Tide

Epilogue

Isaac was always on Ava's mind -- there wasn't a day that went by without her thinking of him. They kept in touch; he'd often call her or write letters, giving updates on how he and Harper were doing, and Ava would write him back. She'd look forward to hearing from him, always checking for missed calls and checking the mail.

Although Isaac never admitted it, however, his anxiety over time only got worse. He hated living with his aunt and uncle. He didn't talk to them all that much; he bottled up all of his stress and kept nearly everything from them. His aunt and uncle didn't hesitate to kick him out by the time he turned eighteen. Isaac and Harper had earned the money from their parents life insurance, though, and he used it poorly. With no one to guide him, he turned to substance abuse at the age of twenty.

Harper Sanford had to deal with the pain of growing up with no parents. She published a novel at the age of fifteen, writing about how she and her brother had dealt with surviving the tsunami in 2004. She also took after her mother -- she was an artist. Ava had read her book and seen some of the paintings she'd made, and they were incredible. Harper was truly talented.

Piper's carefree personality never changed. She and Colton broke up the following year, and after that, Piper met a guy and married him at the age of nineteen. Her friendship with Ava began to fade over the years, especially after Ava moved away.

Ava's mother worked a lot in order to support her family and pay for Ava's education, and despite the amount of stress she was often exposed to, she did her best to keep a positive attitude. She missed her husband and son, but she had this strong belief that one day, she'd see them again.

One day, Ava received a phone call from Harper. Immediately, she could tell that something was wrong. Her voice was all quiet and shaky, and she hesitated a lot; pausing and delaying whatever it was she was trying to say. And then she told her.

Isaac had overdosed and was in the hospital. Ava asked if he was going to be okay. Harper hesitated; she didn't know. Ava spent the next little while looking constantly for missed calls and wondering if he was all right. Then Harper called Ava again, and told her that he'd passed away.

A couple of months later, while Harper was cleaning up and going through some of Isaac's things, she found a series of notes he'd written years ago.

She showed them to her aunt, and her aunt recognized them. They were written after Isaac's first attempt -- approximately a year after the wave had hit. One of the letters was for Ava.

She received it in the mail a while after, remembering how he'd called her years ago and left her worried for weeks -- remembering how she'd spoken to his aunt and was told he'd written her a letter. She didn't think she'd ever have the chance to read it. She didn't want to. With the note held nervously in between her hands, she drew in a deep breath. This was the letter, she supposed, only now she was receiving it many years later.

--

Dear Ava,

I hope this letter gets to you.

I've just finished calling you and a few other people, and I figure writing this all down might be easier. I'm sorry for hanging up on you. I really am. Please don't take it personally.

I want you to understand that life has become extremely difficult for me. I have nightmares, Ava, and flashbacks and panic attacks and I feel a constant weight of guilt - an unbearable amount of guilt that's difficult to comprehend. I used to be easygoing and relaxed and happy, but now I'm just anxious all of the time and I just don't see any reason for me to be here anymore. It's difficult to explain, Ava, but I hope you understand.

I just want you to know that I am happy - perfectly happy - with putting this life to an end.

I also need you to know that you have helped me get through some of the toughest times. I'm not sure I would have made it this far without you. You were always there for me, and for that I am eternally grateful.

As I close off this letter, I want to remind you of how beautiful you are. The moment I met you, I fell in love with you. I don't know how, and I don't know why. I just did. There hasn't been a day that's gone by where I haven't thought of you. I loved you, and I still love you, and I'll love you forever.

I hope that this letter reminds you of how amazing you are. Please don't change.

I wish you the best of luck in life - with your friends and your family. I love you.

Yours eternally,

Isaac.

--

Ava never stopped making it her mission to go out and help people; she'd volunteer somewhere every summer and went to Thailand every other year. Ava was now in her late twenties, working as an elementary school teacher and living in Toronto with her husband and their three-year-old son. She'd named him Mason.

As time went on, she found herself having less flashbacks of the wave. Her nightmares only happened occasionally, and Ava felt happier. She recognized traits of her younger brother in her son, like the way they shared the same Christmas spirit. Her son would run around the house squealing with joy on Christmas day, screaming, "Santa came! Santa came, Mama! And he ate all of my cookies!"

And then Ava would smile and encourage him to open his presents.

Sometimes, though, Ava would watch the sunrise if she was feeling down, or if she'd waken up early and couldn't fall back asleep. She'd think of him, looking up at the sky and trying to find that spark of positivity he'd carried in Thailand. She'd think of the smile he wore when she first met him, and the jokes he'd crack even when they were in the worst of situations. When she was missing him or feeling stressed, she'd just take a seat on the front porch and watch the sunrise, reminding herself that things were going to get better, and like that she'd feel calmer.

--

A three-year-old came running into the room. "Mama! Papa wants to know if you're ready to leave."

It was Ava's anniversary with her husband, and they were about to go out to dinner to celebrate. She drew some lipstick onto her lips and glanced at her son, who stood in the doorway. "Yeah," she said. "Tell him I'll be ready soon. Also, Mason, could you get me my set of pearls, please?"

"Sure. Where are they?" her son asked.

"Check my bedroom. They're probably in the jewelry box in the drawer."

"Okay. And Mama?"

"Yeah?"

"Is grandma going to babysit me?"

"Yes."

Mason smiled and shouted, "Yay!" before running into another room in search of Ava's pearls.

He came back a few minutes later, his small hand tapping onto her shoulder. "Hey, Mama? Why don't you ever wear this necklace?"

She turned to her son, her gaze falling onto his hands. He held the pearls curled up in his fist, but his other arm was stretched out, his palm flat, holding a silver chain attached to the letter A.

She hesitated. "Where did you find that?"

"It was in your jewelry box," he said. "Why don't you ever wear it, Mama? It's pretty."

Ava paused. She remembered Isaac placing it around her neck -- thought of the day she met him and the way he smiled when he spoke to her, dimples dented into his cheeks, his eyes crinkled.

She smiled at the memories, glanced at her son and then whispered, "Because, Mason. There's a very long story behind that necklace."