“You okay, dear?” Beck doesn’t touch me, but her compassionate voice wraps my heart, offering a place to rest. An invitation to confide.
“Fine.” I cross my arms. Inch away. Out of reach. “It’s too cold up here. Can we go back?”
“I thought you wanted to see the view.” Hope lowers her arms and faces me. Her innocent question makes her sound even younger. What could’ve happened to bring her to this point? To make a child need this place?
“Changed my mind.” I don’t look back as I begin my descent. “You two can stay. I’m going.”
Hope and Beck follow but keep their distance. Twigs snap and the dirt path turns to mud as rain begins to pour like a crashing tidal wave. Every step grows hindered. My shoes suck and slip with each step forward. Still, I continue faster, pushing through the weather that seems to have a vendetta against me. My walk turns into a jog, then a run. I drop the paper heart I’d been holding for Hope, abandon it in the mud where the hill’s path meets leveled grass.
When I reach the ranch house, I take the steps up the wraparound porch, wring out the hem of my shirt, rainwater drip, drip, dripping onto my already soaked shoes. Everything in my aching bones wants to head inside, to hop in a hot shower and stay there for days.
But Jake is in there. And the other girls. The thought of returning to the group, of introductions and trying to keep everyone’s name straight, overwhelms me to the point of a fatigue so cumbersome, I think I might be sick.
I can’t people right now. No matter how frozen I am.
I veer left, retreat to the side of the house. My sneakers squeak and my drenched hair hangs straight, sticking to my cheeks and neck. Maybe I can slip in through a back door. Avoid the group at least until someone comes to search for me.
Volunteers and staff members run for the ranch house from all angles. A few twentysomethings emerge from a massive barn, covering their heads with pieces of cardboard. Several more middle-aged women join them, sweatshirt hoods their only armor. I spot Beck and Hope too.
Everyone is taking shelter.
If I ever had a chance to escape, now would be the time.
I don’t think. I run. Down the porch steps and across the wide field. I slip on the grass twice, land straight on my rear. I came so close to letting Hope in today. She peered deep into a place I keep hidden. Where no one is allowed. She wasn’t welcome, but she found her window. Nearly made me reconsider—
What’s the point in postponing? Nothing ever lasts. Nothing.
“You are not nothing.”
“Get out of my head!” I push Hope’s voice away and press forward. My shout is drowned by the storm’s call.
When I reach the hill we hiked, I catch my breath. Fold in half and brace my hands on my thighs. A wooden sign on a stake that reads “Beachfront—2 miles” stares back at me. How did I miss it earlier? I glance up the muddy hill that might as well be a landslide, then down the level path ahead. How fitting.
I take the low road and never glance back.
Soon I find myself encompassed by sky-high cypress trees and the sky’s thunderous soundtrack fades. Branches wave and whip, fighting off the wind. The battering rain transforms to a bearable sprinkle. I slow my pace, inhale the wet dirt and bark scent. Wings flap somewhere in the distance and a critter scampers into a nearby bush.
This is how it should be. Inhale. Exhale. This is my send-off.
My joints relax with each new step. The more ground I gain, the less anxiety I feel. A longing deep within pushes me closer to the world I’ve missed. The leveled path begins its descent, a steady decline to sea level. The trees thin. I smell it now. Though my senses have dulled over the past year, this one never dwindles.
The ocean. Angry and heartbroken. Tossing and turning, high tide unforgiving, leaving little left of the shore.
The muddy path meets a knee-high barrier of smooth stones. Their slick, rough surfaces buffed by seawater and sand. I swing one leg over, then the other. My soles sink deep. My left shoe comes off first, then my right. The walk is painful, the white sand littered with shells and rocks and bark.
But there she is. The ocean I once loved.
And soon my pain will be no more.
Twelve
Merrick
Merrick stared after the ambulance. After the second set of sirens he’d seen in less than a week.
He’d come to the seaside town where he’d spent summers as a kid to get away from everything. To clear his head following his sister’s episode and his mom’s disappearance. But he couldn’t escape any of it. His problems followed him even here.
“Your mother has been looking for a way out for a long time, Son . . . She’s finally found her chance.”
Merrick combed his fingers through his hair and tried to shake off the feeling of dread that coursed through his veins. More than that, he needed to drown the sound of Hiroshi’s voice, forever stagnant in his mind.
That woman from the water had died in Merrick’s arms. And there was nothing he could do to stop it. What were the chances he’d encounter this sort of thing twice in such a short period of time? First Amaya, and now this stranger?
And the girl with her. Those eyes. They looked straight into his soul.
By the time his boat had reached shore with the older girl and he’d called 911, it was too late. He’d taken off his shirt and attempted to stop the bleeding, but he didn’t know where to begin. Her blood had been everywhere and nowhere. When the paramedics arrived and took over, the woman was nothing but a ghost.
That could have been Amaya.
“A cry for help,” that nurse had called it. Now all Merrick wanted to do was get back to the city so he could be that help his sister needed.
“Son, we need to ask you some questions.” A police officer approached Merrick, jarring his thoughts, apology and compassion unspoken in his gaze. “Would you mind coming down to the station with us?”
Merrick swallowed and followed the officer to his patrol car. He had taken the two-and-a-half-hour bus ride from the city down to the coastal tourist trap nestled near Monterey and Pebble Beach three days before. Slept in a cheap hotel, nothing but the clothes on his back and the harmonica in his pocket. Which of course meant he didn’t even have his own way of transportation. When he sat in the back of the car and watched the ocean disappear from view, he couldn’t help but feel as if he were the criminal here.
Not because of the woman. But the other girl in the water, the younger one. And that man. He’d tried to grab her. Somehow it was all related. Was that girl in danger? Where had she gone after Merrick had taken the woman ashore?
“Come on in.” The officer opened his door.
Merrick shielded his eyes from the bright streetlight above. They’d arrived already? He followed the officer up the station steps. Once they were inside, he said, “Wait here.”
Unlike what Merrick had seen on TV shows, the lobby area of the station was empty. No criminals with handcuffs waited to be booked. No one screamed profanity as they were dragged back to a jail cell. It was quiet. A popular talent show played on the TV hung high in one corner, and a half-full coffeepot sat on a table with some Styrofoam cups, stirrers, and packets of sugar and dry creamer.
Merrick moved to make himself a hot drink when the woman at the front desk said, “You can come back now.”
He followed her to a small room that did not have a two-way mirror as he’d expected. The room did have a wall of regular windows. It was just a big office, not all that different from the ones in his dad’s building.