Fare Forward Read Online Free PDF Page B

shift when the sounds of our laughter become low echoes in my head, thoughts with sonorous vibrations. It feels as if we are moving in slow motion. Slow, slower. Sound and action twist together, backward, forward, flashing before my eyes. It is that feeling, the one I don't understand, but this time it is a terrifying realization of impending doom. I can feel my body electrify, an immeasurable amount of energy with no place for discharge. The droning sound gets louder—thunderous, deafening, painful—and I reach up to hold my hands on either side of my head. I try desperately to stop it, what I see happening to Lily.
    Just at the moment the last of the day's light slips away and darkness envelopes us, two beams of light come around the corner and shine directly on our moving frames, freezing Lily's beautiful smile in an expression of abandon and joy.
    It is too fast.
    Screeching tires, lights, wind, speed, and combustion as time and energy merge and explode into our space on the sidewalk. I try to scream but I trip and fall to the ground.
    "NO! Lily! No!"
    Does she hear me? Did she hear it too? I pull myself up and turn to look at her, but she is twirling in a dance move we had learned earlier that week. Emily is hunched over, laughing. I try to cry out as the reality of what is about to occur flashes before my eyes. Sometimes vague or unclear, this time I understand the impending horror with perfect clarity as my ability to see into the future tortures me with a vision I don't want but cannot control.
    "NO!!!!!" I scream as I turn around and see the car.
    It rounds the corner too quickly. It loses control.
    I lunge for Lily's beautiful frame as she jumps up to reach a tree's red limb, hair dancing around her head, smiling and unafraid. Right before the car crushes her body, our eyes meet. In the unspoken exchange is an acceptance as she realizes it is too late to escape, and I helplessly submit to the finality of our last childhood moment together.

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7
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TWELVE YEARS LATER
GLOUCESTER, MA — AUGUST 2005
    T HE PATH TO THE beach never changes.
    The timeless beauty of this place slows my heartbeat and steadies my breathing. I feel calm, energized as my feet push through the deep sand. The sea air fills my lungs and paints circles around my face as it catches my hair in a swirling dance. The wind speaks to me, silent echoes of recognition.
    You are not alone, Gabriella. I am with you.
    I hear my grandmother's words, the ones she whispered into my heart. It is always like this, the connection to her. On this beach path that I have traveled so many times, the sea and wind meet me with open arms, acknowledging my return, a union of flesh and limbs, breath, wind, sand and sea.
    "Yes," I breathe softly.
    The grasses bow in a rhythmic wave of greeting as the water shimmers from the early-morning light.
    Winking.
    This beach was my summer. It held so many memories of time with Emily and Lily, my grandparents, and the beautiful town of Gloucester. I remembered the many nights we spent as children lying on the beach together looking up at the dark sky, counting the shooting stars and tracing their momentary arc. I knew their life continued well beyond our line of sight. It made me think about what we can see and feel and touch—and what we cannot. What comes before and what comes after, our endless search for answers and the drive to explore and understand everything.
    The beach, the house, and my family history were an open book, waiting for us to discover the many mysteries they contained.
    "Wow, look at this one, Gabriella!"
    I remembered clearly the day Emily had held up a small yellowed photograph in a tarnished silver frame of a distinguished looking couple leaning against a ship's railing. They smiled into the camera with a fierce pride and independence.
    "Emily,
please,
put that down," I had begged her. "We're not supposed to touch things in her studio."
    I hadn't wanted to cross the line into my grandmother's private