Chapter Seventeen: WATCHING THEM
889 Words
Eli
I used to think vacations were pointless.
A waste of time.
A disruption to work.
An inconvenience.
Then Kira was born.
And suddenly vacations stopped being about resting.
They became about memories.
The kind that lasted.
The kind that mattered.
I sat beneath the shade of a beach umbrella, a tablet resting forgotten beside me.
For once, I wasn’t reading reports.
Wasn’t answering emails.
Wasn’t preparing for the next deployment.
I was simply watching.
Watching Kira.
Watching my daughter race across the shoreline as if she personally owned the ocean.
Her bright swimsuit was already covered in sand.
A fact she appeared very proud of.
Beside her, Miss Kingsley wasn’t much better.
The two of them were attempting to build something near the water.
Or destroy something.
Honestly, I couldn’t tell the difference anymore.
Their plans changed every five minutes.
One moment it was a castle.
The next it was a fortress.
Then a kingdom.
Then apparently a mermaid palace.
I had stopped trying to keep up.
The sound of their laughter drifted across the beach.
Loud.
Carefree.
Unfiltered.
Kira suddenly scooped up a handful of wet sand.
A dangerous sign.
I knew that look.
Miss Kingsley apparently didn’t.
A mistake.
A rookie mistake.
“Baby, what are you—”
Too late.
The sand flew.
Miss Kingsley gasped dramatically.
“Kira!”
Kira collapsed into laughter.
I shook my head.
The child had absolutely no survival instincts.
Miss Kingsley retaliated immediately.
As expected.
Within seconds both of them were engaged in a full-scale sand war.
Neither showed mercy.
A gull flew overhead.
The ocean rolled gently against the shore.
And somehow, despite the chaos unfolding in front of me, the moment felt peaceful.
My gaze lingered on Kira.
She looked happy.
Truly happy.
Not the polite smile she sometimes wore for photographs.
Not the forced happiness children used when they thought adults expected it.
Real happiness.
The kind that reached her eyes.
The kind Stephanie always loved most.
The thought of my wife arrived unexpectedly.
It still happened sometimes.
Certain moments called her memory forward.
Kira’s laugh.
A familiar smile.
A sunset.
Little things.
I looked toward the water again.
Miss Kingsley had finally surrendered.
Or at least pretended to.
Kira stood triumphantly with her hands on her hips.
“Victory!”
Miss Kingsley pointed accusingly.
“You cheated.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
“I am innocent.”
That statement was so ridiculous that even from where I sat, I nearly laughed.
Kira noticed.
Immediately.
“Daddy!”
I looked up.
She pointed dramatically.
“Daddy saw!”
“I saw.”
“Tell Nanny I won.”
I considered it.
Then shook my head.
“I value my safety.”
Miss Kingsley looked pleased.
Kira looked betrayed.
Both reactions felt appropriate.
The argument resumed.
Naturally.
I watched them for a while longer.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Because when Miss Kingsley first arrived two years ago, she’d seemed so uncertain.
So nervous.
Always worried about making mistakes.
Always apologizing.
Now she moved through life with Kira as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
The two understood each other effortlessly.
Sometimes without words.
Sometimes with far too many words.
Usually Kira’s.
The bond between them had become impossible to ignore.
Not that I minded.
Kira needed people who loved her.
People she could trust.
People who stayed.
A shadow crossed my thoughts.
Stayed.
That word carried more weight than it should.
For years it had been just Kira and me.
Everyone else came and went.
Nannies.
Tutors.
Staff.
People left.
People always left.
Yet Miss Kingsley remained.
Despite the challenges.
Despite my temper.
Despite my long absences.
Despite everything.
She remained.
A loud splash interrupted my thoughts.
I looked up.
Kira had dragged Miss Kingsley into the shallow water.
Both were soaked.
Both were laughing.
The setting sun reflected across the waves, turning the ocean gold.
For a brief moment, I found myself committing the scene to memory.
Not because it was extraordinary.
Because it wasn’t.
That was the point.
It was simple.
A child laughing.
A young woman laughing with her.
The ocean.
The sunset.
The kind of ordinary happiness that people rarely appreciated until it was gone.
Kira suddenly waved both arms.
“Daddy!”
I sighed.
Here we go.
“Come swim!”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I enjoy peace.”
Miss Kingsley laughed.
Kira looked offended.
“You are boring.”
“Frequently.”
“Daddy!”
I ignored her.
Kira huffed.
Then immediately resumed playing.
Crisis resolved.
For now.
I leaned back in my chair and watched the waves roll toward shore.
The evening air was warm.
The beach peaceful.
And for the first time in a long time, there was nowhere else I wanted to be.
Not a military base.
Not a briefing room.
Not an office.
Just here.
Watching my daughter laugh beneath a setting sun.
Sometimes, I realized, the most important moments weren’t the dramatic ones.
They were the quiet ones.
The ones that slipped by unnoticed.
The ones that felt ordinary at the time.
And somehow, sitting on that beach while Kira and Miss Kingsley argued over who had started the water fight, I knew this was one of those moments.
A memory worth keeping.
- Writer
