Girl Out of Water Read online

  “Oh, no,” he says. “You’re not putting any Sutter blood on my hands. This is your decision.”

  “How old was Austin when he started in the bowl?” I ask.

  Lincoln glances up at Parker with a sly smile, sunlight reflecting off his glasses. “Younger than him.”

  • • •

  I’ve made a lot of bad decisions in my life, but today I discovered there’s a difference between making a bad decision that only affects me (like eating an entire carton of ice cream before getting into the water) and a bad decision that affects others. A big difference.

  After about thirty minutes of Parker learning to ride in the bowl, there was a sharp crack followed by the most gut-wrenching scream I’ve ever heard. It was worse than when I found Nash in the pool. Time stopped as I rushed into the concrete pit. Parker was crying and screaming and clutching his arm, which was definitely at a weird angle. Then time sped up, and we were all at the hospital once again, only this time without Aunt Jackie. Dad met us there and kept her updated on the phone amid all the chaos—Parker crying in pain, me crying at Parker crying, Nash and Emery crying in laughter when Austin impersonated the doctor’s squeaky, rubber duck voice.

  By the time we get home, everyone is exhausted, especially Parker who is doped up on low-grade painkillers and wearing a green, pink, and blue striped cast from his shoulder to his wrist because he just couldn’t choose a color.

  Aunt Jackie holds back stubborn tears as she dotes on Parker, or at least dotes as much as one can in a wheelchair and straight cast. They’re a matched pair, all bandaged up. She runs a hand through his hair and mumbles, “My poor baby. Why couldn’t you be obsessed with chess?”

  I glance around the room and only see people who need my help. Parker is in pain. Aunt Jackie is in pain for him. Nash is confused about how to help. Emery is silent and grim. In all of the rushing to the hospital, I didn’t get a chance to ask how it went at the basketball courts, but the look on her face tells me it probably didn’t go too well. As I take this all in, it hits me—I can’t leave them worse off than they were at the start of summer.

  “I’m not going,” I mumble.

  Dad, standing beside me, asks, “What did you say?”

  “I said I’m not going,” I repeat. “I’ll stay here and fly home with you like we planned.”

  This time I say it loud enough for everyone to hear. Aunt Jackie whips her head in my direction. “Oh, no you’re not.”

  “What?” I ask.

  Oh, god. She’s mad at me. I broke her rule. I let Parker get into the bowl. Her child got hurt, and it’s my fault. Just like I was the one who wasn’t watching Nash when he hurt himself in the pool. And I’m the one who still hasn’t said anything about Emery and her friends.

  Aunt Jackie wants me out of here before I damage them more.

  “You’re leaving tomorrow,” she says.

  I feel queasy. I wrap my arms around my waist and stare at the floor, trying to figure out how to apologize, when Aunt Jackie continues, “You’ve worked your ass—sorry kids, butt—off all summer taking care of this family, and you’re not going to miss out on your festival because Parker went and broke his arm. Not happening. Tonight is the last night you’re sleeping under this roof.”

  It takes a second for my brain to register that I’m not under attack. She’s not mad at me. She’s trying to say thank you. “Umm…” I say. “Okay.”

  “She’s right,” Dad agrees. “Parker will be fine without you. He has two very caring siblings to look after him, doesn’t he?”

  Nash and Emery nod.

  “In fact, those two siblings were going to make ice cream for everyone, isn’t that right?”

  Nash and Emery nod again, this time with half smiles, which manages to ease my tight chest. They dash for the kitchen, where I hear cupboards slamming and silverware rattling. I settle down onto the couch next to Parker and push back his hair so that he can look up at me. “You sure you don’t mind me leaving?” I ask.

  “It’s okay. As long as you promise to teach me to surf like you next summer.” He looks really worried for a second as he glances back and forth between Aunt Jackie and me. “My arm will be better by then, right?”

  We both laugh. “It’ll be better in about a month, dude. But it’s a deal. Next summer, it’s you, me, and the ocean.”

  • • •

  “Anise, will you come in here for a second?” Aunt Jackie calls from the guest room as I’m heading upstairs. It’s past midnight, and after finally finishing packing, I rewarded myself with my third bowl of ice cream for the night.

  “Yeah, of course.” I pad into the dark room, which is only lit by the small reading light attached to Aunt Jackie’s paperback book. “Do you need something?” I ask. She’s gotten pretty independent during the day, but once she’s out of the wheelchair and in bed, it’s easier for us to get her a glass of water or Advil or whatever else she needs.

  “No, no. I’m fine.” She sets the book on the bed and pats the comforter. “Come sit for a second. I wanted to talk to you before you left.”

  “Um, okay.” I sit on the edge of the bed instead of next to her. I’ve always been pretty comfortable around Aunt Jackie, but something about her tone makes me think I might not be comfortable with this particular conversation.

  “I wanted to thank you.”

  “What?”

  “Thank you for everything this summer. You did such a great job with the kids. It means a lot that it was you looking after them and not some stranger. I know…I know I’m not your mom, of course not, but I think of you as a daughter, and so I wanted to say thank you. I know three kids are a lot to take care of, and I never saw you flinch once.”

  “Oh,” I say, throat suddenly tight. “You’re welcome.”

  She takes my hand and squeezes it, her eyes warm. “I’m proud of you, Anise. I just wanted you to know I’m really proud of you.”

  Dad has told me he’s proud of me a million times, but this feels different. In the dim light, Aunt Jackie’s features are barely visible—I can’t see the color of her eyes or hair. In the dark, she could almost be my mom telling me she’s proud of me, which is even better than telling me she loves me—because it would mean she took the time to notice I’ve done something to be proud of.

  Fourteen

  My alarm goes off at five in the morning. I quickly silence it, not wanting to wake Emery. I packed and said all of my good-byes last night so I wouldn’t have to rouse my cousins when they could be in the throes of very important growth spurts. I ease out of bed and slip into my jean shorts. My legs prickle, protesting being out of the comforter’s warmth. A quiet voice breaks the predawn silence. “Anise?”

  Emery rolls over in bed. A slice of moon lights her face as her sleepy eyes focus on me.

  “Hey,” I whisper. “Go back to sleep.”

  But then I realize I never found out what happened at the courts yesterday because of Parker’s accident. “Wait! Wait!” I say, more than a bit too loud. “What happened with your friends?”

  After rubbing her face and exerting a few sleepy yawns, Emery relays the story in quick, hushed words. Apparently the reason Emery only found out about the last minute invite at the end of the weekend was because the other girls were purposefully trying to keep it a secret so they wouldn’t hurt her feelings. And she wasn’t not on the invite list—it was Charlie’s mom who had insisted on thirteen friends to celebrate Charlie’s thirteenth birthday.

  “They felt really bad about it,” Emery said, “Well, except for Ashley. But whatever.”

  I smile in the dark. “I’m glad you made up with your friends.”

  “Me too,” she says.

  Emery rolls over after that, pulling her blankets tight around her as her breathing grows even. Relief floods through me that it was all a misunderstanding. Hopefully my friends will accept me
back into their fold as easily. More likely than not, I’m blowing my fears out of proportion like Emery did with hers.

  I finish getting dressed and kiss the top of Emery’s head before leaving the room, flashing back to when I’d spend hours on my back porch, holding a young Emery in my lap and brushing her soft hair. My eyes flicker across the dim room. At first, living in this house, I’d expected to have to tiptoe around the ghost of my mom. But this isn’t the house of a person who always disappoints me—it’s the home of people who always amaze me.

  I head downstairs and past my luggage piled by the front door. I find Dad in the kitchen with a cup of green tea in hand.

  He grins at me. I give him a smile that breaks into a yawn. “Breakfast?” he asks.

  My stomach says yes, and suddenly I have a craving for supoesi, a coconut cream and papaya soup served at Tess’s family restaurant. But I’m still in Nebraska, and Dad doesn’t have any papayas.

  “Santa Cruz specialty omelet?” I ask instead.

  “Good call. Coming right up.”

  Instead of sitting at the table, I join Dad at the counter, helping chop the sweet red peppers, jalapeños, celery, and squash. “You sure this is okay?” I ask him. “Me going away?”

  He turns to me. “I’d be lying if I said I was completely comfortable with it. But let’s think of it as a test run for the both of us. We won’t be able to keep eyes on each other forever.”

  I want to ask why not? If I go to the University of Santa Cruz, I’ll only have to stay in the dorms for the first year, and then I can spend the rest of college at home, on the beach, like it should be.

  Why do so many people equate growing up with leaving?

  I press back from the counter, leaving Dad to finish the omelets. The chances of them burning are high if I continue to participate once they hit the stove. One more reason to stay home forever—I’ll never have to cook for myself.

  I ease my phone out of my pocket and flip it back and forth in my hand. Lincoln will be here in less than half an hour, and then we’ll spend the next two days road tripping across half the country, stopping midway to sleep at his friend Wendy’s house. The thought of spending so much time with Lincoln is unnerving. I’m not sure what to expect—the best time of my life or catastrophe. So instead I focus on going home, but that only makes my nerves worse since my friends might be mad at me or, as doubtful as it is, my mom could be there.

  I settle at the table while Dad finishes the omelets and sift through my faded tote bag, making sure I have everything I need for the trip. My fingers brush against my wallet, toiletries, a change of clothes, tampons, books, and then something small and smooth. My throat tightens as I pull the object out of the bag—the sea marble Eric gave me on my last night in Santa Cruz. I’d forgotten I’d slipped it in my bag. Just like that, memories rush back full and fast—his scent, his smile, the feel of his lips. In a few days I’ll see him again, but so much has changed…

  Will he ever give me a sea marble again?

  Maybe I should text him saying I can’t wait to see him and I’m sorry I was so out of touch, but then Dad is sitting down with our plates of food. “Here you go,” he says. I fork out a large chunk of the omelet, but my stomach churns. “Anise,” Dad says, looking at me with concern. “I know this isn’t easy for you. But I think you’ll look back and be glad you did it.”

  “This is kind of twisted, you know, the father persuading his seventeen-year-old daughter to drive cross-country with a very handsome boy?”

  “Ah, so you think he’s handsome.”

  “I’m not one to contest factual evidence.”

  “Do you think you guys will stay in touch after this summer?”

  Why are parents so good at pinpointing the one thing you don’t want to talk about? Though, to be fair, there are a few things I don’t want to talk about right now.

  I hug one arm to my waist, while my other hand toys with my fork, cutting the omelet into progressively smaller pieces. “I don’t know,” I mumble. Keeping Lincoln at arm’s length has become harder these past few days, and voluntarily putting myself in a car with him for twenty-four hours isn’t exactly going to make it any easier.

  “Not everyone runs away,” Dad says.

  I look at him sharply. “I know that.”

  “Lincoln doesn’t seem like the type to disappear.”

  “I know.”

  But after this summer, after falling off the grid, ignoring my friends, I can’t help but think Lincoln might not be the type to disappear, but what if I am?

  • • •

  Twenty minutes later my phone beeps, announcing Lincoln’s arrival. I text him back, telling him I’ll be outside in a second. Dad and I head to the front door.

  “Here.” He pulls a small folded envelope from his back pocket and hands it to me.

  “What’s this?”

  “A little emergency money…or, if there aren’t any emergencies, a little ‘have a great trip money.’”

  “Thanks, Dad.” I hug him. It lasts longer than usual and takes a bit of willpower to pull away.

  “Drive safe and text updates. Hourly.” He scratches his thick hair. “Actually, make that half hourly.”

  I nod in agreement. “Promise.”

  I turn to open the front door, and as I do, two figures hurdle down the stairs. “Slow down, Parker!” Dad and I warn at the same time.

  “Is he going for a set of broken arms?” I mutter.

  The boys get to the bottom of the landing and stare at me with agitated eyes. “You were going to leave without saying good-bye,” Nash accuses.

  “Yeah, not cool.” Parker agrees.

  Instead of pointing out that I did say good-bye last night, I say, “Very not cool of me. I agree.” Then I bend down to hug both of them, being extra careful of Parker’s broken arm.

  It’ll be strange to wake up tomorrow morning without these shaggy-haired nuisances trailing my every step. I’ve gotten used to having three shadows instead of just the one.

  “We got you something,” Nash says.

  “Yeah, give it to her.” Parker nudges him.

  “Wait, I don’t have it. You do!”

  “No, I don’t! You do!”

  “No you—”

  “Guys, seriously,” another voice cuts in. Emery emerges at the top of the stairs, carrying a small, square package in hand. “I have it.”

  She trots down the stairs and passes the package to me. The boys chant, “Open it! Open it!”

  I tear at the newspaper wrapping to find a CD labeled ANISE AND LINCOLN’S AWESOME ROAD TRIP MIX. The illustration features Lincoln and me rushing down the highway in his open-top Jeep. Most of the songs are road trip themed, like Halsey’s “Drive,” but halfway down the list I notice “No Night to Sleep,” my favorite Motel/Hotel song.

  “They helped pick out the music,” Emery says.

  “When you’d let us,” Nash says in a dark tone.

  “Oh,” I say, my throat tight, and not in that I-just-woke-up-and-need-water kind of way or even in the Dad-put-too-much-jalapeño-in-the-omelet kind of way.

  Parker and Nash stare up at me expectantly. Emery toys with the cotton ties of her pajama bottoms, but I know she’s waiting for my reaction too.

  “It’s perfect. It’s really, really perfect. Thank you guys.”

  “We’ll miss you.” Parker and Nash jump forward and hug me again.

  “You will?” I ask, my voice muffled by their hair.

  “Yeah,” Emery says, and I catch her eye and a small smile. “We really will.”

  • • •

  I stuff my luggage in the back of Lincoln’s Jeep. He put all the windows and roof panels back on, probably so we don’t get caught open-topped in a torrential downpour as we speed down the highway. I climb into the passenger seat and hand Lincoln the CD. “Does t
his mean we get to listen to something besides Bruce Springsteen?”

  “Absolutely.” He grins, dimple popping, and I think of the first time I saw that dimple and how it was attached to a cute stranger, and now only weeks later I’m driving halfway across the country with that same dimple. Lincoln inserts the CD. The Beatles’ “The Long and Winding Road” plays.

  “How appropriate,” Lincoln says, then frowns. “Though it’s more like the long and very straight road.” He grabs a mug from the cup holder, takes a sip, then offers it to me. “Want some?” he asks.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “Tea.”

  He hands it to me, and I take a sip. “Fuck, that’s delicious.” Even better than the green tea Dad made me this morning. “What is it?”

  Lincoln smiles. “Remember our first adventure? The wild bergamot I grabbed?”

  I take another sip and let the flavor wash through me. That first day at the river seems so long ago; it makes me realize how much I’ve settled into this new place. As Lincoln pulls out of the driveway, I lean my head against the cool window and stare at the houses we past. When I first arrived, they all looked like cookie-cutter homes, but now I can spot the differences in each one of them.

  “You okay?” Lincoln asks.

  “Just tired.” I know I should be bubbling with enthusiasm, sneaking a kiss to Lincoln’s smooth cheek, rambling on about all of the amazing things we’re going to do at Surf Break, but I can’t muster the enthusiasm. Because the thing is, as we pull out of the neighborhood and toward the highway, I can only think of Parker, Nash, Emery, Aunt Jackie, and Dad.

  My thoughts keep going to my family.

  Is it possible to leave a place without leaving anyone behind?

  “Why don’t you take a nap?” Lincoln suggests. “I’ll wake you when I get bored. Or more likely, when I get hungry.”

  “Okay.” I don’t resist. I close my eyes, not really intending to sleep. But as the car rumbles over the textured pavement and the engine hums beneath us, I slowly drift off.