REM // Van McCann

87. Thinking Too Much

Florence handed me the flowers and I removed a single rose, laying it on the spot where Clara last stood. Even though they were just flowers, I was hesitant about leaving the whole bouquet there since flowers weren't naturally found on these cliffs. Even though they'd decompose with time, I didn't want that.

"One rose for you," I said, "and another for your unborn child." I placed the two roses next to each other and looked up at Florence whose mouth fell open.

"She was pregnant?" she asked, shocked. I nodded my head.

"With someone else's child."

"That just makes things even worse."

"I know."

After sitting there for a moment to pay our respects, we looked into the distance for the beach her body washed up on. Her body didn't travel far. We walked down to the beach and I could see the young boy guarding her body from the seagulls. I wondered if he was still around and how he was doing but I have no way of finding him.

I knelt down in the general area her body was found and picked up a handful of sand. The sand was soft and full of tiny shells and bits of rock and seaweed. Despite her dead body lying here, nature goes on as if nothing happened. I dropped the sand back down and brushed my hands together to get rid of the sand and stood up. I looked at the cliff she jumped off of and tried to imagine the path her body went in order to end up here. Her body was found days later and taken away.

I made my way towards the water, being careful to stay out of reach. My boots were not suited for the beach and I'm pretty sure I've got sand in them already and the last thing I wanted was for water to get in, but I just wanted to feel how cold the water was. The water finally reached where I stood and I stuck my hand in, feeling the cold of the water.

It was much too cold for a swim. As soon as she fell in, her body would go into shock. She'll gasp for air and hyperventilate, and this will cause her to panic. Her body will shut down. Despite how much she loves the water, I can't imagine her last moments were pleasant. If she hadn't drowned by now, she would've succumbed to hypothermia and eventually lose consciousness. It was a scenario I thought of too often. My hope was that it was quick and painless, but all I could think of was how she died alone. I dried my hand on my jeans and stood up, backing away from the water.

And then we walked the same path the paramedics took to the ambulance. The restaurant which had her missing person flyer was still there but all that was posted on the window was the menu and that it was closed for the season.

"I find it hard to believe you've never been here before," Florence said, standing beside me. "The accuracy of your dreams is insane. I'm getting goosebumps. Do you ever wonder how that's even possible?"

"All the time," I replied. "It's like she's trying to tell me something."

"And what do you think she's trying to tell you?"

I took a moment to think about her question. What was she trying to tell me? The dreams have been happening for years now and I saw it all. Her life in Portugal, how she died, and how her body was found.

"I think she's just telling me her story and how she ended up here."

There was really no one else she could tell; she was an only child. She loves her parents to bits but couldn't tell them half the things she told me. And I'm not sure how close she and Rafael got but I can't imagine her writing letters to him so soon.

After visiting the cliffs and beach, Florence and I had a quick break for lunch and headed towards Matilde's house once again. I had texted her in the morning asking if it was okay and she was surprisingly okay with it saying we could stop by anytime. This time, I felt more welcome and parked closer to her house, though I was still wary of her neighbors wondering what business I had coming back twice.

My worries were confirmed when I felt like I was being watched and looked towards the house with green tiles. There was movement in the curtains from someone stood there not too long ago. My eyes lingered on the window wondering if they'd come back but I couldn't wait because Florence began walking towards the front door and I followed her.

Matilde was quick to answer the door saying how good it was to see us again. She offered us some tea and this time, we accepted. She placed two tea cups in front of us and offered us some biscuits.

"How are you liking Portugal so far?" she asked, smoothing out her dress.

"It's great," Florence answered. "It's beautiful here and the people are so nice. I don't want to leave but we've got to fly back." Matilde chuckled.

"You can always come back," she said, winking and Florence laughed. "Have you had the chance to explore the cliffs?" Florence and I exchanged looks.

"Yeah, they're very nice." I paused, trying to figure out my next words. "I just wanted to thank you for the letters. You've no idea how much it means to me." Matilde smiled. Although she's got a stern face, her face was still friendly.

"Of course, my dear. It's what she would've wanted—for the letters to make it to you." I nodded my head.

"The last one was her suicide note." It was none of her business, really, and she was probably better off not having known that but I wanted her to know how important those letters were.

"I'm so sorry." Her voice was barely audible and you could see the concern in her eyes. "Would you like a tissue or—"

"No, it's fine—really! It's just—I know there were a lot of rumors surrounding her death but I want you to know that none of that is true. It was her choice to end her life and I've come to terms with it. It was what she wanted." I swallowed, my mouth becoming dry. How do I word the questions I have for her?

"Matilde," I continued, "is there a memorial for Clara that you know of? From my understanding, her parents took her ashes with them, didn't they?" Matilde nodded her head.

"Yes, they took her with them. There was no memorial set up but people do leave flowers for her on occasion. You can't really put a memorial on the beach, can you? Although there's nothing in her memory, it's not like we've forgotten about her."

"Do you have any contact with her parents?" I tried.

"I do. I have their number but I don't know if it still works. It was a Portuguese number and now that they've gone back, I'm not sure if they got a new number. Do you want it?"

"Yes, please." It was better than nothing. I wanted to reach out to them and give them my condolences even though it was several years too late. Matilde scurried off to find the paperwork and then she handed it to me. I took a photo of the number and thanked her.

"And one more thing..." I trailed off. "Did they ever mention she was pregnant?" Matilde's eyes widened and it was apparent this was news to her.

"No—no they did not! Was she really?" she gasped. I immediately regretted asking that question and tried to think of a way to ease her nerves.

"No, I was just wondering if you heard anything else!" I replied.

"I told you all that I know which isn't much. Sorry I can't be of much help."

"There's no need to be sorry. You've been very helpful. Erm...I'd love to stay but we better get going. We've got to take the train back to Porto tomorrow and haven't started packing yet."

"It was great having you. Thanks for stopping by and I wish you nothing but the best. If you ever come back to Lagos, please do visit!"

"Of course," I said, standing up to shake her hand. "Thank you for having us."

The both of us made our way back to the car and my eyes flicked up to the house with green tiles. Not a soul was found in the windows and I couldn't help but feel disappointed. It wasn't until we closed the door that I spoke to Florence.

"Something doesn't add up," I said immediately. "She said she was pregnant and not a single article nor person mentioned it. Don't you think that's strange?"

"What if her family wanted to keep that private? The pain of losing her is enough. I can't imagine what it feels like to lose your daughter and her baby."

What Florence said made total sense. It was none of our business, really. And in the chaos of it all, that would've been the last thing they'd look for.

"You're right," I replied. "I'm just thinking too much." I started the engine and drove back to the hotel.