping, her hands clutching the sheets, her body drenched in sweat.

But this time, the dream was different. In the hazy, dreamlike logic of sleep, she found herself back at the jetty. Evan was there, sitting on the bench, his familiar lopsided smile aimed at her. He looked whole, untouched by the cruel hands of fate that had taken him from her.

“You’re stuck, Claudia,” he said, his voice gentle but firm.

“What do you mean?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“You’ve built a shrine to your grief. It’s time to let go.”

“I don’t know how,” she admitted, tears streaming down her face.

He reached out, his hand warm against hers. “Start small. Find something that makes you feel alive again. Just one thing.”

When she woke, the imprint of his hand lingered, as if the dream had been more than a figment of her imagination.

The next day, Claudia stood in the center of her living room, surveying the space with new eyes. Her first instinct was to curl up on the couch and ignore the dream, but something about Evan’s words had lodged itself in her chest.

“One thing,” she murmured to herself.

Her gaze landed on the guitar. It was an old acoustic, slightly out of tune, that had belonged to her grandfather. Evan had always encouraged her to play, but she’d stopped years ago, saying she didn’t have the time. Now, it felt like a relic from another life, its strings gathering dust.

Claudia hesitated before picking it up. Her fingers hovered over the strings, trembling. She strummed one, then another, the notes hesitant and discordant. But as she played, something unlocked within her. The music was clumsy, the melody faltering, but it was hers. For the first time in years, she felt a spark of something she couldn’t quite name.

Over the next few weeks, Claudia returned to the guitar daily. The routine became a lifeline, a tether to the present. She found herself humming as she played, and sometimes, even smiling. She began venturing out more, taking Pippin to new coves and chatting with neighbors she’d avoided for years. The weight of grief didn’t disappear, but it felt less suffocating, less all-consuming.

One evening, as she played a familiar tune, she thought of Evan again. She could almost hear his voice, teasing her for hitting the wrong notes, encouraging her to keep going. And for the first time, she didn’t feel the ache of loss. She felt gratitude—for the love they’d shared, for the memories she could carry forward.

She understood now that letting go didn’t mean forgetting. It meant making room for something new, something that could coexist with the past without being overshadowed by it.

Spring melted into summer, and the town of Harborview came alive with vibrant festivals and salty air. Claudia began volunteering at the community center, teaching music to children who reminded her of her younger self. She found joy in their laughter, in their unfiltered enthusiasm. She wasn’t fully healed—she doubted she ever would be—but she was moving forward, one small step at a time.

One golden afternoon, she returned to the jetty by the harbor. She traced the faded initials once more, this time with a smile. “Thank you,” she whispered, the words carried away by the gentle breeze.

As she stood to leave, Pippin barked, chasing a butterfly that flitted across the rocks. Claudia laughed, the sound bright and unburdened. For the first time in years, she felt the warmth of the sun not as a reminder of what she’d lost, but as a promise of everything still to come.