Seven Tears into the Sea (11 page)

The tide was out, and the sea was calm, rolling in to graze my toes with smooth, small waves.
C'mon,
it whispered,
c'mon now
.

I used to know all the sea's voices, and I remembered this one: It was playful and a little impatient.

I wanted to run, splashing through the shallows, and dive in, but another voice—my mom's—kept me from doing it.

Although there hadn't been a shark bite—let alone a full-fledged attack—in these waters since 1976, I rushed through the five points Mom had made me recite each time we went swimming.

One: Is anyone fishing nearby?

It was hard to tell with all the fog, so I listened for the slap of waves on a hull or the racket of a boat engine. I heard nothing but the complaint of a sea bird.

Two: Is it dusk or night?

Nope, as far from those two favorite feeding times as you could get.

Three: Can you see a large number of fish, and if so,
are they flapping around, acting weird?

No. There were some sea lions out there. I could hear them surface and blow through their whiskers, even though I couldn't see them, but they were just mothers from the cove, out cruising for breakfast.

Four: Are you wearing a watch or jewelry or a hair clip that would reflect light and catch the eye of a prowling predator?

Unless the contrast of my winter-pale flesh against my red bikini counted, I was good to go on to the last question.

Five: Do you have any wounds that could possibly bleed?

Not a one. I wasn't a little kid anymore, deliberating over “ow-ies.”

So I was safe.

I moved out, letting the waves wet my ankles, knees, thighs. Of course it was cold, but I couldn't resist any longer. I arrowed my hands into the waves and arched my body after them, beginning a shallow dive.

The water was like silk, welcoming my fingertips as I pulled against it, stroking out from shore.

Turning from side to side, my ears caught a deep sound. Big waves threatening, or thunder's rumble? If it was thunder, I was out of here, because after thunder came lightning.

My first diving coach was from Kansas, someplace where they had electrical storms, and he'd always clear
the pool at the first rumble of thunder.
Hot as the sun,
was the way he'd described the temperature of a lightning strike. When someone on our team joked about it, wondering what ocean-going fish did during a storm, the coach had snapped, “You have one advantage the fish don't, meathead. You can get out.”

I paused, treading water and pushing wet hair from my eyes. Gray translucent waves crested atop each other, but it didn't smell like a storm.

I dove through the base of the next wave and the next, breathing sips of fog from beneath my arm. And suddenly I had company.

A raft of sea lions, sable and sleek, swam just ahead. They didn't welcome me, but they tolerated my presence, which must have seemed clumsy and loud compared to their silent surging.

They'd be heading back to their babies at the cove if there was a storm coming. I'd seen it before, dozens of long, sleek bodies sliding up on the sand. These sea lions weren't worried. The wind swirled a window in the fog, and the seals rose, peering through to see something I couldn't, and then they were off. In their wake a rocking movement pushed me backward.

Let's go! Excitement charged through me, and I followed. Diving, kicking, I pulled my body deeper, following them.

My eyes opened on a watery world of sea lions torpedoing
after a school of fish. Better than the Discovery Channel, better than dreams, I saw them careen through a kelp forest after silver fish. Flippers fanned past. Hollow stems of kelp bounced against my bare arms. A leathery tail scythed against my leg. Flashing teeth meant for the flickering school of fish reminded me sea lions were at the top of the food chain. I fanned my arms, backing up, removing myself from the sea lions' breakfast buffet.

Time to go back to my world, I thought. Tilting my head back, I sighted the blue-gold surface above. With my destination in sight, I gave what was supposed to be a mighty kick. But I was jerked up short like a dog on a leash. Without a thought for why, I tried again. This time, the yank made me look down.

A leafy amber cord of kelp had snapped taut around my ankle. I squinted. How had it happened? How entangled was I? Why was my leg going numb?

A sea lion rocketed past after the last terrified fish.

My pulse slammed at the side of my neck. My chest swelled with an insane fullness. I needed air. Now.

Glimmers of sun danced above me, reminding me panic and struggle used too much oxygen. I'd need it to swim back up.

Okay, okay, okay. I'm strong. I can break loose.

I bent my knees, gathering my muscle power as if I were launching myself into a dive. Go!

The kelp jerked tight and my head snapped back.

Reserve oxygen.

I could almost remember how many minutes of reserve oxygen a swimmer had. Almost.

Black dots frenzied in front of my eyes. I blinked hard, trying to see past them to the kelp. Should have looked first. Untie it or break it with my hands. But the black-gnat dots crowded out the sight of everything.

It felt good to let my limbs float free.

So this is drowning …

I cartwheeled down through green darkness.

I sighed and a chain of bubbles floated past my lips. A golden shaft of sunlight from a sky I might never see again slanted through the water.

A black sea lion darted through the brightness, made a quick curve around me and struck between my shoulder blades. The impact thrust me toward the surface, and the kelp snapped.

My arms and legs took over, striking toward the light. I rose effortlessly in the wake of the black sea lion, until my head broke through.

The first breath made me cough. Seawater had seared my throat. I remembered this feeling and struck off toward the beach.

I might have imagined the fog.

It was gone. Sky and sea spread sparkling turquoise around me.

My limbs felt weak and wobbly. The sea lion, who deserved a Flipper medal for sure, was nowhere in sight. Or maybe he'd been attacking me.

I swear, my arms were like noodles. If Mom, Dad, or Nana had been around, I would have given up and waited for help. Swimming was too hard. I couldn't make it back to the beach.

But I was on my own.

I kept swimming as a gull hovered about six feet above me. It tilted from wing to wing, opening its orange bill in a braying call.

He didn't care that I was exhausted and traumatized. Neither did the waves. Or that renegade sea lion.

If anything, Mirage Beach was welcoming me back with a reminder: Don't get cocky.

Amazingly, I was on time for work.

In my struggle with the kelp, I'd pulled a hamstring or some other vital muscle. I knew because making it up the Sea Horse Inn's steps was a chore.

Nana opened the back door like she was greeting a guest. She wore a cornflower blue dress that matched her eyes. She caught me into a careful hug.

“I saw you hobbling,” she said.

“I went for a swim and I'm so out of shape,” I admitted.

I thought it was close enough to the truth, until I
noticed Nana's worried eyes. I blurted the first thing I could think of to cheer her up. “You haven't tried my reading again.”

But Nana didn't whip out the copper disk she used for scrying. I expected her top-secret smile and a promise to meet right after breakfast. Instead she shook her head.

“Let's give it another day,” she said.

I didn't ask why, but I thought of her rubbing her brow yesterday. What had I done to short-circuit her divining powers?

“About our guests,” she said, hurrying me into the kitchen.

“How nice that m'lady could make it,” Thelma joked when she saw me.

“Don't mind her,” Nana said. “Now, for brunch, we've only the Hellers and a Ms. Fortunato, who arrived with a Great Dane late last night.”

“A Great Dane?” I gasped.

I pictured Nana's fine china, delicate shells, handmade beeswax candles, and a wagging tail as big as my forearm.

“Goliath is better behaved than Mrs. Heller, if you ask me,” Thelma muttered.

“Which no one did,” Nana reminded her. “Gwennie, since we have no other reservations for tonight, you may have the afternoon off.”

“But Nana, I've only worked a day and a half!”

“You'll have plenty to do getting ready for Midsummer's Eve, and this way I won't have to pay you overtime,” Nana said.

Pay? A
ch-ching
sounded in my mind but was quickly drowned out with guilt. I wasn't supposed to get paid.

“I'm here to help you, Nana,” I protested. “Please don't pay me.”

“And you are helping,” Nana said. Her eyes softened and she touched my cheek. “As for wages, don't think I won't make you work for them. After tonight, we're booked solid. In fact, we even have a waiting list.”

I didn't have time to plan my afternoon off or worry over the pain that lanced through my spine as I placed platters of eggs Benedict, home fried potatoes, and sliced fresh fruit on Nana's polished mahogany sideboard.

I limped a little as I hurried back to the kitchen to take the baskets of apple muffins from Thelma, but I returned before I heard feet on the stairs.

Guests were coming down for breakfast, and Nana greeted them at the foot of the stairs.

I glanced in the mirror above the sideboard. Using my hairbrush like a weapon, I'd pulled my wet hair into a high knot and skewered it with hairpins. I'd put on a blouse with cutout lace that buttoned halfway up my neck and wore thin silver hoop earrings. A few sand-colored freckles had shown up on my cheeks, from the
sun, but there was nothing I could do about them. Despite my near-death experience, I looked okay.

The only sign that I'd nearly drowned was a faint red swelling around my right ankle. My saltwater-induced nausea had subsided, leaving me ravenous.

I surveyed the eggs, potatoes, fruit, and muffins and suppressed the urge to stuff them into my mouth with both hands.

Nana held court at the table, but she watched me while I poured coffee. What was she thinking?

When I returned to the kitchen to get hot water for Nana's tea, Thelma held out a muffin.

“Try this,” she ordered, and I couldn't resist.

“Am I like the royal taster?” I said, but my words were muffled from chewing.

“It's not poison, if that's what you mean,” Thelma said. “But it's not like her own,” she nodded toward the dining room and Nana. “This is as it should be, with me cookin', you servin', and her as hostess. Still …”

I let Thelma talk while I savored the muffin. A thin crust made its tender inside, studded with cinnamon-spiced apples, even better. I could have eaten a hundred of them, but I managed to say, “It's wonderful.”

Thelma watched me chew. She looked dubious as she refilled the china teapot with scalding hot water from a vibrating kettle. I brushed the crumbs from the front of
my blouse before I picked the teapot up to return to the dining room.

“I know the boy you asked your Nan about.”

“You do?” Not for a second did I pretend I didn't know who Thelma meant. Why waste time?

“His name is Jesse—”

Jesse. Perfect. The young-outlaw sound of it suited him.

“—but Jesse
what,
I haven't the faintest. He comes and goes, winter, summer—he's here, then not, and buys his clothes at the Merry Mermaid.”

Maybe his parents were some kind of itinerant workers, I thought. Or, as I'd guessed, rich. Lots of people prowled thrift shops for bargains.

“Once, he ran with Zack and his lot. Not as much now, though, and that shows sense. Zack's turned bad, no matter how nice your Nana wants to be. Not bored, restless, or disadvantaged”—Thelma spat the last word—“That Zack, you don't want to leave anything weak where he can get at it.”

I shuddered. It was a good thing Zack had brought out the pushy witch in me. What if he'd thought I was scared?

But I didn't want to discuss Zack. I had to wring from Thelma all she knew about Jesse.

A bell tinkled from the dining room. I flashed Thelma a questioning look.

“That should never happen,” Thelma scolded. “You should anticipate what they want.”

“But you—”

Thelma swatted at my skirt as if I were still about five years old. I hurried back into the dining room.

It turned out to be something I couldn't have anticipated, so that was cool.

Ms. Fortunato had been cutting a piece of cantaloupe, her knife had slipped, and her plate had skittered onto the floor. It wasn't that messy, but she was sure embarrassed.

The Great Dane, lying at the foot of the stairs, hadn't moved to lap it up, but I couldn't help wondering what he would have done if we'd been serving sausage.

I cleaned things up, and Nana told me later that my “no big deal” attitude was absolutely perfect. I'd made the guest feel at home and taken care of the problem, too.

When breakfast ended and a big van with a rainbow painted on it pulled up outside the Inn and tooted its horn, it was the icing on the cake.

“The bookmobile!” I cheered, and both Nana and Thelma laughed.

Because Mirage Beach was far from a public library, we qualified for the county outreach program. I hadn't been inside a bookmobile since I was ten years old, but it was as cool as I remembered. Sort of like a school bus, only instead of seats, there were book racks.

I used Nana's library card and loaded up on mysteries, romances, and a book of Celtic legends. That pleased
the librarian. Tickled him, Nana said when we were coming back down the steps, since he'd stuck that book on the bookmobile as an afterthought, in anticipation of Midsummer's Eve.

Nana's walking cast got her down the bookmobile stairs more nimbly than my bruised ankle. And of course she noticed and insisted I take two aspirin with water. She forced a baggie full of more aspirin on me too.