Chapter 6 - Pacific Sanctuary
The journey north along Highway 101 was the longest drive I had undertaken alone since Sebastian’s passing.
Every fifty miles, my left knee stiffened into an iron knot, and a dull, throbbing fire radiated through the base of my spine. But every time I pulled into a highway rest stop to stretch my limbs and take a slow sip of water, the sharp terror that had gripped my chest in Theo’s driveway receded a little further, replaced by a strange, buoyant stillness.
By late afternoon, the flat agricultural valleys had given way to towering, moss-draped coastal Douglas firs. The scent of damp loam and pine needles filtered through the car vents, gradually mingling with the crisp, briny bite of the Pacific Ocean.
I crossed the Yaquina Bay Bridge just as the November sun was sinking into a bank of low, purple coastal clouds, casting an amber ribbon across the churning gray water. Beneath the great green arches of the bridge, fishing trawlers glided toward the docks, their deck lights twinkling like fallen stars.
Ten minutes later, I turned down a narrow gravel lane lined with wind-bent shore pines and pulled up beside a cedar-shingled cottage tucked behind a thriving evergreen nursery.
The porch light snapped on before I had even turned off the ignition.
The front door opened, and Nora stepped out onto the wide wooden deck. At seventy-two, my sister looked like an ancient sea captain: silver hair cropped short around her weather-beaten face, wearing a thick wool fisherman’s sweater over denim overalls, her feet planted firmly in waterproof mud boots.
I opened my car door, gritting my teeth as I swung my legs out, struggling to stand upright against the fierce stiffness in my joints.
Nora didn't wait for me to hobble across the gravel. She marched down the steps with brisk, long strides, caught me by both forearms before my knees could buckle, and pulled me into an embrace that smelled of cedar smoke, sea salt, and lavender soap.
"Look at you," Nora murmured into my hair, her rough hands patting my shoulder blades with fierce, protective tenderness. "You're skin and bones, Camila. You're holding yourself like a cracked vase."
"I made it, Nora," I whispered, the exhaustion finally collapsing the walls of my composure. I buried my face against her woolen shoulder, weeping quietly as the cold ocean wind whipped around our ankles. "I walked away."
"Damn right you did," Nora said firmly, stepping back and wiping my cheeks with the rough thumb of her work glove. "And the front door here stays locked to anyone who doesn't treat you like gold. Come on inside out of this gale."
She grabbed both of my heavy suitcases from the trunk as if they were sacks of feathers, ignoring my protests, and ushered me down the flagstone pathway to the detached guest cottage behind her main house.
The cottage was warm, smelling of dried eucalyptus and polished pine. A cast-iron woodstove crackled merrily in the corner, throwing deep, radiating warmth into the small living room. Resting directly in front of the bay window, overlooking a small private garden of heather and rhododendrons, sat a brand-new, charcoal-gray orthopedic recliner with motorized lumbar support.
"Nora..." I breathed, touching the soft fabric. "Where did this come from?"
"Doctor Vance faxed me the exact specifications of the chair you refused to buy for yourself six months ago," Nora said bluntly, dropping my luggage onto the luggage rack. "I went down to the medical supply depot in Newport yesterday morning and had it delivered. Sebastian left you enough money to buy ten of those chairs, Camila. You're going to sit in it, you're going to let the heat soak into your back, and you are not going to lift a finger for a solid month."
She bustled into the tiny kitchen alcove and returned with a steaming mug of rich, golden chicken bone broth seasoned with rosemary and black pepper.
"Drink that," she commanded gently, easing me down into the motorized recliner and pressing the button until my feet were elevated above my hips, instantly releasing the crushing pressure on my sciatic nerve.
A long, shuddering sigh escaped my chest. For the first time in six years, there was no sink full of dirty dishes waiting for me. There was no school calendar taped to the refrigerator demanding my attendance. There was no frantic voice on the other end of a phone asking for three hundred dollars to cover an overdraft.
"Tomorrow morning at ten," Nora said, pulling a wooden stool beside my chair and sitting down, "we are driving to Corvallis. Doctor Aaron Morris is the head of rheumatology at the university medical center. He’s an old friend of mine. He has reviewed your scans."
I looked at her, apprehension flickering in my throat. "Is it bad?"
"It’s not good, little sister," Nora said honestly, her voice dropping its rough exterior. "You've lost significant bone density in your lumbar vertebrae, and your left femoral neck is paper-thin. You were three heavy grocery bags away from a catastrophic fracture. Doctor Morris is starting you on targeted parathyroid hormone injections on Monday. No more delaying. No more skipping treatments to drive children whose parents can't even say thank you."
I looked out through the dark window, watching the rain begin to patter softly against the glass.
Back in California, three hundred miles to the south, dinner was probably over. Hugo was likely sitting on the floor of his bedroom, wondering where his grandmother was. Theo was probably pacing the floor, swearing at automated bill collectors, while Khloe stared at a pile of unpaid invoices she had never once cared to understand.
A sharp pang of sorrow pinched my heart for the little boy with the brown eyes and the sweet little girl who liked pumpkin leaves on her pies.
"I miss the children, Nora," I whispered.
May you like
"I know you do, sweetheart," Nora replied softly, resting her hand over my swollen knuckles. "And they love you. But you can't be a grandmother from the bottom of an early grave. You save yourself first. The rest will sort itself out."
***
