For the first time, I notice Layla and Maddy standing to the left
of my bed like they’re afraid to come too close.
“Do you remember what happened?” Mom asks.
I shake my head and regret it, because the room spins with it. I
remember sand and a whole lot more pain than I’ll ever admit to
willingly.
“It was so strange,” Layla says. “We were just talking-” She
pauses, like she’s not sure if she’s remembering right either. She
bites her lips before continuing, and I fidget because every part of
me is happy to see her. Every part. I remember the CPR on the beach
like a flash. Her angry face walking away from me. I rub the spot on
my chest where she punched me.
Now, sitting in the visitor’s chair, she plucks a daisy from the
bouquet on the table beside her. She twirls the yellow flower in her
hand and squeezes a petal between her fingers, like she’s trying to
get the sticky sweetness out of the flower before she plucks it. She
loves me.
“We were talking,” Maddy interrupts. She takes a seat at the very
corner of my bed. She stares at my feet sticking out from the
blankets. “Then we saw those storm clouds, and people just started
screaming and freaking out and running out of the water all at once.
You were holding this little girl who wouldn’t stop crying . Then you
gave her to me .” Her voice reaches a high pitch before she stops and
takes a deep breath.
Layla plucks another petal. It falls onto her lap. She’s wearing
white shorts and a blue T-shirt that says “LOLA STAR” in big yellow
letters. She loves me not .
“We were getting evacuated, and they couldn’t go after you,
because they had to get everyone else off the beach. And then we made
it to the boardwalk just as the wave crashed. It reached all the way
up to the boardwalk.”
“Yeah, Ruby’s roof came down a bit, but nothing major.”
“I remember spinning,” I say, with sudden unease in my gut.
“They said there was a whirlpool a few miles out. Some schooners
hit the bottom. They’ve been washing up for a few days.”
“Do you remember anything else?” my mom asks, brushing my hair
back. The gray overcast light makes the red of her hair look so much
brighter. Actually, everything looks brighter. The golden tan on
Layla’s skin, even the dull blond of Maddy’s pigtail braids shines. My
hearing isn’t as good as when I woke up on the shore, and I don’t know
if I was just imagining that stuff, but I swear I can hear the way my
mom’s heartbeat quickens and skips. “What’s wrong?”
She shakes her head. “I hate hospitals.” She hums something, which
is what she does when she’s distracted.
“You’re such a fast swimmer,” Layla says. She loves me. “You got
out so far before the first wave even hit. I’ve never seen you swim
like that.” She says the last bit like she’s really trying to remember
the last time she saw me swim, like she’s been missing something. I’m
missing a lot of somethings, and it’s making the back of my head
pulse. She loves me not.
“Th-then the next day there was no sign of a storm. I mean, it’s
been overcast, but the water is super still. Beach patrol’s been
searching the shore for days.”
“Whoa, wait. How many days has it been?” I ask.
“Three,” they say in unison.
Three days? I can’t even say it out loud.
“Alex and I found you this morning.” She loves me. She loves me
not.
I sit up and feel stronger right away, like lying down is the
problem.
They’re so quiet that I can’t stand it. “Guys, what? What’s wrong?
I’m alive. Happy news. What’s with the morbid?”
“It’s just that…you’re the only one we’ve found,” Layla says. Then
adds, “Alive.”
“Shit.”
She loves me. She loves me not. She loves me.
I jump when Mom goes, “Madison Shea! What are you doing?”
Maddy lets drop the corner of the covers she’s holding up. “Sorry,
I j-just…There’s stuff on your feet, Tristan.”
And there on the inside of my ankle is a thin residue of sand that
looks like it’s been mixed with glitter. That’s Coney Island sand for
you.
My mom forces a chuckle, the kind she reserves for PTA meetings
and community brunches. “The sooner we’re home, the faster you can
have a real good bath.”
“Mom, if I’m the only survivor so far, they’re not just going to
let me walk out of here. That nurse just went to get the doctor.” Not
that I want to stay here any longer. This is just like my mom, hating
hospitals so much that even when she sprained her ankle last December,
she just sat on the couch for two weeks rather than see a doctor. Two
amazing weeks for her, since Dad and I were her menservants.
The cute Asian nurse comes back in. “Hey,” I say instantly.
She loves me not.
She gives me that shy smile, then looks directly at my mother.
“Doctor Burke is taking off a cast, ma’am.”
“Maddy, will you tell my husband that we’ll only be a minute? Oh,
and will you take one of these bouquets? They’re just lovely. Pity we
can’t take them all.” She plucks a card off one and reads it out loud.
“‘Get well soon, XOXO. Luv, Amanda.’ Who’s Amanda?”
“I don’t remember,” I say. Sometimes my mom acts like she’s not
part of this universe, living always in her head. Maddy is still in
the room, and even though she looks away quickly, I don’t miss the
hurt on her face. She picks up the bouquet of daisies beside Layla and
walks out of the room like she can’t put enough distance between me
and her.
“What a strange girl,” Mom says before turning to me. “Your
clothes are in the bathroom.”
I don’t know what to say. This is insane? Can you get arrested for
leaving a hospital without a doctor’s approval? Is it like walking out
on a restaurant check? I hold up my wrists with all the tabs hooked to
them. “Um, hello?”
“Oh.” Nurse Christine grabs my wrist with her gentle fingers and
then pulls at the white tabs with one swift movement. It doesn’t
exactly hurt, but it’s like peeling off tape all at once.
“Tristan,” Mom says in her Did-you-hear-me-or-what? tone.
“Bathroom. Clothes. Now. Please.”
I stand too quickly before realizing there is no back to my
hospital gown. Not that my mother didn’t give birth to me, and not
that Layla hasn’t seen me in nothing but a banana hammock from the
swim team’s uniform, and one time the team decided it’d be a good idea
to skinny-dip for Valentine’s Day. But this is a tad invasive.
Layla and my mother giggle behind their hands while I try to hold
the back of my gown together and walk backward into the bathroom.
“You wouldn’t think it’s so funny after you’ve just escaped the
hands of death ,” I shout at them once I’ve closed the door. I sit on
the toilet to inspect my body for any more grime they missed. The sand
is mostly gone, but I wish I had a life-sized scratch post to rub my
entire body against until the itch goes away. I scratch at my chest
and wince at the burn. In the mirror I notice thin red scratches that
are still scabbing. What happened to me?
I put on my navy-blue canvas shorts and a white V-neck that’s
almost worn thin from salt water and detergent. I run the faucet and
splash cold water on my face. I could have died. I could have drowned.
I’ve been missing for three days, and I don’t remember any of it. I
want to throw up, but all I do is dry heave into the sink.
I rinse out my mouth, examine myself in the mirror. The skin on my