𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄
— 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒶𝓁𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝒷𝑒 𝓂𝓎 𝒽𝑜𝓂𝑒 —

𝐎𝐀𝐊𝐋𝐄𝐘 𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐒 has feared this moment for what feels like a lifetime. And now that it has arrived, although a part of her heart is still reluctant, she has come to accept that the following events are necessary for the well-being for her twin — or the ghost of him, at least. After her heartfelt conversation with Quil that revealed their true feelings for one another, the couple bundled up within his truck and retrieved flowers from the nearest florist shop. Wildflowers we're Graham's favorite; in any event that the family passed a field full of them while on a road trip, young Graham would request that their father pull over. The eldest Torine twin would hop from the vehicle all too quickly and pick a batch of the prettiest flowers he could find and bring them back to Oakley.

Now it is her responsibility to get the flowers.

They walked from his home to the dock, so that Oakley had the opportunity to grasp her thoughts before they reached the beach so quickly. She had not taken the time to think of what to say — all she wanted to hear before this moment were things that would make it harder when they say goodbye. But now that the moment is approaching, she is faced with the difficult task of finding all of the right words to speak aloud, remember all the things she has wanted to say, recall all the things she remembers about her older brother. All of the memories, the sentiments, wrapped up into a short goodbye . . . one that has come far too soon.

Now that Oakley thinks about it, she never properly got the chance to let go of her mother either. Lost within the damage that the accident caused, her feelings still scratch away at her heart — all of the advice she wanted from her mother, the love that vanished, she wanted it back.

Perhaps she is letting go of two instead of one.

"Are you sure that you want to do this today?" Quil asks as the trudge through the forest, a breeze cold against their flushed cheeks. "You've been through a lot Oakley, you don't have to rush into anything if you are not ready yet."

"This feels right," she admits, her eyes set forward, focused on the dock only yards away. "As much as I don't want to admit it, now is the right time."

Something is missing, her heart whispers to her.

The rain has stopped, long gone after the lovers reconciled and made their relationship a reality. Perhaps nature agreed with Oakley, and would allow her these final moments to grieve in peace. Many times, it had interrupted her tears, but not today — not the last day.

Stepping onto the dock feels natural to Oakley, but foreign as she had not visited in the previous days. She stops in her tracks for a moment, flowers with her hand, allowing the wind to sweep her hair from her shoulders as she listens to the crashing waves. The water is much softer than she remembered, much kinder than the night it took her family away. Perhaps it, too, was apologizing. The water effortlessly tugs sand into its waves, mixing the particles and dropping them to the bottom to be forgotten and untouched. Maybe one day they would resurface, or maybe they would remain in the depths forever.

Quil waits patiently as Oakley bends to lift a rotting board from the dock. Beneath the board is a sort of cubby hole, containing a single damaged box that had seen far too many days of harsh weather. But it was beautiful, not because of its outward appearance, but because of what it held — months of letters stored away safely inside, keeping them safe and keeping the grievances of a broken girl a secret. The Torine girl sits on the damp moor, placing the piece of wood back in place, and turning to the box. She lifts the lid, revealing the letters, the treasures, inside.

Each one holds a memory, a different day of sadness that Oakley wished her mother could read. On many nights, she hoped that her mother would leave a letter of her own, one addressing every single struggle that would reassure her daughter that everything would be okay. But she didn't — Oakley wonders now if her mother had read them from her watery grave. Could her mother see her from the other side, wherever that may be?

Oakley takes the letters with her as she reaches the edge of the dock, removing her sneakers and dipping her toes into the shallow waters. Spencer had visited this very place once, trailing in his daughter's shadow with the cognizant intentions of letting go. With a fresh bouquet of daisies that he had individually placed into the depths, he gripped tightly onto the desiccated balustrade and murmured his goodbyes to the love of his life and the son he was lucky to have. That was also the day in which he first overheard the conversations his daughter shared with herself as a coping mechanism for the loss; her brother is here, she endlessly promised in the hopes that her father would understand. Instead of listening to any attempted justification, he had removed Oakley from the Reservation school district, hired a private tutor advisor, and scheduled biweekly appointments with a therapist that would guarantee her return to normality.

But what Oakley Torine did not was that her father did believe her — his way of coping was different, and he repudiated any mention of it, but he internally accepted the fact that his daughter could see the ghost of his son. It hurt to know that she held onto him; Spencer used his seeming ignorance to try and convince his daughter to let go, and even the therapy did not help her to do so. He should have spoken to her, and yet every time he attempted to, he could overhear her hushed conversations directed toward Graham, and he would lose every intended word in a crashing wave of breathlessness. He let her hold on, while he locked himself away behind a desk with manila folders and hotel doors, in which he could put his grief elsewhere.

Perhaps he should have told her before — but now that he stands in the forest, overlooking his daughter and her new boyfriend, he realizes that he had been wrong. He had not been the father she needed. But now he can be; something had told him to come to this dock in this moment, and Spencer Torine would not refuse the opportunity to be there for his daughter.

Never again.

"Is he with us?" Quil speaks to Oakley as she brushes her fingertips over the worn envelopes.

She only nods in response, feeling her brother's presence at her side. Her feeling of emptiness has disappeared, and so she assumes the absence of her brother was creating the hole — she has yet to notice her father's presence, and realize that he was the very thing that had been missing.

Perhaps that had been the case all along.

"I wish there were a way for you to stay here," Oakley speaks openly to Graham. "So that we could spend our lives together, despite the fact that I am the only one to see you."

Graham nudges her shoulder with a smile, lightening her mood, "You know that I don't belong here anymore. There is a place for me, somewhere far from here."

Oakley nods, biting her lip in the slightest. "I think I have been stuck. I am attached to the girl that could have died here with you — my past self — and like I have with your ghost, I refused to let go of her." Without the existence of her brother and mother, the Torine house will never be a home again.

"You aren't that girl, Oakley, and it's time that you let her go too." Graham reaches for her shaking hand, holding it within his. "As a boy who knew that girl, I am here to assure you that you are doing far better than what you perceive. She would be proud of you." He nudges her hand forward, making her drop the wildflowers into the water. "Here lies Oakley Torine, the best sister a boy could ever ask for in the short time of living."

The many handwritten letters are the next to be tossed in; as they sink below the tide, Oakley can feel a weight lift from her chest. Perhaps she was always meant to allow the past to die. She always imagined that she would fade along with it, or maybe her heart would forget . . . but the memories still reside in the same place as they had only seconds before. This time, however, they don't hurt. "You always said that you were the luckiest guy that ever lived." Her voice is fragile, but she continues as the box finally disappears, "But Graham, I am filled with gratitude that you were mine. I was the lucky one."

"I was scared that I might forget," Oakley admits aloud. "Now I realize that it is impossible to do that. I am going to see you everywhere and look for you in everything I do. But I have  spent too much time in the darkness," she shakes her head, staring at the sun that sets just beyond the horizon. "And now I am at peace; at peace with where I've been, with what I've been through, and with where I'm heading." She sends a soft glance in Quil's direction, her eyes sincere with content.

Graham rests his shoes in the water of First beach, a smile forming on his lips as he looks to her. "We will always be here for you."

Understanding that it's time for his departure, her tears come again. But she does not mourn the loss of her brother and mother . . . she is cherishing their last goodbye. Her tears stain her cheeks red, but she does not brush them away as Quil Ateara places his hand upon her shoulder. "Do you think you will see her, wherever you are going?"

He nods, lowering his body into the water, back into his grave where it belongs. "She is waiting for me, I can feel it." Graham's eyes fall on a figure that approaches his sister, a smile falling into his lips — one of acknowledgement. "I knew he could feel my presence too. He believed you the whole time."

Oakley turns, her watery eyes meeting those of her father. "You came," she seems astounded, her eyebrows furrowed, "but how did you—"

"Something told me that I needed to be here," Spencer stares down at his daughter with a look of defeat, "it is far past time that I apologize for my behavior."

Oakley swallows, unable to comprehend the fact that her father was finally speaking with her, letting her know that he believes her too.

"Just do me a favor before the two of you part ways," the older man speaks up again. Tears of his own well within his eyes — Oakley had not seen this emotion in her father since the very night that destroyed their family. "Tell Graham that his father loves him." He chokes, stumbling on his own words as he pulls a hand from the pocket of his suit pocket and places it over his mouth, "and let him know that I noticed every time he moved the files on my desk, the little scribbles he left on my post-it notes. I can feel him everywhere, and I miss him very much." Her father needed this cry, it was long over due.

"I love you too, Dad," Graham looks up to his father, although he cannot hear him. "Hold onto Quil every day for me, and let him know that I am so thankful that you have him. Any time you need to talk to me, I will always be listening — just because you won't be able to see me doesn't mean I won't be here. I will always be with you. I could never leave you, Oakley Torine."

"I love you so much, Graham." She cries her body shaking as the flowers float far away from her, some sinking to the beach floor with the forgotten sand and ruined letters. "Rest gently for me."

"Breathe easy now, Oakley," the boy lowers the remainder of his body into the water, placing a lasting kiss upon her delicate hand as his chest falls beneath the surface, "you don't have to carry us with you anymore."

And like the night in which the Torine family was separated, Graham is slowly taken under by the water of First Beach. Oakley watches her brother descend into the cool darkness, wishing him the freedom he was unable to grasp while she held onto him so tightly. He fades so gently into the tide, the water holding tightly onto him — it cherishes Graham Torine in a way that it had not before. The water is much kinder when it pulls him down under, much more understanding; his clothing ripples, his eyes staring up at her as he smiles in reassurance.

He will be okay.

Oakley catches a short glimpse of her mother's silhouette as she holds her son's hand, her white dress flowing all around her and her hair forming a halo.  Perhaps it was only a figment of her imagination when she sees her mother floating in the shallow tides, watching the Torine daughter with the same smile her lips always held . . .

She did see her mother as she and Graham fell into nothing, the darkness taking them away like it had so many months ago.

But this time, it took them lovingly.

If only for a ghostly moment.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐃