Endless summer

"One quick weekend and I'll be back to work," Victoria promised her manager, asking for a replacement.

She had to go to Devon to take care of some final paperwork she'd been putting off for the past few months after her grandmother's death.

Victoria didn't want to go back there. Finally, she summoned the courage.

As soon as she drove up the familiar hills that led up the winding road to the beach house, a cold shiver ran through her.

Getting out of the car, she smelled the same scent from 20 years ago: old wood, conifers, and a light sea breeze. She looked around and was sure that the little white picket fence had once been much taller — but then she realized it was simply her growth. The picket fence was the same, the very same one she'd last seen when she was nine. This was their last summer here.

She sat on the porch. Silence. A profound silence, as if someone had turned off the world music radio. She took a deep breath, grabbed her suitcase, and opened the door.

"Okay, screw it. I can handle it."

The night began differently than the previous ones in her big-city apartment. There was no hum of traffic she was used to.

She fidgeted, feeling restless, and suddenly she began to hear her thoughts. Memories began to flow back. Summer, laughter, wind. She no longer knew if she was dreaming or awake. She heard her name and opened her eyes slightly. She had the feeling that this night was important — that she had left something behind in this dream.

She wandered through the house, looking through old photos, touching her grandmother's things. Images flashed through her mind like a blur. When she reached the kitchen, a mug of coffee was on the table... Strange. She didn’t remember making coffee, but maybe it was the automatic mode she had unconsciously activated.

The smell of coffee in the mug, the sun shining on the porch, encouraged her to go outside.

The same silence again as yesterday.

She smiled to herself, "Is this déjà vu? Maybe witchcraft?"

She headed toward the beach. The path led past a few trees — though as a child, it had seemed like a forest.

She felt a slight sense of unease; she used to walk this path with her older brother, Otto, before... before her parents stopped taking her here.

The wide, golden beach held the same charm as it had years ago: the salty wind and the boy by the seashore. He was looking into the distance, the water lapping at his feet.

As she approached him, he turned his head toward her.

Victoria felt a shiver run down her spine. Cold sweat paralyzed her.

It was him. It was Otto. With every little detail, it was definitely him. Just as she remembered him. Those big brown eyes, the little pimple on his chin. It was him.

"Viki?" he asked her. "I didn’t know if you’d ever come back."

Her heart was pounding so hard she could hear it.

"Who are you?" she whispered, tears welling in her eyes.

"You know."

He turned his head and looked at the small boat rocking in the waves.

She woke up again — this time for real. Her eyes were still wet with tears, but she felt peace. An immense peace, as if she had accomplished something. The world had returned.

A photo lay on the kitchen table. She and Otto, smiling on the beach. On the back was a child’s handwriting: "Last vacation with Otto."

She smelled coffee and heard: "Viki..."