Local Girl Swept Away (14 page)

“Aren't you late for work?” I asked Mom.

“Day off,” she said. “How come you're up so early?”

“Going out for a little while. I'll be back in time to get ready for school.”

She looked me right in the eyes, then walked away. “It's starting to rain. Wear something waterproof.”

I'd already layered a sweater over a long-sleeved T-shirt, but I went to the closet for my slicker.

From the pantry Mom said, “Four months today, isn't it?”

More than most people, Teresa Silva understood the importance of anniversaries. Every November 27, the date of my uncle's shipwreck, she allowed herself to spend the day in bed, an indulgence she didn't give in to the other 364 days.

“Yeah.”

“Going down there, aren't you?” She frowned as she took the top off an old Thermos bottle and sniffed it.

I nodded.

“Take some coffee along. You'll get cold. The wind is sharp.”

I watched her fill the Thermos three-quarters full with coffee and then dump in a generous amount of milk before screwing the top back on. When she handed me the bottle her eyes were foggy behind her glasses.

“Thanks, Mom.”

“People used to say you could hear the voices of drowned folks right before a rainstorm, but I never did. It's just a superstition,” she said, as if she wasn't a firm believer in dozens of old wives' tales.

“I'm not expecting to hear her,” I said. I was, however, hoping to
feel
Lorna. To somehow be with her again.

“Don't want you to be disappointed.” Mom went back into the pantry, but came right out again as if she'd forgotten why she went in. “Are you walking out on it? The breakwater?”

“I'm not sure. Maybe.”

“Be careful. Tide's going out.”

Which is all she had to say in order for one of her groundless superstitions to wedge itself into my brain.
An ebbing tide lures the careless to a watery grave.

• • •

Clouds were thick on the horizon as I approached the breakwater. It looked as if we might get a good soaking before long. The sharp wind didn't carry Lorna's voice, but it did make my ears sting, and I was glad to find an old watch cap in the pocket of my slicker. When a thin ray of sun sliced through the gray morning and fell on the rock trail in front of me, I took a picture.

But looking through the viewfinder I noticed something I hadn't seen with my eyes. There seemed to be someone sitting out on the rocks, maybe a quarter of a mile away. Who'd be out there this early? I framed the figure against the weak, rising sun, and then I knew. Of course.

I had to steel myself to get past those first few boulders, keeping to the center, not looking over the edge to where the surf crashed against the rocks.
You used to cross the breakwater all the time
, I reminded myself, but still fear choked me and made me stop in my tracks a dozen times. I put down the Thermos and my camera, so I wouldn't drop them if I stumbled, and forced myself to take one step after the other.

The farther I walked, the bigger the spaces became between one rock and the next. Sometimes I had to leap the divide, hoping my foot wouldn't land on a slippery spot or a chunk of seaweed thrown up by the tide. And then I
did
slip, not much, not badly, but I stayed down on my hands and knees for a few minutes to gather the courage to continue. Those last few yards the sound of the waves pounded in my ears so loudly I couldn't hear my own footsteps.

Finn couldn't hear them either. He sat cross-legged looking out at the horizon, his hair whipping in the wind, and when I touched his back lightly, his scream cut through the humid air. He fell forward, away from my hand.

“It's me!” I shouted, pretty sure I knew who he thought it was. “It's only me!”

Finn stared at me for a few seconds, stared right through me. Then he took a deep breath and let his eyes close. “Jackie, my God, you scared the crap out of me!”

“I'm sorry. I didn't realize . . . I'm sorry.”

“It's okay,” he said, but he didn't sound like he meant it.

“Can I . . . do you mind if I sit here with you?”

He hesitated a moment, then patted the rock next to him. “Sure. Have a seat.”

Carefully, I lowered myself onto the flat stone. “I didn't know you came out here much.” I had to yell into the wind.

“I don't. I never come out here.”

What else was there to say? I looked up at the clouds, moving in fast. Just an ordinary, dreary day. But not for us. For Finn and me rain will never be ordinary, clouds will never be insignificant, the ocean will never be predictable, the tenth day of every month will always remind us of what we've lost.

Finally I said, “How long have you been out here?”

He shrugged, then shivered. “Before the sun came up. An hour or so, I guess.”

“You must be cold. You don't have a hat or gloves.”

“I'm fine.”

I reached over and touched his fingers. “Your hands are freezing.”

“I don't care,” he said, wedging them into his armpits. “It won't kill me.”

I was silent for a moment, then said, “What do you remember about that night?”

Finn groaned and let his head sink down onto his crossed arms. “Come on, Jackie. Haven't we gone over this enough? I remember the same things you do.”

“I know, but I mean the details. Like how she was acting, where we were all standing, how long it took us to—”

“Jackie, please. I don't need this today.”

“Well, maybe I do!” I was surprised by the anger in my voice, but I didn't back down. If we didn't figure it out, who would? “Why did she want to come down here that afternoon? She knew the weather was going to be bad. She didn't even have a decent coat on.”

Finn shook his head. “I don't know. She talked about it all day, how this big storm was supposed to come in around six o'clock, and we should all come down here and watch.”

“Well, why did we—”

“Because. We always did everything she wanted us to. You know that.”

“We should have said, ‘We're not going. It's a crazy idea.' Why didn't we?”

Finn turned an exhausted, wind-burned face to me. “Why are you doing this, Jackie? What's the use? I'm so tired of going over it. I was just starting to think I'd finally managed to stuff all the memories of that night into a little . . . a little
bag
, like an extra kidney that fit deep inside me.” He cupped his hand to show me the size. “It was tied up tight so nothing could spill out. I knew it was there, but I didn't have to
touch
it all the time. I could go minutes, hours, sometimes most of a day, without thinking about the worst moments of my life.”

The corners of his mouth turned down into a scowl. “And then Lucas came back with all his secrets or lies or whatever they are, and that little bag ripped right down the middle and everything leaked out all over. She's here again. Right
here
.” He put his hand on his chest, the place where Lorna was still in residence, and tears spilled from his eyes.

“Oh, Finn.” I couldn't stop myself. I put my arms around him and drew him tightly against my shoulder, and he allowed it. He cried so hard it was more like howling, and the wind carried it out to sea. At some point I crawled right into his lap, my legs on either side of him, my arms around his shoulders, getting as close to him as possible so I could feel his ruptured heart banging into my own, so there was almost no division between the two of us. And then I cried too, only this time it was for Finn, not Lorna, because maybe he would always be like this, broken, ruined.

We stayed like that a long time—five minutes? Ten? I had no idea. Finally Finn calmed down. He sat up and pushed away from me, gradually, until I couldn't feel his ragged breath on my neck anymore. I ran my fingers along his cheekbones, mopping up tears, before I crawled out of his lap.

“You still love her,” I said, leaning into his side.

“Don't you?”

“I do. But, sometimes I think . . . she didn't love us the way we loved her.”

Finn shrugged, wiping his face with his sweater. “Probably true. It was harder for her. Which made me want to keep trying, you know, to reach that part of her.”

I understood completely.

“She was so beautiful,” he continued, “but not in some shallow, hair-commercial way. She just . . . glowed! The lights were always on inside her. You couldn't contain her.”

“I know,” I said.

“When she laughed, you couldn't stay mad at her. Her laugh was like . . . bells or scales on the piano, or, I don't know, like rain when you really need it.”

I could hear that laugh. I could feel it run up my spine.

We were both quiet for a minute and then Finn said, “Thanks, Jackie.”

“What for?”

“Listening. Talking.”

And there it was again, that tender, needy look on Finn's face that seemed to be an invitation. His eyes snagged mine and held on. What did he want? Was I supposed to understand what that look meant? I wrenched my eyes away, not willing to make a fool of myself a second time. We were friends, Finn and me. He'd made it clear we could never be more than that. I was reading the signals wrong, or maybe I was making them up altogether.

I leaned lightly on his shoulder as I got to my feet. “I'm glad you were here,” I said.

And without looking back, I started my careful walk to shore. The rocks weren't as frightening to me now, maybe because I could see land ahead of me, or maybe because I felt Finn watching my every step.

As always at the beginning of a new school year, all thirty-six seniors were required to attend the afternoon assembly in the auditorium, like it or not. I walked in with Charlotte and saw Finn sitting with his friend Tony Perry. There were open seats next to them, but sitting so close seemed risky, especially after the confusing emotions I'd felt this morning on the breakwater, so I led Char into the row just ahead of them. I wondered if my eyes looked as droopy and sad as Finn's did. We exchanged brief smiles before Charlotte and I settled into our uncomfortable seats.

Almost immediately I saw Lucas coming down the aisle. He was headed in my direction until he saw who was sitting behind me—then he veered off and sat across the aisle. Ugh. Wouldn't anything ever be
normal
again? Couldn't we figure out a new normal?

Ms. Waller stood on tiptoe in front of the microphone, going on and on about how important this year was going to be for us. She knew we all had a lot on our plates, but that was no excuse to goof off. Those who planned to go to college needed to schedule appointments with her to make sure they were on track. There were forms to fill out, tests to take, and endless deadlines to remember.

“Have you gone in to talk to her yet?” Charlotte asked.

“Last week,” I said. “Elsie's helping me figure out the FAFSA forms today after school.”

“Oh good, then you can help me,” Char said.

Tony leaned forward. “I thought our parents had to fill those things out?”

I swiveled in my seat. “They do, but my parents keep putting it off. I decided I better figure it out myself and just tell them where to plug in the numbers.”

“Why is this so complicated?” he asked. “Getting into college is like a part-time job.”

“You're going to college?” Finn sounded surprised.

Tony nodded. “I hope so. My dad thinks I can get a basketball scholarship. You know, not to anyplace big, but I don't care as long as they pay for it.”

“Where would you go?”

“My dad's got a list. Small, private schools mostly. I guess they like to get people from other parts of the country, so we're thinking maybe somewhere in the Midwest.”

“I didn't know you wanted to go to college,” Finn said. I turned back around, but I was still listening.

“Why not?” Tony said. “If I get the chance to, I'm going. If I stick around here I'll just end up being a carpenter like my dad.”

“What's wrong with that?” Finn grumbled.

“The Cape's already full of unemployed carpenters. Besides, I want to go someplace I don't know every single person in town. Don't you?”

“No. I like it here. I want to be a fisherman,” Finn said.

I have to admit I was pleased when Tony exploded with laughter. “Are you kidding me? Nobody can make a living fishing anymore, even families that have done it for generations. I guess you don't really need to make a living though, huh?”

It took Finn a few seconds to respond. “What does that mean?”

“It means you're rich, bro. Didja forget?”

“I'm not planning to live off my parents, Tony. Geez.”

Tony clicked his teeth. “Well, I wouldn't plan on the fishing career either, man. Seriously, dude. How can a guy like you not go to college?”

Huh.
A guy like you
. It hadn't occurred to me that Finn got pigeonholed like that too.

He didn't have to answer the question because Mr. MacCracken, who taught history, came over to tell them to be quiet. I was glad to hear somebody else getting on Finn's case about this dumb fishing idea. Becoming a fisherman was his excuse for staying in P'town where he could be reminded of Lorna every minute of every day.

When the assembly was over, Finn and Tony took their time extricating their long legs from the auditorium chairs. I scooted into the aisle quickly and waited for Lucas to walk past. I could tell he was planning to ignore us, so I grabbed him when he came near. By that time Finn was standing in the aisle too, scowling.

“Hey, man,” Tony said to Lucas. “I heard you were back. How's it going?”

“Good, good,” Lucas said, careful not to make eye contact with Finn.

“Doesn't he look great?” I said, my voice more cheerful than necessary. “He's been hiking in the woods all summer.”