Love beyond the horizon

The rhythmic thud of waves crashing against the jagged cliffs filled the air, mingling with the sharp scent of saltwater and earth. Emily Rose Thompson stepped off the bus and onto the damp gravel road, her heart heavier than the duffel bag slung over her shoulder. The town of Ravenswood lay before her, set between the ocean and the thick woods beyond, an isolated haven-or prison-depending on the view. She looked about the narrow street and the weathered houses, their wooden frames darkened by sea spray and the relentless winds of so many years. Compared to the hubbub of the metropolis she had fled, Ravenswood was poky-quiet, almost eerie, with a stillness that seemed almost sinister to Emily. Even the ocean itself was sluggish, its waves rolling in with a certain lethargy before retreating back into the far horizon. She had picked it for the reason she picked it: the quiet. After the world had spun her around, tossed her up and down, and then pushed her to move on, she wanted to be in a place where the world did not turn so fast. Standing in the middle of the road, having no notion which way to turn, an old man hobbled past, tipping his hat at her like she was a regular in town. His eyes strayed over to her for a moment, and she looked disheveled. Her brown hair was tied up in a knot from this morning, dark circles pressed themselves under her eyes, and an oversized sweater swallowed her whole body. She smiled politely, though it did not quite reach her eyes, and nodded back, her eyes drifting off the little inn down the street, "The Seaside Rest." The name alone would bring her forward. Dragging behind her a duffel bag, Emily plodded toward the inn, that familiar weight in her chest tightening with each step, reminding her all over again of the void inside her: Jack always had been the guide when she was first in a place, his infectious energy and curiosity leading them into adventures she would never have embarked on alone. His memory was strong enough that she could almost feel him behind her prodding her, jokingly saying, I knew you'd get lost somewhere. But Jack wasn't here. Not anymore. Approaching the entrance of the inn, she pushed open the wood door, which creaked softly upon swinging. Over the door gave a ring above it, as the jingling of a bell hangs. The air inside welcomed her with lovely contrasts of lavender and lemon, quite a contrast to the breath of the biting sea. A woman in her fifties stood behind the counter; her kind eyes melted on seeing Emily. Come up to the Seaside Rest," she said, smiling, "You must be Miss Emily Thompson. I've got a room all ready for you." Emily blinked. "How do you know? The woman's smile grew wide. "Not many new faces come to Ravenswood without reason. Plus, I had a call from a Miss Lily Foster? Said you'd be arriving today." She paused, her eyes flicking over Emily with a motherly concern. "I'm Annabelle, by the way. If you need anything at all, just let me know.". Thanks," Emily said, forcing up a weak smile. Lily was her therapist in the city and the only one who insisted that this trip was necessary - not that she needed space or isolation to heal but that she desperately needed it. Even as Emily's fingers curled around the strap of her duffle bag, she still wasn't sure if it was true. What choice did she have? Annabelle handed the key to Emily and, with just a few quick instructions, sent Emily climbing the narrow staircase to her room. The wooden steps groaned beneath her weight as she climbed the narrow staircase, echoing through the quiet inn. She reached her small room and unlocked the door and stepped inside. It was plain, almost comfortable. A bed with a faded quilt, a small desk by the window, and a dresser. But what drew her attention was the view. Emily put down her bag and went over to the window, staring out over the sea. Water stretched before her for as far as she could see, dark and menacing, the sky above it grayed down. The edge of the water rose in cliffs, jagged and weather-worn. Austerely beautiful in its roughness, it seemed somehow incomprehensible. It made her think of her own grieving—something boundless and unbearable. A gust of wind clattered sharply against the windowpane and jerked Emily out of her reverie. She wheeled round and sat on the bed, sinking into the mattress. Tears of sheer exhaustion flowed down her face. The journey to Ravenswood was long in all respects - body and soul. She was running on vapors, and all she wanted to do was sleep. To retreat, if only for a few hours. Sleep didn't come so easily anymore. Not since Jack. She dug into her duffel bag and pulled out a small photo album, its edges soft from use. She opened it and gazed at the pictures inside, her heart clenching within her. There was Jack, his bright green eyes and sandy blond hair against a smattering of waterfall background on one of their countless adventures. They had been two halves of a whole; now she was only half. Maybe less. Her thumb traced the edge of his face in the photograph, following the direction of the whiplash, the fulminating smear of pain stamped across her chest. A pain she'd grown accustomed to, though it never really did abate. It was always there, lurking just beneath the surface of things, waiting quietly for moments like these to remind her of what she'd lost. Tears blurred her vision. But she blinked the tears away, closing the album and laying it gently on the bedside table. No more crying. That's what Lily had said. Grieve, but don't drown in it. She already spent the better part of a year drowning. It was dusk, and the sun had begun to cast this golden glow upon the room. Emily decided to take a walk; maybe it would clear up her mind. The sea was always beckoning her, but both scared and comforted her at the same time. She needed the wind on her face and the grains of sand beneath her feet. Maybe, just maybe, it would help. She put on her jacket and left the room and walked down the stairs in reverse. The inn was silent, punctuated only by the moaning wind outside. As she stepped out into the evening cool, the chill snapped at her cheeks, and she felt welcome for it. The path down to the beach was steep, lined with tall grasses that buffeted her as they swayed in the wind. And Emily followed it, the waves growing louder with every step. By the time she reached the shore, the sky had darkened to a bruised purple, and the sun was barely a sliver above the horizon. The beach was empty, save for the gulls that wheeled overhead, their cries piercing the air. She slipped off her shoes and let the cold sand cling to her feet as she walked toward the water's edge. Miles and miles of ocean stretched out before her, endless and boundless. For a fleeting moment, she felt small—insignificant in the face of it all. But there was a kind of comfort in that, too. Her troubles, her sorrow, seemed much smaller, less consequential in the presence of this vast expanse. Standing out there, gazing at the horizon, she whispered into the wind, "I miss you, Jack". The words swallowed by the wind were taken away toward the sea, but they brought her no comfort. They only hollowed out her soul. She had been saying goodbyes for months and it didn't get easier. The wind blows strong, ruffling her hair and pulling her back into her thoughts. She wraps herself up tight with her arms across her chest and watches the waves rolling down upon the shore, and they were crashing harder than she had expected. The sea was beautiful and furious at the same time-that was like life; that was like love. She was so completely lost in her thoughts that she hadn't been aware of the figure approaching her in the distance. But she had heard the crunching of footsteps on the sand; and then, turning sharply, she saw a man walking toward her. He was tall, his dark hair blown into a tousled mess by the wind, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coat. There was something about him — something that made her pulse quicken, though she couldn't tell why. His eyes met hers for just a heartbeat before he turned away, disappearing into the shadows of the falling evening. Emily watched him go as the strange flutter of curiosity inside her built. Who was he? Why did she feel like this: agitated? She shook off the idea and turned back to the sea. But even as the waves rolled in, her mind haunted with the image of the stranger; for the first time in months, though, she did not think of Jack.