Surfacing

The bus bumped down the road, shaking you awake from foggy dreams of the ocean. You gripped your bag, the camera around your neck safely tucked inside your jacket. Outside, dried pastures and abandoned gas stations sped by. You were the only passenger besides a thin, silent woman who had been staring at you since you boarded. She continued to stare, her eyes wide and panicked, making you increasingly unnerved.
Finally, the bus pulled into a gravel parking lot at the dock. A small crowd waited, but one man stood out, holding a sheet of paper with "Mara" scribbled on it. Your father, Lake Westray. He was not as tall as you remembered, but his golden-brown eyes were identical to yours. He smiled, a hesitant wave, forcing you into this strange new world.