Beyond the Rising Tide Page 14

  We start walking, and maybe it’s because Kai is beside me, but I feel steadier now than I did when I first walked onto the pier. “I thought you left,” I say.

  He doesn’t respond right away. We pass a couple sitting on a bench, engaged in conversation and hands intertwined. What would it feel like to have Kai’s fingers laced between mine like that? Probably like having my hand out the window of a moving car, the wind sliding through my fingers. Amazing, but impossible to hold.

  “I’m going to be around for a bit longer than I thought,” he says.

  I nod slowly, and I can’t seem to restrain the smile that spreads over my lips. “Good. Then it’s your turn.”

  He raises an eyebrow.

  “Come on,” I say, nudging him with my elbow. “I just poured my heart out to you again. And what have you shared with me? Next to nothing. So it’s your turn. Tell me something about yourself. Something I don’t already know. And something that matters. No favorite foods or zodiac signs.”

  He smiles. “Scorpios are known to be mysterious.”

  “Kai—”

  “They sting too. So before you bare your soul next time, make a bargain. Sometimes it’s the only way to get what you want.” He says this last part darkly, as though he himself recently made a heavy bargain.

  I grab his arm and stop him from walking. “Wait a minute—that’s not fair. I’ve told you about Tyler and about—”

  “How is Tyler, anyway? Have you talked to him since last night? And what exactly happened anyway?”

  “Nothing happened.”

  “But you kissed.”

  I shake my head. “You can’t keep doing this. Every time I try to get you to talk about yourself, you spin it back to me.”

  My phone chirps, and I remember Mom. I pull out my phone, and sure enough, it’s another text from her. A long one. I skim through it—a poem with plenty of dark imagery, probably one she just wrote. She’s spiraling downward faster than usual. I shoot her a quick text to let her know I’ll be there soon, then release a long sigh. “You’re off the hook. I have to go.”

  “Where?”

  I start walking again. “My mom needs me tonight. But … what are you doing tomorrow?”

  He catches up and walks beside me. “My day’s open.”

  “Don’t you have to work?”

  “I could probably get some time off. Why? What do you have in mind?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. Is there anything you’ve been wanting to do while you’re here in Avila Beach?”

  He thinks. “Actually, there’s one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’d really like to take your suggestion to try surfing.”

  An incredulous sound comes out of my mouth. “Like I told you, there’s a great surf school right over there. Tyler works there. Maybe he could teach you.”

  Kai turns around and walks backward, smiling at me with the left side of his mouth. “I was actually hoping you could give me some tips.”

  I open my mouth to say no, but he holds up his hands to silence me. “Hear me out. You don’t have to get in the water. Just come to the beach with me and give me some tips from the shore.”

  I recall his words from a moment earlier. Make a bargain first. Sometimes it’s the only way to get what you want.

  “I’ll tell you what. I’ll think about it, but only if you tell me something about yourself first.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  I want to know everything. I want to open him up like a book and read every page. I want to know what inspires him and what haunts him. What comforts him, and what keeps him up at night. I want to know his brand of toothpaste and his favorite song. But since I have to start somewhere, I say the first thing that comes to mind. “Why can’t you stay for the whole summer?”

  His hand moves to his stomach, where he absentmindedly gathers a handful of T-shirt in his fist. “When I came here, I left my old job without much notice. They really need my help, and they’re begging me to come back.”

  “Why did you come here to begin with?”

  He purses his lips and tilts his head as though carefully weighing something. “If I tell you, will you come to the beach with me tomorrow?”

  “I will very heavily lean toward yes.”

  A family walks past us on the sidewalk, the two kids chasing circles around their parents. Kai’s face softens as he watches them pass, and when they’re out of earshot, he says, “My little sisters live here with my aunt and uncle. I came to see if I could live with them. But it didn’t work out.”

  “Oh,” is all I can think to say. Because his answer is miles from what I was expecting. I don’t know what I was expecting exactly, but not that. Suddenly a million new questions are spinning in my head like the Price Is Right wheel, and I’m not quite sure yet which one the needle’s going to land on.

  My phone chirps yet again, but this time I don’t bother looking because I know it’s Mom. Kai glances at my phone, then gives an understanding nod. “Tomorrow?”

  “The jury’s still out on the surfing tips. But either way, I’ll pick you up in the morning.”

  find Mom in her darkened bedroom under a pile of blankets, and I go sit on the edge of her bed. From the hallway light, I can see she’s clutching a tattered tissue and wearing her polka-dot pajamas.

  “Mom,” I say gently, brushing messy curls from her forehead, “what’s going on?”

  She reaches for my hand as if it’s a piece of bread and she’s starving. “Just stay with me,” she says shakily.

  We’ve been here many times before, so even though I’m worried, I know she’ll get through this. She only needs time, and someone to paddle through the doldrums with her. I slide under the covers and drape my arm over her, cradling her against me.

  “I’m a terrible mom,” she sobs.

  “No—you’re not.”

  “Then why won’t Sophie talk to me? I’ve been calling her all week, and she won’t pick up.”

  I stroke her hair. “She just doesn’t understand why you left.” I don’t either. Every time I try to talk to Mom about it, her explanations are more complicated than wave physics. “She’ll come around. She’s only mad because she loves you and wants you to come home. I think she’s using herself as bait.”

  For a couple minutes, there’s no sound in the room except the ticking clock and an occasional sniffle from Mom. Then she says quietly, “I thought I would be happier.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Her tissue is soaked, so she tosses it on the floor and pulls her pajama sleeve over her wrist, wiping her eyes. “I thought … if I could be by myself for a while, and focus on only me, I could get myself together, you know? I could come back and be a better mom, and a better wife. But I feel even more scattered and lost now than when I left.”

  It’s true that she’s put us through a lot of ups and downs over the years. But the ups have made the downs bearable, because those are the times I see who she really is—a fun, creative, loving and generous person—and that’s the mom I try to remember when she’s wading through the valleys of depression.

  “We don’t want a better mom,” I say. “We just want you.”

  She sniffles. “When was the last time I washed your clothes?”

  “Who cares? You’ve never missed one of my surfing competitions.”

  “But I’ve missed all your parent-teacher conferences.”

  “That’s what Dad is for. You’ve never missed the important stuff. You’ve never failed to help Sophie and me get ready for a dance, or redecorate our rooms on a whim, or take us to the best—and worst—chick flicks.”

  Her feet find mine under the blankets, and her fuzzy socks rub against my ankles.

  “You’re the one who taught us how to sail,” I continue, “and I’ll never forget your lesson on the perils of face glitter.”

  She draws in a deep, stuttering breath, but doesn’t say anything else. We lie there, listening to the ticking clock
and the muffled sound of the surf through the window.

  “You can always come back,” I say faintly after a long moment. I don’t even know if she hears me, because soon I feel her body relax and her breathing deepen. I stay beside her for a few minutes until I’m sure she’s asleep, then I slip out of her bed and go across the hall to the bathroom. I open the medicine cabinet and pull out Mom’s current prescriptions to make sure she’s not out. The lithium bottle is empty, so I text Dad to see if he can get it refilled tomorrow.

  When I close the cabinet, I’m startled by my own reflection in the mirror because for a split second I don’t recognize myself. My eyes are tired and troubled, my face timid and full of fear. This is who I’ve become. And it’s not who I want to be.

  Kai said I didn’t need to be someone else, I just needed to be me. But I don’t even know who me is. I stare deep into my own eyes, searching for myself, for someone I recognize as Avery Ambrose. Someone with courage and determination, with hope and optimism, who’s not afraid to chase what she loves. Just like my mom’s fears keep her from the people she loves, my own fears have been keeping me from the life I want to live.

  But I don’t want to live in fear anymore. I don’t want to be controlled by it the way my mom is. Because it’s the moments I’ve feared most that have come right before my greatest experiences. Like taking on a huge wave and coming out of the tube standing, or diving into the black ocean at night to see the underwater world lit up in neon blue by phytoplankton. Or walking out onto the pier tonight and sharing my burdens with an amazing boy.

  I want to be someone who experiences great things. Someone who dares to live and fail and succeed and love.

  I lean forward and search the depths of my own eyes. And finally, beyond the blue irises in my reflection, I catch a glimpse of her. Of the girl who, despite being afraid to stand up and move forward, has the courage to rise and take the first step.

  he cab of Isadora’s truck sounds like a rolling snare drum and smells like diesel exhaust. She warned me it hadn’t been used in years and needed an oil change, but neglected to tell me I’d need a gas mask to drive it. I roll down the windows and let the clean night air rush in, and hope this ancient thing can at least make it ten miles to my aunt and uncle’s house. Because I don’t have time to make this trip twice.

  Three days. That’s all Charles gave me to wrap things up. In exchange, I promised that when the three days were over, I would let go of Avery. Move on and never visit her again. It was the hardest bargain I’ve ever made, but the only way to get the time I still need to help her.

  It feels like a bomb is ticking inside of me now, set to detonate in exactly sixty-seven hours. Every second counts, so I need to make the most of each one.

  I’ve been to my aunt and uncle’s house only once before—not counting the times I dropped in on my sisters after my death—so it takes me a bit of wandering to find their neighborhood. It’s after midnight when I turn onto their street, and most of the one-story bungalows are dark. They all look the same—little clapboard boxes with double gables—so I look for the one with the big ash tree in front.

  I slow down when I see it, making sure their lights are out before I get close. The windows are dark except a dim light in the kitchen window, probably a night-light. I park a couple houses down and get out, hoping no one is looking out their window. A teenage boy creeping behind someone’s house in the middle of the night is the very definition of suspicious, and the last thing I need is a patrol car showing up.

  Their lawn is freshly cut and damp from sprinklers. As I sneak along the side of the house and through a creaky gate into the backyard, I can’t help thinking how this could have been my home too had my aunt and uncle taken me in seven years ago along with my sisters. I try not to be bitter about it, but even after all this time, the rejection stings.

  At the back of the house, Helen and Jane’s bedroom window is dark. My chest aches at the thought of them being so near. Seven years have passed since my aunt and uncle brought them here from Michigan. Seven years without a hug or a face-to-face conversation.

  I have the impulse to tap on their window so I can see them. So they can see me, and know I’m okay. At least, believe I’m okay. I’m sure they’ve been worried about me since my disappearance. But what good will it do for them to see me now? It will only give them false hope, delay and prolong their grieving process. So with a heavy heart, I pass their window and return to my original errand.

  I edge along the wooden fence toward the shed, trying to stay in the shadows of the trees. When I get there, I’m relieved to see the shed’s metal door cracked open. It whines a bit as I swing it open, and I peer inside, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. In the very back corner, behind bikes and camping gear, I can barely make out the tip of my guitar case. Exactly where I stashed it six months ago.

  It took me a whole summer to save for my Gibson guitar. And since I can’t take it with me, I may as well do something useful with it. Like pawn it so I can repay the shop owner for the broken window and stolen items. Isadora has given me some money for the work I’ve done in her vineyard, but not enough to cover the damage. And no way am I asking for more after she’s sheltered and fed me.

  I dig out my guitar case as quietly as I can. It feels lighter than it used to, so to make sure the guitar is still inside, I lay it on the shed’s concrete floor and open it. My guitar lies inside like a corpse in a coffin waiting to be resurrected. I run my hand over the smooth rosewood and deeply inhale the scent that brings back so many memories. I open the compartment under the neck of the guitar and find my picks and extra strings, and the pocket notebook with my lyrics scribbled inside.

  Maybe I don’t need to be so hasty about pawning it. Maybe I’ll keep it for one more day so I can play it. I close the lid and secure the latches, then grip the handle to leave. But before I can lift it off the ground, I hear the scuff of a foot behind me.

  I whip around to see a woman standing in the shed’s doorway, long dark hair silhouetted by the patio light. For a split second I think it’s my mom, and with a lurch in my chest, I think, Finally. I’ve found her. But then I notice the way she’s standing. I could never mistake my sister’s slouchy posture. I set down my guitar case and straighten.

  “Helen.”

  Her hand comes to her mouth, muffling her voice as she says my name and, “I knew it was you.” She closes the distance between us, hauling me into a hug. The top of her head comes to my chin, and her messy hair tickles my neck. It’s the best feeling in the world, and I let my arms fall around her skinny shoulders.

  I suddenly wish we could go back seven years and do things differently. I wish I would have been a better kid so my aunt and uncle would have taken me in too, so my sisters and I could have grown up together. My childhood was stolen from me because I couldn’t share it with the people I love. But as I hold Helen now, it’s returned to me for a brief moment.

  “I thought you were dead.” Her voice hitches on the last word, and I have to clench my jaw to endure the sting. The pain in her voice convinces me that it’s better for her not to know the truth. That it will be better to let her believe I’m alive and living abroad, and too busy to keep in touch.

  She finally releases me and takes a small step back, though she still has part of my shirt clutched in her hand. “Where have you been?” she whispers.

  For a second, I want to tell her the truth. I want to say, “Helen, I went to the ocean last winter, and I drowned. I received the power to save lives, but I still haven’t figured out how to salvage my own.” I imagine what her reaction would be if I said these things, and it isn’t pretty. So instead I say, “I’ve been all over the place, working here and there.”

  She lets out a shaky breath, and her eyes shine with tears. “Were things that bad in Michigan?”

  She’ll never know what I went through in my seven years in foster care. And I don’t want her to know. I don’t want her to hurt because of what I had to endu
re. Because I’m sure she has plenty of things she’s still hurting over.

  “It was all right,” I lie. “But I felt like a prisoner. So I set myself free.”

  Her hand comes up to wipe her cheek. “Jane and I have been counting down the months until you turn eighteen, hoping you’d come live nearby when you were finally free to.”

  Her words strangle me, because as much as I want to be a part of my sisters’ lives, it is an absolute impossibility. “Helen,” I say in a choked whisper, “would you go wake up Jane? I want to see her too.”

  She hesitates a second, and then nods. “Don’t go anywhere.” She disappears into the house and then comes out a few minutes later with Jane in tow. Jane is fourteen now, but almost as tall as Helen. Her hair is dark blonde like mine used to be, and it’s cropped to her chin. When she sees me, she races across the wet grass and throws herself into my arms. She asks all the same questions Helen did, and then with hope brimming in her eyes, she says, “So are you going to come and live nearby?”

  “I’d love to,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady, “but I have other plans. You know how I’ve always wanted to backpack across Europe?”

  They both look at me, and behind the pain in their eyes, there’s understanding that I need freedom. Helen smiles. “I wish we could come with you.”

  I shake my head. “No, you don’t. You guys have a good life here.”

  Helen’s smile fades. “I’m so sorry, Kai.” She shakes her head regretfully. “We tried so hard to convince Laurel and Gerald to take you in too. We begged and cried until they threatened to put us back in foster care.” She tears up again, and so does Jane.

  “Hey,” I say, pulling them both into my arms. “No regrets. I’m glad you two get to be together, in a safe place.” For a few minutes, we say nothing else. Then I say, “Listen. I don’t want anyone to know where I am, okay? So don’t tell anyone you saw me tonight.”