[COMPLETE]
When Hanna Haddad embarks on what's supposed to be another uneventful summer as a lifeguard on Cape Cod, a trip to the past comes as an unnerving surprise. The discovery of her estranged mother's journal opens up the world of tragedy and...
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My stomach twisted into a knot, and the sudden urge to hurl my last meal overtook me as I stared at the paper in my hand. I stood up slowly on wobbly legs from the corner I'd perched myself in and just barely stuffed the journal into my sweatshirt pocket. I folded my hands over the bulkiness and bolted down the downstairs floor, only to run into my dad in the doorway of the basement, who appeared to have given up on cleaning altogether and was now perched on the top step, phone in hand.
"Everything alright, Han?"
"I'm actually not feeling too well right now," I said, making his head pop up. "I think I'm gonna head upstairs and take a nap."
"That's fine, sweetie, but are you okay?" He surveyed my face for any signs of sickness, brow furrowing. I winced and clutched the back of my neck to make it look like I was in some sort of measurable pain. "You looked fine earlier."
"Yeah, but you know, I spent a lot of time out in the sun today, so I think that's what's giving me this nasty headache." I rubbed my forehead with my knuckles for the effect. "But trust me, I'll be okay."
He nodded, giving me a smile. "If you need me to run down to the pharmacy, just let me know, okay?"
"Thanks, Dad," I said, glad that he was so easygoing, maybe too much so sometimes. I bolted up the stairs and headed straight for my bedroom, mind swirling in a million different directions. When I could finally catch my breath, I pulled out the journal from my pocket and set it down on my mauve bedsheets, staring at the book in front of me as if my life would change after reading it.
Maybe it would.
Opening the letter again, I reread the first line. That nauseous feeling almost subsided as I glazed my eyes over the words, but the bile up my throat returned at the date. The letter was written exactly eleven years ago, and while I wasn't always the most spiritual of people, this gift was no coincidence.
June 20, 2005
10:33 p.m.
My dearest Hanna,
I don't know when you will read this, but if you are right now, it means I've decided it was time.By now you must have noticed the fact that this journal is locked but get this: you're already wearing its key.
I'm wearing its—
I gasped when my hand found my chest, my fingers curling around the small gold key necklace, my high school graduation present. It had never occurred to me that this key had belonged to something, let alone my mother's secret journal.
I've never told anyone many of the things in this journal. They make for the stories that mothers wait to tell their daughters when they turn sixteen, eighteen, or twenty-one. And they create the story for why things had to come to this point.
