Girl Out of Water Page 6

  At one point Lincoln joined us, standing next to me in comfortable silence, watching the twins grind halfway down the rail before falling off. After observing for a bit, he called them over, crouched down to their level, and started talking and gesturing at the rail. He even got on the rail himself once, the twins watching with steadfast attention as he smoothly slid across the metal, flipping his board at the end before landing with a solid thwack on the ground.

  During this maneuver, he also managed to, I shit you not, wink at me, dimple flashing as he smiled. I wanted to say something along the lines of nice wink, stalker, but by the time the thought formed and I stopped blushing, he was already waving good-bye and skating back to his brother.

  I look back toward the park path, and Emery comes around the curve of the trail, walking her bike next to two other girls about her age. They look like they should be on the cover of some preteen magazine, all in bright summer dresses and wearing complicated hairstyles designed to look uncomplicated. I feel a pang for my girlfriends back home. Tess, Cassie, Marie, and I could be walking down the beach right now, gossiping about all the wonderfully meaningless shit that happened today. Maybe Spinner, the biggest gossip of them all, would even join in. My fingers itch to text them, but to say what? Besides, I’m supposed to FaceTime with Cassie tonight. We’ll catch up then.

  I almost tell Emery to hurry up because I know Dad will be waiting with news of Aunt Jackie’s surgery. He texted me a little bit ago saying all good at hospital, low battery, be home soon. I’m sure the rest of the surgery went fine yet worry sticks to the back of my mind. Still, I let Emery take her time walking over to us. I don’t want to embarrass her by insisting she hurry up. Dad and I have always had a pretty tight relationship, but I remember being a mortified twelve-year-old when he would talk to my friends like he was their pal. No way am I going to do the same thing to Emery.

  But then Nash shouts, “Emery!” and zooms over to her with all the energy of someone who hasn’t been skating for hours and proceeds to forget how to stop with all the coordination of someone who has never skated, crashing into Emery’s friends with enough momentum to hurtle all of them to the ground in a jumble, and I realize my speaking to her friends is low on the list of potential humiliations.

  I run over to mediate the situation, Parker trailing at my heels, but by the time I get there, Emery’s friends are already on their feet and walking back into the park. One turns and gives a halfhearted wave, but the other doesn’t even glance back. My friends would never react like that. They’d laugh it off and probably even give Nash a high five. But I’ve been friends with the same people my entire life. Maybe Emery’s friendships are new—tender.

  As soon as the girls round the corner, Emery turns on Nash and the screaming begins.

  “You’re so annoying! Why would you do that? God, you’re embarrassing! Why can’t you be more like Parker?”

  Her words are quick and harsh. Nash sits on the pavement, staring at the ground, his face red and his eyes welling with tears. I don’t know what to do, but I have to do something. I try to channel Dad’s Zen-ittude.

  “Um, Emery.” I place a hand on her shoulder, which she shoves away. I don’t blame her. Who wants a hand on the shoulder when your mom is in the hospital, and on top of that, your brother just embarrassed the fuck out of you? “Look,” I continue, “I’m sure Nash is very sorry for what happened. It was an accident. Right, Nash?”

  “Yeah,” Nash says with a quiet sniffle. Oh god. Did he really just sniffle? I do not know how to take care of sniffling kids. What on earth gave Aunt Jackie and Dad the idea that I’m responsible enough to deal with sniffling kids? “I’m sorry.”

  I’m preparing for the worst—another outburst from Emery, perhaps even some physical altercation in retribution for her friends—but instead she pauses, takes a slow breath, then leans down and rubs Nash’s shaggy hair. “It’s fine. Never mind. I’m sorry for yelling. Come on. Let’s go home.”

  Nash hesitates then grabs her offered hand. She tugs him to his feet, and all three kids start toward home, leaving me openmouthed behind them. Did we really just avert World War Three in all of five seconds? Is this normal sibling behavior? I guess I should embrace it, rather than standing around second-guessing my good fortune.

  “Right,” I say, even though no one is close enough to hear it. “Let’s go home.”

  • • •

  As we round the corner to our street—I mean, their street because my street is back in Santa Cruz and has an ocean attached to it—I notice Dad sitting on the front stoop, dressed in his running gear, an electronic cigarette perched between two fingers. He gave up smoking years ago, but he still pulls out one of these when he gets stressed. I tense at the sight. What if the surgery…

  I try to read his facial expression, but he’s kind of far away and also I’m shit at reading facial expressions.

  “Hey.” I turn to my cousins. “Why don’t you guys go inside and get showered, and I’ll get dinner ready?”

  “But we want to know how Mom is,” Nash says.

  “Yeah, how’s Mom?” Parker asks.

  My shoulder muscles tighten. I also want to know how she is. But bad news can wait, and good news will still be good news a few minutes from now.

  When I don’t answer, Nash asks again, loud enough that the words carry over the quiet street. “How. Is. Mom?”

  “She’s great!” Dad calls out. “Everything went great.” The tension immediately eases from my shoulders. “I’ll tell you guys more over dinner. Go shower like Anise said.”

  They don’t protest further. They drop their gear in the garage and then head into the house. Emery gives me a lingering glance, as if she wants to ask something else, before rolling her bicycle into the garage and leaving me alone with Dad.

  “Hey,” I say, walking up to him. He looks exhausted. He was up early this morning to meet Aunt Jackie at the hospital before her procedure. Suddenly I feel guilty for how annoyed I was earlier when my Google alert informed me to expect six foot waves in Santa Cruz all afternoon. I’m not the only one sacrificing this summer. I’m sure Dad would much rather be doing yoga on the beach than dealing with his sister-in-law’s surgery schedule. “Is she really great?” I ask. “And how are you?”

  “She’s good,” Dad says. “Recovering, but the surgery went as well as it could. She’ll be up to seeing the kids tomorrow, and the doctor said she’s still on schedule to come home in a few weeks. And I’m good too. Just tired and…”

  “And what?”

  “It’s just…being in this house, her house—” He isn’t talking about Aunt Jackie. Dad shakes his head, then smiles. “It’s nothing.” He pats the stoop. “C’mon. Hang with me for a bit. I’ve barely seen you since we got here.”

  I settle down next to him. These aren’t the wooden chairs on our back deck, but it feels good to sit out here next to Dad.

  “Thank you again for taking care of your cousins,” Dad says. “I know three kids can be a handful. God, I know one kid can be a handful.”

  “Hey.” I nudge him in the shoulder. “Don’t insult your legacy to this world. And it’s okay. The park was actually kind of cool.” I think of Lincoln, or more precisely Lincoln’s dimple and self-assured smile. “And it seemed to wear out the boys.”

  “Anything that wears out those guys is cool in my book.” Dad takes another drag of his cigarette and then blows out the artificial smoke in one quick burst. “This thing is shit,” he says.

  I fake gasp. “Cursing? Aren’t you supposed to be setting a good example?”

  “Eh, your cousins are inside, and I already fucked that one up with you.” He grins at me, and I laugh.

  We relax into comfortable silence for a few minutes until the front door opens behind us. Parker and Nash stand there, hair wet, towels wrapped around their waists. “We’re hungry,” they say together.

 
I groan and stand up from the stoop, surprised to find my muscles protesting, like they’ve already begun to atrophy from three days without exercise. Maybe I should lift weights or run to maintain some strength this summer. “Come on,” I say. “I’ll cook you guys dinner. Uncle Cole’s going to hang out here a bit longer.”

  And by cook I mean PB&Js or maybe mac and cheese, if there’s any left. Too bad Dad didn’t pass on his culinary skills to me. Maybe he would have if I ever stayed inside the kitchen long enough to learn.

  “Oh, no cooking,” Dad says. “Tonight’s pizza night. Your mom told me if I feed you guys anything else for dinner she’ll ground me.”

  Instead of laughing, Parker and Nash stare at Dad. “That doesn’t make sense,” Parker says. “Mom can’t ground you. You’re an adult.”

  “Yeah, Uncle Cole. Grown-ups can’t be grounded.”

  I snicker and join in. “Yeah, Dad. Grown-ups can’t be grounded.”

  “You’re right.” Dad stands. “But grown-ups can pick the pizza toppings.”

  “Wait!” my cousins wail, shadowing Dad as we all follow him into the house.

  • • •

  Later that night, I’m in my room and about to FaceTime Cassie. She texted earlier that she got her info packet for boot camp, and I told her I want to hear all about it. But as I’m about to call her, someone knocks on my door. “Come in!”

  Emery opens the door and takes a hesitant step into the room. “What’s up?” I ask. She shrugs her shoulders. I pat the open space next to me. “Come join me.”

  “What are you doing?” she asks as she settles on the bed, grabbing one of the extra pillows and holding it in her lap.

  “Well, I was going to talk with my friend, but—”

  “Oh, I can leave.”

  “No!” I control my voice and close my laptop. “I mean, stay. Let’s hang out. It’ll be nice to have some alone time without those brothers of yours.” I’m dying to talk to Cassie, or any of my friends for that matter. Every time I see a picture of them laughing at the Shak or they tag me in a post about legendary swells, my heart sinks a little more. Today, they’re still tagging me, but what about a week from now? A month?

  I push the fear away because I know Emery needs someone right now, and since Aunt Jackie’s at the hospital, I guess I’m that someone. And besides, as much as I want to talk to Cassie, I’m also worried catching up on everything will only make me miss home more. I send Cassie a quick text saying I have to reschedule and then turn my full attention to Emery.

  I want to ask about the incident with her friends and how she’s doing with Aunt Jackie in the hospital, but I’m sure she doesn’t want to talk about either subject. So instead I go with the one topic, besides surfing, I never get sick of.

  I look over at her and raise my eyebrows. “So, have a crush on anyone?”

  “No!” She blushes and looks down at the comforter. “I mean, not really. There are a few guys I kind of like.”

  “Do any of them like you?”

  She shrugs. “How would I know?”

  “You could ask one,” I suggest, though I’m not sure why. It’s not like I’m a wealth of dating advice. I’ve only dated a few guys. The longest was for a full six weeks before I realized his favorite thing about the beach was watching all of the girls in bikinis. So most of my romantic knowledge comes not from my experiences but from hearing Tess talk about hers. I wonder if she’s already targeted her first summer fling of the season. She loves tourists because she doesn’t have to break up with them. The end of summer does that for her.

  “I don’t know,” Emery says. She hugs the pillow tighter. “It’s too scary, you know? When someone is really cute and funny? Your whole body feels weird. It’s hard to get the right words out.”

  I expect an image of Eric to flash in my mind, but it isn’t him—it’s someone taller with dark skin and glasses. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” I push the thought away and clear my throat. “Hey, you want to watch a movie or something?”

  She nods, so I open my laptop and pull up Netflix. We scroll through the movies, and I let Emery pick one she wants. I don’t mention I’ve already seen it twice.

  “Hey, Anise?” she asks as the opening credits play.

  “Yeah?”

  “Mom is going to be okay, right?”

  Mom. I think of the postcard my mom sent and the note I left behind and how at any minute she could breeze through the front door like she left two days not two years ago. I hate that a small part of me wants to see her. I don’t need anything from her. Maybe when I was younger I thought I did, but I don’t now. If anything, I need her to stay out of my life. I wish she never sent that fucking postcard because once again I’m wasting time thinking about her, why she always leaves, and if she’ll ever come back.

  I wrap an arm around Emery and lean into her. “Yeah,” I say. “Your mom’s going to be okay.”

  Her shampoo smells like ocean water. I breathe her in.

  Five

  The hospital is packed. Sunday afternoon must be prime visiting time. It reminds me of those perfect summer days in Santa Cruz when everyone is outside. The nurses and doctors are like the locals, filling out charts, taking care of patients. They’re completely comfortable in this frenzied environment. The families are like the tourists, eyes flicking back and forth over the chaos, trying to find their place in the throng.

  We file down the hallway. Every few steps someone rolls by in a wheelchair, or a doctor rushes past. Emery’s joined us today, but she’s lagging so far behind it’s like she’d be perfectly fine with never making it to her mom’s room.

  As we approach the door, Dad turns toward all of us—and by all of us, I mean Parker and Nash—and says, “Okay, guys. Now remember, your mom just had surgery, so be sure to be quiet and—”

  Before he can finish speaking, both boys scoot around him, burst into the room, and start singing Destiny’s Child’s “Survivor” on maximum volume.

  Dad and I rush in behind them to find them dancing with lots of arm pumping. I’m about to shush them before we get kicked out of the hospital when I notice that Aunt Jackie is laughing and clapping along to the beat. Bruises and scratches still cover her pale face, and her legs are still strung up in the Frankenstein contraption, but she’s smiling, and I’m not going to be the one to ruin her good mood by muzzling her kids.

  It turns out I don’t have to be the one to ruin her fun because just as Parker and Nash are reaching the climax of the song and climbing on top of the armchairs, a nurse appears in the doorway. I’m sure the last thing she wants to deal with are two nine-year-old boys belting out Destiny’s Child. “What’s going on in here? Boys, please lower your voices!” she commands in one of those whisper yells that seem exclusive to hospitals and libraries.

  “Sorry.” Dad turns on his charming smile, which is alarming to see on my own parent, and leans in to speak quietly with her.

  Her expression turns from annoyed to flattered. “All right,” she says. “Just keep it down. This is a hospital.”

  “Absolutely,” Dad says. “Thank you for being so understanding.”

  Thankfully Parker and Nash are finishing the song and moving on to giant bows.

  We all clap, even the nurse. Well, hers is one of those unenthusiastic golfer claps. She gives the boys another warning look and Dad a smile before leaving.

  “My favorite song! That was wonderful, guys,” Aunt Jackie says, still smiling. “You sing beautifully out of tune like your father. He couldn’t even sing ‘Happy Birthday’ without the neighborhood cats howling. Now come give me a kiss.”

  The boys go to her bed and kiss her cheek with more gentleness than I knew they possessed. Then they settle down into the armchairs. Parker grabs the remote and flips through the TV channels, and Nash pulls out his Nintendo 3DS. Performance over, I guess.

  “Hey, sweeti
e,” Aunt Jackie says.

  It takes me half a second to realize she’s not talking to me. I turn to find that Emery has yet to enter the room. She’s still standing in the doorway, her hip pressed against the frame.

  “Hi.” Her voice is quiet. She fiddles with her phone, flipping it around and around in her hand. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

  And then she’s gone.

  I wonder if this was the hospital where her dad passed away, if she sat here scared and confused while doctors failed to keep him alive. I want to go after her, console her, see if she needs anything, but maybe all she really needs is to be alone. And I’m not going to take that away from her.

  Aunt Jackie tries to smile. “It’s not her fault,” she says. “You know, bad memories and all.”

  I nod and move further into the room, perching on the windowsill by her bed. “How are you feeling?” I ask.

  “Okay,” she says. “Tired. Loopy. A little queasy from the drugs. The doctors still have me pretty…what was the word again? Ah, toasted.”

  “What’s that mean?” Nash asks, looking up from his game.

  “Warm,” Dad says, coming over to stand next to me. “Toasty. See? Lots of blankets.”

  Nash gives one of those I-know-you’re-lying looks but goes back to his game, muttering, “Grown-ups are weird.”

  Parker, eyes still on the TV, nods his head. “Very, very weird.”

  I decide not to point out that they were the nine-year-olds just singing Destiny’s Child at the top of their lungs in a hospital.

  • • •

  About half an hour later, Emery sidles into the room with a magazine in one hand and a giant bag of McDonald’s in the other. Why there’s a McDonald’s in a hospital is beyond my comprehension. The scent reminds me of the fryers in Tess’s family’s restaurant. Maybe she’s there right now, serving coconut chicken curry and panikeke. Parker and Nash launch themselves off their chairs and at the bag, but Emery yanks it into the air and out of their reach. I’m half-expecting them to pull some kind of circus act and climb on each other’s shoulders to get to the food.