#mangata

Little has changed in Amnesty Bay since you’d left seven years ago. 

The same men sit at their usual spots in the bar, albeit with a little more gray in their hair. The same store-clerks gossip with their customers, the town as close-knit as ever. The same lighthouse sits at the top of the cliff, shining its light out over the sea. 

You’d never meant to return, but as you stand on the porch of your parents’ house and breathed in the salty air, you find it hard to remember why you’d ever even left in the first place. 

The setting sun paints everything a golden yellow as you push open the creaky door and enter into the main foyer. You stifle a sneeze as wafts of dust are kicked up by the breeze, taking in the cobwebs that hang from the ceiling and staircase. You set your bags down with a sigh, the exhaustion of the last day finally catching up with you. 

You’d spent the last three days driving up the East Coast to get here, having packed up your things as quickly as possible after receiving a phone call from your uncle. 

You decide to unload the rest of your things from the car tomorrow, choosing instead to explore the house you’d grown up in. 

Just like the rest of Amnesty Bay, little had changed. 

You pause by the kitchen door, stooping slightly to examine the little lines marking your height as you grew older. The kitchen is the part of the house in the best condition, no doubt thanks to your mother. She’d loved to cook, and even as her and your father’s health waned you knew she’d still have wanted to maintain a good kitchen.

Your eyes trail to a piece of paper sitting on the counter, and you can’t stop the tears that well up when you read your mother’s handwriting. 

So focused on simply getting to Amnesty Bay, you’d left yourself little time to grieve, but standing in your parents’ house that was now yours, and reading something as simple as your mother’s discarded grocery list, the grief finally catches up with you. 

A loud knock startles you out of your stupor, and you hastily wipe the tears away as you go to answer the door. 

A man you’re very familiar with stands there, silhouetted against the growing dusk. There are more wrinkles lining his face than you remember, but his kind smile is the same. 

“Uncle Thomas!” You exclaim, throwing your arms around him. 

He hugs you back tightly, and the two of you embrace on the porch for many minutes before you pull away. 

“Look at you, all grown up.” He says, examining you from head to foot. You laugh, leading him back into the house. “I could say the same, Uncle. The years finally catching up to you?”

“Never,” Thomas says, lowering himself into a chair with a groan. “I’m as young and spry as I was twenty years ago.” 

You shake your head with a chuckle, moving into the kitchen to order a pizza for you to share. When it arrives, the two of you eat and talk about your life away from Amnesty Bay, how going to university went and your old job. 

“Do you know if there are any teaching positions open at the schools up here? I’d love to continue teaching.” You ask. 

“I’m sure I can ask around.” Thomas pauses for a second. “... so you plan on staying, then?”

You glance away, looking out the window at the moon’s reflection off the sea. “I never thought I’d come back,” you say slowly. “Growing up, all I ever wanted was to get away from this sleepy town, to live somewhere as young and vibrant as I was. But now, being back by the sea, here in this house, I don’t know how I stayed away so long. I just wish my return was under better circumstances.” 

Your uncle reaches across the table and lays a comforting hand on your arm. You meet his gaze, the grief in his eyes matching your own. You may have lost your parents, but he’d lost his brother, too. 

Silence reigns for a moment before you clear your throat and stand up. “As much as I’ve appreciated this visit, I’m exhausted.” 

Thomas stands too, and you accompany him to the door. The two of you embrace again before bidding each other farewell. You are left alone once more, the old house creaking as you make your way upstairs to your parents’ old bedroom. 

The room is as dusty as the rest of the house, but you pay it little mind as you unceremoniously drop your bags on the floor and open a window to let the breeze in while you sleep. 

You go through your bedtime routine in a fog of tiredness and grief, not bearing to look at the pictures lining the walls or your parents’ belongings still strewn about. When you finally collapse into bed, sleep takes you immediately. 

~~~

You rise with the sun the next morning, enjoying a mug of tea on the back porch while you plan on what to do with your day. 

You decide to unload your car first, making a quick call to your friends from your old home to make sure they would be sending the rest of your things in the next few days. You spend the rest of the day cleaning the first floor, sorting your parents’ things into “keep” and “give away” piles. You stop at about midday, covered in sweat and dust as you look over your work. 

You’d started with the living room first, and were quite proud of what you’d accomplished to say the least. You’d rearranged the furniture to your liking, swept and mopped the hardwood floors, and cleaned out your father’s old bookcases to make room for your own books that would be coming. Most importantly of all, you’d vigorously cleaned the grande piano sitting in the window, its ivory keys now gleaming. 

You sat on the bench, pressing down on a random note and wincing at the out-of-tune pitch that filled the room. You would definitely need to call someone about getting it tuned. 

The antique grandfather clock in the hall chimes noon, and you jump up, having forgotten about the plans you’d made with Thomas to meet him for lunch. 

After a quick shower you dash out the front door, hopping onto your bike and pedaling into town. Your uncle is already at the restaurant, the only one in town, when you get there, and you apologize profusely for keeping him waiting. 

“It’s no problem,” He smiles easily. “An old man knows how to wait.” 

You scoff before biting your lip as a thought occurred to you. “Where’s Arthur? You didn’t mention him yesterday and I’d really like to see him.” 

Thomas sighs, suddenly looking his age as his shoulders sag. “You know he’s always been surly and moody. He’s been away the past few years now, but he calls every once in a while. He’s coming back for the funeral.”

You nod, swallowing the sudden lump in your throat as the waitress comes by and takes your orders. 

“Oh, I asked around like I said I would, and I think I found something you’ll be really happy about,” Thomas says conspiratorially. “The high school has an open spot for a music teacher, and they want you to take it.” 

You raise an eyebrow in suspicion. “There was no music teacher when I went there. How can there be an open spot for a job that’s never existed before?” 

Your uncle simply shrugs with a twinkle in his eye and mimes zipping his lips. You shake your head in amusement at his antics. “Thank you, uncle, for abusing your power as an eligible bachelor and convincing the principal to create a job for me,” you say teasingly. 

The rest of the meal passes lightheartedly, and he accompanies you to the market afterwards for groceries before giving you a ride back. 

“Make sure to board everything up tonight,” he warns as he helps you gather your bags. “There’s supposed to be a really bad storm blowing in. I’ll swing by in the morning to check on you, but call me if anything happens.” 

The two of you part ways once more, and you pass the afternoon on your hands and knees scrubbing the kitchen floor. The wind picks up outside as dark clouds begin to creep over the horizon, hiding the beginning of the sunset from view, and you decide to stop cleaning for the evening to watch the storm. 

You’d forgotten how the ocean can be both beautiful and terrifying, and you watch in awe as large waves crest and crash against the beach. Lightning flashes brilliantly through the sky, illuminating the bay as thunder rolls in the background. 

You gasp suddenly, spotting a shape crashing onto the shore as waves pounded relentlessly. You press yourself against the window, trying desperately to see what it is. Lightning flashes again, the unmistakable shape of a man struggling to stand sending you dashing out into the storm. 

You’re soaked almost instantly you race down the cliff stairs as quickly as you dare, rain whipping into your eyes making it hard to see. Your feet sink into wet sand as you descend onto the beach, pushing wet hair from your eyes as you frantically search for the man. 

You hear a low groan between peals of thunder, spotting a dark shape laying on top of the sand. You run over to him and fall to your knees, turning him over to rest on his back. You barely register his handsomeness as you feel for his pulse, faint but still there. You look over the rest of his body, pushing away your curiosity at his strange attire when you see the chain twisted around his ankle and the metal lobster trap dragging at the end of it. The skin around his ankle is rubbed raw and bleeding, and you struggle with the chain as you try to remove it. 

“I’m sorry, but this is going to hurt,” you say through gritted teeth, giving the chain a harsh tug that frees it from the man’s leg. He groans in pain as you toss it away, the rain beginning to fall even harder. 

You somehow manage to get him sitting up, wrapping his arm over your shoulder as you prepare to stand. “If you can hear me, I’m going to need you to help me get you standing.” 

He doesn’t reply, but you feel his fingers grip your shoulder for a moment before his hand falls limp again. 

You take in a deep breath before pushing yourself to your feet, your legs shaking under you as you shoulder most of the man’s weight. You begin walking one step at a time through the rain, exhaustion and cold starting to sap you of your strength. 

You push yourself to continue though, knowing that if you stop even once you might not be able to start again. After what feels like hours, you finally make it off the beach and up the cliff to your house. 

Water streams off your forms as you awkwardly maneuver your way into the living room, plopping the man unceremoniously onto the couch as the last of your strength leaves you. You collapse onto a chair, panting hard and shivering violently as the storm continues to rage outside. 

As you catch your breath, you take the opportunity to finally fully examine the stranger you just saved. Dark hair streaked with gray falls across his shoulders, and while he isn’t brawny, you can see the outline of muscle on his body. His face is peaceful as he sleeps, but you can see the fine lines from worry and stress that he must carry during his waking hours. Despite being on the older side, you can’t help but find him incredibly handsome. 

It’s then that you remember his ankle, your legs screaming in protest as you stand once more to fetch the first aid kit. You clean and bandage the wound as best you can and place a pillow underneath his foot to elevate and stop the bleeding. You run your fingers tentatively over the material of his clothes, pulling away at the almost scaly feeling. Leaving that mystery for when he wakes up, you drape a blanket over him and place a glass of water on the table before heading upstairs to change into dry clothes. 

After a hot shower, you can barely keep your eyes open, and stumble into bed where dreams of crashing waves and ocean blue eyes plague you all night long.