Finally You: Luna Harbor, #1

Prologue

Manelik

I run as fast as I can. My heart pounds rapidly.

She’s leaving. 

Mom is leaving. 

I don’t stop, even when Dad calls for me. It was my fault. She’s leaving because of me. 

Big tears run down my cheeks. I can barely see where I’m going, but I know the way to the lake. It’s at the end of the road. I cross the wooden arch where the sign for Knapp Family Farm hangs. The water fountain in the middle of the patio comes into view. It’s made of stone, and the bottom is decorated with colorful mosaics. I pull out the coin I stole from the kitchen jar and make a wish. 

Make this be a bad dream, don’t let her go. 

My stomach heaves. I’m getting sick again, and I can’t stop myself. Just like I did at school and at home, I dirty up the floor. I’m heaving, and my body shakes. I don’t know if it’s because I’m sick or because Mom is leaving us.  

Are you okay? Nydia walks toward me, looking at me with her big brown eyes. They are pretty and expressive. They always make me feel good but queasy. It’s weird, but I like to be around her. She gives me a towel and asks, What hurts?

Mom is leaving, I mumble, but I don’t tell her why. She’s not coming back.

Nydia smiles at me. It’s going to be okay. I don’t see Mom and Dad every day, but it’s okay. They still love me. She still loves you.

I clear my eyes and then my mouth with the towel and ask, You think?

She nods a couple of times, then pushes herself on her tiptoes and kisses me. Love never stops. It only grows.

So my love for you is only going to grow. It’ll never stop? I ask because Nydia is my best friend and I love her. 

Probably. I’ll never stop loving you. She crosses her heart. Even though you make me mad sometimes.

You promise? I ask, tears falling as I continue asking myself why Mom doesn’t love us anymore. 

Only if you promise that you’ll never stop loving me.

Never. I offer my pinky finger. I pinky-swear that I’ll love you forever.

She links her pinky to mine. I pinky-swear, too. Now let’s go with Grandma. She can give you some tea for your tummy.

But before we do, I need to make sure that she’ll never leave me. Forever, right, Nyd?

With a nod, she repeats, Forever.

Chapter One

Nydia

I was raised by a grandmother whose mission in life was to make others feel better and happy.

As her granddaughter, I enjoyed her gift, but also, I inherited that need to help those around me. I’m almost twenty-nine, and I see it as more of a curse than a gift. After so many years on this earth, I’ve learned you can’t please everyone. 

There are even times when I can’t please myself, but that’s a different story. 

Still, I try my best to help those around me. I set up a company whose primary goal is to ensure that everyone who buys my products will feel better. Yes, I got that from Grandma. Some might say I’m setting myself up for failure. Probably, but no one will say I didn’t do something I love for a living. Even when it sounds like an impossible dream. 

I’m an expert on impossible dreams and broken aspirations, not that they’ve deterred me from anything. After all this time, I still hope Dad comes back to me. 

But you should stop, I tell myself as I park in front of the Serenity Blue Long-Term Care Facility. 

He’s gone.

The doctors say it all the time. Still, Dad is holding on to this life and not letting it go that easily. I go through the reception area and swipe my visitor’s card. The green light blinks, and the glass door unlocks. I miss when a receptionist greeted everyone who came inside and updated us on the health of our loved ones. At least the nurses are still super friendly, and they care for everyone in the facility. 

As I make my way inside, I’m trying to pretend this isn’t another day when my life is weighing me down like an anchor, sinking me to the bottom of the ocean. 

That’s the thing about being Lori Knapp’s granddaughter. She raised me to cater to everyone’s needs. I’m not supposed to let anyone know I’m not okay—even when I don’t have the mental, emotional, or physical energy to continue. Even on the days I want to be numb and let the current drag me. I want to stop swimming and just drown in to nothingness. 

Everyone thinks Nydia Vega-Knapp has her shit together and is happy. 

But are you really fine and happy? I ask myself as I reach the second story of the building and walk toward my father’s room. I’m thankful his door is closed; it gives me a few moments to pull myself together. I apply some lip balm before I open the door and get ready to pretend everything in my life is perfect. 

Would he even know the difference?

Good morning, Daddy, I say, closing the door behind me and setting the tote bag I carry next to the small couch. I grab the vase and head to the bathroom—dumping out last week’s flowers to put the new bouquet in its place. 

Today’s flowers are Mom’s favorites. Orange roses, yellow sunflowers, gold cushion poms, rust cushion mums, seeded eucalyptus, oregonia, and magnolia leaves. I went to Hummingbird Designs to buy it. Ms. Sadie was there. She sent her best, I say a little loudly so he can hear me. I gave her one of the new balms I’m testing to see what she thinks. By the way, I followed your advice and contacted the headquarters of Earth Fields Market. As we discussed last week, they’re a growing chain, and they carry products similar to mine.

Dad still doesn’t answer. He remains in bed, eyes closed and breathing even. He hasn’t changed in the past ten years. Well, except for the few wrinkles around his eyes and the grays in his brown hair. 

What I would give to see him open his eyes and say, I’m ready to go home.

That’s a big dream, maybe the biggest one I have. It’s impossible and crazy to want him to come back to me, but I do. Grandma used to say that as long as he breathes, there’s hope. If he were conscious, he’d give me all kinds of advice about my business. Instead, I just pretend he does every week when I come to see him. 

 I pull out my spritzer and spray around the room to remove the overpowering smell of cleaner and antiseptic. What do you think about this new scent? It’s chamomile and lavender. I finally made some chamomile essential oil, I say proudly. I’m selling it at the store along with this spritzer. 

I grab the extra pillow on top of the small couch and change the pillowcase. It’s not only clean, but I washed it with my lavender detergent. Once I fluff it up, I switch for the pillow that he’s using. I repeat the action and set it where the extra pillow was before. I place the dirty pillowcases inside a recycling bag, and they go into my tote. 

"During the ferry ride from Bainbridge Island to Seattle, I was thinking about that vacation we took to Victoria with all the Knapp family. Mom was right. You prefer the colder weather. We never went to a beach or somewhere tropical. I made the executive decision to add Fiji to my must-visit list. I know what you’re thinking. Nydia, that’s expensive. You’re right, but you know what they say. ‘Shoot for the moon. Even if you miss, you’ll land in the stars.’ If I miss Fiji, I might land in San Diego. If you wake up by then, I’ll take you with me."

I expect him to open his eyes and argue with me because he wouldn’t spend his time off being miserable in someplace where it’s too sunny and hot. I guess that’s why Mom took an annual vacation with her friends. She loved the ocean, the sun, and fruity drinks.

I grab the frame I set on his nightstand and look at our family portrait. It’s the last picture of the three of us taken the Christmas before the accident.

I trace Mom’s face. Every day, I look more and more like her. It’s overwhelming to look at myself in the mirror and remember her while knowing I’ll never see her again. Even when I feel like I see her every day. It’s daunting and comforting. We share the same big brown eyes and small, slightly turned-up nose. Dad used to say Mom came from a long line of cute elves, and her pointy ears and pixie hair gave her away. I think that’s the description of a fairy, but who am I to contradict him?

The only thing I got from Dad was his ears. Mine aren’t pointy like Mom’s. The rest of me is all Mom. Well, except I don’t cut my hair. I love to play with hairstyles. 

Listen, I love having you around, I say like I do every time I visit him. You’re the only person I have left, but I think Mom misses you. Don’t you want to go and see her?

He doesn’t answer. 

He doesn’t move. 

He only breathes. 

It’s been almost ten agonizing years of watching him exist without living. 

Taking a seat on the bed, I kiss his forehead and take his hand. Is there anything I can do to help you find the light? I wish I could do something for you. Grandma and Grandpa have already left.

I try so hard not to cry, but the tears roll down. My parents and I had a strange relationship from the beginning. I know they loved me. Adored me. However, during the week, their careers mattered the most. While they lived in Seattle, I stayed in Luna Harbor with my grandparents. 

I try to suppress a sob as I think of my parents. If I learned anything from them, it’s how to work hard. 

To love with all my heart. 

And quality matters more than quantity. We didn’t spend all our time together, but when we did, it was perfect.

I miss you, I whisper, giving him a hug. I miss Mom too. If you’re not planning on leaving, why don’t you just open your eyes? We’ll move you to Luna Harbor. We have plenty of room for you. You’ll meet my friend Siobhan and help me with the shop while I’m experimenting in my little lab.

He still doesn’t say anything. I grab a tissue from the nightstand and wipe my tears. He needs someone to be strong for him, and that’s me. 

I’m all he has. 

Enough about me. Let’s talk about your hair, I say, grabbing the hairbrush from my tote bag and combing his hair. You’re due for a haircut next week unless you want to go for a different look. Some men your age are letting their hair grow longer. Not quite Bon Jovi back in the eighties but also not as short as you like it. I don’t think buzz cuts are a thing for men your age.

I stare at his unmoving body, wondering what he’d be doing if Mom was alive and he wasn’t living in a long-term facility in a vegetative state. He’s almost sixty-eight. They’d be retired and traveling wherever it’s not hot. Would they? Maybe not. My parents lived to work. Hence why they let Dad’s parents raise their only daughter—me. While growing up, I envied all the families in Luna Harbor who had more than one child, like the Cantú family. They had five children. Five. I loved visiting their house. It was always busy, filled with noise and love.

When they moved to Seattle, my heart broke a little, but I saw them during the summer and the holidays…until they never returned to Luna Harbor. How I wish they’d stay away. Before I cry again, I reach inside my bag and pull out the therapeutic balm.

I added one ingredient to the balm. Let me know what you think, I say while I open the jar and scoop a generous amount of it out with my hand. The lavender scent isn’t as overpowering as it was in the last batch.

I massage his left arm while I continue talking to him. Did I tell you Mr. Cantú Senior is sick? It’s cancer. Mr. Matthews is moving to Seattle to be with him. The grandchildren are coming to Luna Harbor. I pause, moving to the other side of the bed and scooping more balm. All five of them. Straight from Siobhan herself. Can you believe she’s dating Iskander? In case you don’t remember, he’s the eldest. I warned her not to give her heart to a Cantú, or he’ll break it, but she’s not listening.

I wait for him to protest, argue, or rush to Luna Harbor to tell her how dangerous it is to be in love with a Cantú. She wouldn’t understand. There’s no way she can see the damage Manelik Cantú left behind. After I shattered into a million pieces, I glued myself back together. Unless someone is looking closely, no one would know that I’m still broken. 

There’s a knock on the door. 

Come on in, I say. 

The handle wiggles, and when it opens, Toni, one of Dad’s nurses, enters the room. She’s been working with Dad since Grandma and I moved him into this facility six years ago. 

Good morning, Nydia.

Hi, Toni, I say.

She looks at my hands and asks, Are you going to share some of that miracle balm with me?

Maybe. I reach for my tote bag and grab the tub I brought for her. Here, this is for you.

Aw, sweetheart, you’re an angel, she says, giving me a side hug. How much do I owe you?

I wave a hand and shake my head. It’s nothing.

You should sell it and call it the miracle balm. It’s not only the best moisturizer in the world but also my muscles aren’t sore when I use it. Plus, it helps me sleep.

She shows me her elbows. Feel this. They’re almost as soft as a baby’s butt.

I laugh because I doubt it’s that soft, though the balm does help with the skin’s elasticity. It took me several tries to find the right formula that would help Dad’s skin. 

Toni pulls something from her pocket and hands it to me. Here, since you won’t let me pay, I’ll share one of my chocolates with you.

I can’t say no to that. I wipe my hands with a towel and unwrap the chocolate. 

You’re a good daughter.

I shake my head. 

Listen, I’ve worked here for years, and I’ve never seen someone as devoted as you. No one brings clean pillowcases, stays to read a story, or does everything you do. You spend hours applying the miracle balm on him.

It not only moisturizes, but it also calms and helps with the muscle stiffness, I clarify, trying to stop her praises. I don’t tell anyone I call it my therapeutic balm. It’s just not ready to be in stores yet.

I heard our girl is here, someone says from the hallway, and a few seconds later, Nurse Belinda appears. Yes, she is here!

She reminds me a lot of Mom. She’s a hugger and a nurturer. I’m not surprised when she bends to hug me tightly. How are you, sweetheart? She touches my hair. I love those waves, and I like those lowlights you added. They blend well with the natural dark tone of your hair.

Did you see her dress? Toni asks. It looks so comfortable.

I flatten the skirt of the dress. Thank you. You two always make me feel better about myself.

Did you make this one too? 

I shake my head. No. I don’t make my clothes that often, only when I find a nice fabric. It’s not hard to make a maxi dress or a long flouncy skirt.

"It’s not hard for you, Toni says, showing me her hands. You’re crafty. I have two left hands and no energy to sew a button—let alone make a dress."

I only smile because there’s not much I can say other than it keeps me busy, and I can make something that isn’t too restrictive. Unlike many people, I prefer to dress for comfort and not for fashion. 

It’s fun to sew, I say. 

How was the ride from Luna Harbor to Seattle? That’s a long trip, almost three hours. You might as well live in Canada, girl, Belinda says. Last Saturday, I was telling my husband to take me to Luna Harbor. However, when he explained to me that the trip would take more than two hours, we agreed to wait until our next planned vacation.

It’s long, but I enjoy it. The almost three-hour trip doesn’t feel like too much for me. Not when the price is to see Dad and spend some time with him. He’s the one who knows most of my secrets. Not the ones that might make him sad, but I can talk to him about the farm, the shop, and how I’m growing my business. 

I dig into my tote and pull out a bag with lavender lollipops. Here, for your grandchildren—and you.

She grins. You spoil us.

It’s just a little thing. I brush away her praise. I love to make candy. You’re actually doing me a favor because if you didn’t take them from me, I’d eat them all in one sitting.

You’re too modest. How’s the store going? I told my daughter you might be calling her to help with your website. You need to call her, she reminds me as she gives me that motherly glare that says you-better-do-as-I-say-or-else.

I keep forgetting, I lie. 

It’s not in my nature to ask for favors, and I can’t afford her daughter. I saw how much she charges per website, and that’s five thousand dollars I don’t have. The one I created is simple, and it’s enough for now. At least until I have the money to pay her daughter or another web designer. She already does a lot for me by taking care of Dad.

After chatting for a few more minutes, Toni says, It’s time for us to leave. Thank you so much for bringing me the balm.

You’re very welcome.

Belinda gives me another hug. Be safe. We’ll see you next week.

See you next week, I confirm and wave. 

I think Mom would’ve loved them, I say to Dad once the door closes. I return to what I was doing before, applying balm and telling him everything that’s happened in Luna Harbor.

I covered a couple of shifts at the sports bar. It was awkward since Iskander, Efren, and Fernando Cantú were there, I say, sighing. "He’s coming soon. Manelik. I don’t want to see him or Myka. However, there’s nothing I can do to stop them from living in Luna Harbor. This feels like a train about to collide with another one. Worst of all, I’m tied to the tracks like in one of those old Western movies you loved to watch. I can’t stop them, and I can’t move. I don’t want to see them, but I guess in a town with fewer than six thousand people, it’s impossible to avoid the Cantús—or him."

When I’m done with the balm, I put the container back inside my bag and pull out my tablet. Well, let’s see where we left off last week. I think Johnathan Reich was about to enter the haunted house, wasn’t he?

I begin to read, and for one second, I pretend his green eyes are open, staring at me with that loving fatherly look he used to give me when we had family game nights or he helped me study for a test. I enjoy these moments because I don’t know how long he has left with me. He has to rest, but what’s going to happen to me when he leaves?

Chapter Two

Manelik

Drops of sweat run down my forehead and back. The heat of the stage lights doesn’t help. I’m used to playing under these conditions, but it’s not as much fun when I’m not playing with my band, Too Far from Grace. My bandmates are what make our group special. We’re connected in a way I can’t describe. It’s as if our hearts and souls are linked by one big music sheet, and we play from there. Whenever we give an interview and they ask what makes our band different from the rest, Beacon, the frontman, comes up with something stupid. We can’t say we’re connected because no one would understand. 

I can play well with other musicians, like I’m doing right now, but it doesn’t feel the same. Live concerts, the energy of the public, and the music are part of what completes my life. It makes me happy, but tonight, that’s not what’s fueling me. Though, I’m glad to be here and thankful that I was chosen among so many drummers to come to the All-Star Band Charity that the Decker family organizes every year. 

Gage Rodin calls out, I love you, Seattle, thank you for coming tonight, and heads backstage. The rest of the musicians follow, and as usual, the drummer—that’d be me—plays a solo as the final act. Hopefully, this time it is the end. They’ve asked for an encore four times, and everyone has come back to the stage each time. Everyone thinks the vocalist does the hard work, but that’s a lie. The drummer does just as much. 

As predicted, the chant begins, Encore, encore, encore!

Through my earpiece, I hear Byron Alasdair Langdon, my manager, say, This is it, Mane. End it and head backstage.

I finish it. I grab the autographed drumsticks I brought earlier, rise from my seat, and start tossing them toward the public. 

You need to stop bringing goodies for your fans. Do you know how much we can charge for that? Lang, the greediest man in the world, asks through the earpiece. I swear I’m going to leave you behind. 

I blow a few kisses and wave to the public before I leave. They love it when we give them a few extra minutes, and I love to do it for them. 

Once I’m backstage, Lang walks to me and hands me a towel. If you ever want to start a solo career, I’ll represent you.

Seriously, Lang? Even though he has a long stuffy name, we all call him Lang. His mother hates the nickname, but he loves it. You’re a manager, not an agent. Plus, I’d never leave my guys.

I could do both, he offers, handing me another towel. You ready to go for dinner?

Yo, Mane. Gage approaches me. You’re fucking amazing. If your band breaks up, I have a place for you.

With a laugh, I shake my head. I don’t think you can afford me.

He shrugs. Don’t say I didn’t try. He points toward the exit. I’m heading toward the banquet. Are you going to be there?

I nod, but if I’m honest, I’d rather go home. 

You want to bail, don’t you? Lang mumbles under his breath.

I nod a second time. 

He knows me too well. Lang and I go way back. He was eight when he joined our group of