What the Waves Keep

The sun bore down mercilessly, turning the small seaside chapel into a furnace. Outside, where the endless blue sky met the dark churn of the ocean, the horizon shimmered with life.

I sat in the front pew, the scratchy black lace of the dress I borrowed from Maddie, Victoria's best friend, clinging to my damp skin. Sitting in the suffocating heat, I had realized the dress’ faults: too tight around my arms, too short at the hem, too loose at the waist.

Everything about today felt wrong, down to the dress. 

My knees were pressed together, hands gripping the chair like a lifeline. I had thought that if I held on tight enough, I would be safe from the tide of emotions threatening to drag me under; I had thought that if I hoped hard enough, Tori would come back. I was wrong, of course. 

My parents sat to my right. Dad held himself like a mast, stiff and tall. His face gave away no emotion, his eyes fixed forward, but his hands gave him away– squeezing my mother's shoulders restlessly. Mom was bent over like a branch of a crooked tree, her face covered by the wide-brimmed hat she insisted on wearing. I couldn't tell if she was crying. Maybe she hadn’t stopped in the past few months to start again.

The pastor's voice rippled through the thick air, but his words barely reached me. He said nothing that I hadn't heard enough already, she was a lovely girl, God bless her, I'm sorry for your loss. 

Instead, my eyes fixed on the casket, its surface, catching the sunlight that poured through the stained-glass window, glared back at me. A beautifully-polished box, with a delicate arrangement of white lilies placed on top–an elegant lie. I hated that it was beautiful, hated what it stood for. 

There was no body in it, no final goodbyes murmured. Just this box, filled with nothing but absence.

Maddie leaned over, her hand briefly brushing mine. “Are you okay?” She whispered, her voice barely audible over the crashing waves just a wall away from where we sat in the chapel. Maddie always asked questions like that, as if the answer wasn't written all over my face.

“I’m fine.” I lied to her, to myself, to everyone within earshot.

“I’m sorry, Nat,” she said for about the hundredth time. I barely reacted. Maddie was always sorry. She had apologized more in the past three months than she had in her entire life. “I should've been there, I should’ve called her, maybe—”

I cut her off, my voice sharp as jagged rocks “Stop. It's not your fault,” though I really wanted someone to blame. “It wouldn’t have changed anything.”

Apologizing now brought nothing but flimsy reassurances. 

Sorry didn't bring people back. 

Months earlier, the news came crashing like a hurricane through my world.

“Tourist Boat Nephele Vanishes in Red Sea: 44 Passengers and Crew Missing Without a Trace.”

I read the headline over and over until the words lost meaning. Victoria had been on that boat. The Nephele had gone out in calm waters carrying tourists eager for a taste of adventure. Hours later, it vanished. No debris. No warnings. Just silence. 

7 days, 43 missed calls and a missing persons report later, Tori didn't come home. 

For days, I clung to the hope that she was alive. I called embassies, arranged search teams, demanded answers and scoured social media for any whispers of survivors. Nothing. Each phone call that dropped into voicemail brought my heart and will with it. 

The search ended; the sea buried its secrets. As days blurred into weeks, and weeks into months, the world moved on.

Dad didn’t. He had stormed out when I first suggested the funeral.

 “She’s alive, Nat. I know it. You’re giving up!” he yelled, red in the face. “We don't know anything! What if she’s still out there?”

“She’s not!” I snapped back. I regretted the words the moment they left my tongue. They didn’t feel real, spilling from my mouth, but they were true, we both knew it. Or were they?

My mother said nothing; she stood up from her spot by the window and dragged herself upstairs. It had become a habit for her to sit in my sister's room and look at the books on her desk that had started to collect dust. Window. Room. Window. Room.

The taps of my polished black shoes broke the hateful silence as I made my way to the podium. Hastily, I fished out from my pocket the speech that I had prepared =.

I cleared my throat, the tears that I had tried so hard to push down now rushing like high tide. My voice wavered. 

“We’re here today to honor my sister, Victoria. She was… She is…” Salty tears pricked my eyes and the words I had written out blurred together. “She’s… not with us anymore.” The words felt wrong to say missing isn't dead.

Maddie went next. She took a trembling breath. “Tori was the best friend anyone could’ve asked for; she made sure no one was left behind and made everyone feel seen.” I could tell that she was struggling to keep the sad smile on her face. 

Dad spoke too, his voice breaking like crashing waves. “Victoria,” he said, his eyes fixed on the empty casket, “was a fearless girl, always willing to go first, always ready to try something new. She never quit on anything. She's out there somewhere; I know it.”

 His words struck me like stones. Was I leaving her behind? Quitting on her? I didn't have it in me to utter another word.

Two weeks later, I impulsively booked a flight to Egypt. I told no one. Dad would have stopped me, Mom wouldn’t have noticed, and everyone else would have asked why. I had no answers for them, or myself. I only had questions.

Standing on the shore, the water was deceptively calm, its glassy surface feigning innocence, as if it was trying to make me forget that it had taken my sister. I waded in barefoot, the cool water licking at my ankles.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I should've done more. I should've fought harder… ” I dropped my head, tears falling from my eyes and mixing with the salty water lapping at the soft shore. “... but I didn’t know how. And I– I miss you more than I can say.”

The wind carried my words across the shimmering water, and for a fleeting moment, I thought I could hear Tori’s laugh, soft and far away like an echo at the back of my mind. I stared at the horizon, willing for her to appear, alive and feisty as always.

But the sea didn’t answer.

It never does, because it likes to keep its secrets.

This piece was inspired by this news story:

https://www.theguardian.com/world/2024/nov/26/bodies-recovered-from-capsized-tourist-boat-in-red-sea