The Day Before (5 page)

my turn

“Let’s play four truths and a lie,” I say
after we give the waitress our order.

“Okay.
You go first.”

I take a deep breath.
For some unknown reason,
I want him to know.

I want it out there
so I don’t have to work
at hiding it from him
all day long.

I imagine those sharks.
Strong.
Confident.
Not afraid.

“I’m scared to drive.
I was switched at birth.
I collect albums and own an old turntable.
Someday I’ll be a nuclear physicist.
Jelly beans are my favorite candy.”

He doesn’t even
flinch.

“You don’t seem like the
nuclear physicist type.”

My face must be
the portrait
of surprise.

He smiles.
Tilts his head.
“I got it right?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool.
Okay,” he says.
“Let me think on mine for a second.”

And that’s it.
No interrogation.
No sympathy.
Not even an uncomfortable moment.

Seriously?

Two years, three months ago

Dear Amber,

Did you have a happy birthday? We hope you enjoyed the flowers we sent you for your special day.

We visited the cemetery, and put roses on Charlotte’s grave. Purple ones. Oh, how she loved the color purple.

I remember we bought her a doll for her fourth birthday. She opened it up and started to cry. “What’s wrong?” we asked her. “Her dress is red,” she told us. “I hate red! Her dress should be purple!” After that, I learned how to make doll clothes.

Charlotte was quite opinionated—a strong-willed child. I suppose some might call it stubborn. Although she challenged our parenting skills at times, it was so much fun watching her grow up. She was never afraid to try the unknown or conquer the unfamiliar. When she got sick, she fought it with everything she had. She fought so hard, we thought for sure she’d win, just like she did with the purple dress.

Over the years, she grew to have quite the doll collection. I still have them. The other day, I brought some of them out and let Sierra play with them. She was in heaven.

What about you? Did you play with dolls when you were young? What’s your favorite color? Do you enjoying trying new things?

Won’t you please write back and tell us?

Love,
Jeanie and Allen

his turn

“I write songs everywhere I go.
I love macaroni and cheese.
My dog’s name is Boo.
I’m scared of hospitals.
I love the ocean so much, I would live and die at sea if I
could.”

I study him as he
says each one.
But I can’t read him,
and besides,
I’m only thinking
one thing—
Please be a songwriter,
please be a songwriter,
please be a songwriter.

“Your dog’s name isn’t Boo.”

“It is.”

“Shit.
Uh, you don’t love the ocean that much.”

“Yeah. I do.”

If he’s not a songwriter, I’ll cry!

“Do you hate macaroni and cheese?” I whisper.

“Unlike the majority of America, yes.”

What a relief.
Then I have to know.

“Are you writing a song today?
I mean, do you have words?
Or an idea?”

He nods.
“Like I said, everywhere I go.”

Underneath the table,
I pinch my leg,
to be sure
I’m not dreaming.

And what do you know, I’m not.

As the waitress sets
our food in front of us,
I try to figure out
what the other truths mean.

I want to ask.
But I follow his lead,
letting the questions
float up and away
toward the rafters,
like the steam
from our bowls of soup.

no place better

We eat our lunch
and talk about school
and what we’re missing.

At first
it’s serious stuff.

me: A test in Chemistry.
A self-portrait in Art.

him: A speech in Language Arts.
A meeting with his guidance counselor.

me: Looks of pity in the hallway.

him: Lack of understanding.

When he pushes his bowl
away, I know it’s time
to push away
the serious stuff too.

me: Rubber chicken nuggets.

him: Pizza drowning in grease.

me: Stressed-out teachers.

him: Teachers who don’t give a damn.

I look out the window and
imagine the warm sun on my face,
the sound of the surf in my ears.

“I’m glad I’m not there.”

I feel his eyes on me.
“I’m glad I’m here,” he says.

I’m no longer
just thinking warm thoughts.
I’m feeling them.

gonna build us some fun

After lunch
we stroll through
a souvenir shop.

Shells in all
shapes and sizes.
Sand dollars,
whole and perfect,
not broken,
how I always find them.
Taffy in a
kaleidoscope
of colors.

Cade grabs a couple
of plastic shovels and buckets.
I go for a bag of
assorted saltwater taffy.

A wave of giddiness
washes over me
because we’ll
play on the beach
with no other thoughts than

have fun,

have fun,

have fun.

I start to give him money,
but he takes the taffy
and pushes away the bills.
“I’ve got it.”

“But—”

“No. Please.”
He smiles.
“Let me do this, okay?
It’s good for my ego.”

Before I can argue,
my phone rings.

It’s Madison.
I’ve ignored
all of her texts.

She’s probably worried,
so I step away.

“Hey.”

“Amber, why aren’t you at school?
Where are you?”

“Newport.”

“What? Why?
Will you be back soon?”

“No. Not until tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?
But Amber, you—”

“Look, I can’t do this now, okay?
I gotta go. I’m fine. Better than fine.
I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Everything all right?” Cade asks.

I take a shovel from his hands.

“Nothing a sand castle won’t cure.”

from nothing comes greatness

Bucket
after bucket
after bucket
filled with
cool,
damp
sand.

Walls
and towers.

More walls.
Some turrets.
A staircase.

He builds
a staircase
for the castle!

Windows
and doors.

A castle
truly built
for a king.

I may not know
a lot about this guy,
but one thing
I do know?

He knows his way
around a sand castle.

waiting to be rescued

When Kelly and I
built a sand castle together,
we’d dig a moat around it.

Then we’d sit back,
waiting for the tide
to come in.

Once, we imagined
we were princesses,
stuck in the towers,
waiting for princes
to rescue us.

But moats filled with
crocodiles
make rescues
difficult.

“My prince has a flying horse,” Kelly’d announced.

And just like that, she’d won. She was free.

I couldn’t think of a way to be rescued.
Not one.

So I, the pissed-off princess,
kicked the castle walls,
causing them to come
crashing down.

Even then
I hated impossible
situations.

surprise

Sisterly memories
cause bittersweet emotions
to surface.

Kelly looks nothing like me,
acts nothing like me,
is really nothing like me.

But she’s my sister.
And that means
everything.

I retreat with my bag
to a large piece of driftwood
and take a seat.

I close my eyes
and breathe in the soothing
smell of salty ocean air.

Seagulls cry
in the distance,
as if they are lonely
despite the company
of a beach full of people.

I know that cry.

“Keep your eyes closed,” Cade whispers.
“And open your mouth.”

Of course
I immediately
open my eyes.

He sits next to me.
“Come on.”
He smiles.
“Don’t you trust me?”

I want to trust him.
I close my eyes.
And I slowly
open

my mouth.

There is sweetness
with a hint of salt,
and the distinctive texture
of taffy.

“Guess what flavor,” he asks.

I smile.

He’s playing my game.

How did he know my game?

“Lemon.”

I open my eyes.

He’s chewing too.

“Mine’s lime.”

Two of my favorites.

secret revealed

“Where’d you learn how to do that?” I ask.

“Guess taffy flavors?” he teases.

I nudge him with my elbow.

“No.
Build a sand castle.”

“My dad.
We spend a lot of time at the beach.
He lives here in Newport.”

“You live with your mom?”

He starts digging in the sand,
and I wonder
if the questions
are getting too personal.

He nods. “My parents are divorced.”

“Mine too,” I say.

He pauses.
Stops digging,
and our eyes meet.

“Yeah. I know.”

“What? How?”

Wait.
Of course.
The news.
It’s been national for a while.

He goes back to making
his hole in the sand.

“Did you know it was me?” I ask.
“When you first saw me, did you know?”

He shakes his head.
“You looked familiar.
But I couldn’t place you.
Until lunch.”

Two little kids
with their mom
stop to admire
our sand castle.
I’m thankful
for the momentary
distraction.

The kids look
as if they wish
they could shrink
to the size of tiny crabs
and climb inside.

I wish I could climb inside.

Me, the princess,
and Cade, the prince,
saving me from Jeanie and Allen,
the big,
bad
dragons.

“When do you leave?” he asks.

I barely get the word out.
“Tomorrow.”

And then I reach
for another piece
of taffy.

the story

Four
unsuspecting parents.
Two
newborn baby girls.
One
incredibly busy night
in a small hospital.

Accidents happen.

For ten years
no one is the wiser.

Until one day
the unthinkable happens.
One of the girls, Charlotte,
comes down with
leukemia.

When her parents
are tested for a
possible blood transfusion,
the results are shocking.

Their blood types don’t match.

They don’t tell Charlotte.
The stress would be too much.
They simply love her
and make her comfortable
until the very end,
which comes faster
than anyone had predicted.

Most stories would end there.
Okay, maybe after the
sorry-ass hospital is sued
for millions of dollars.
But not this story.
Hell, no.

Charlotte’s parents,
Allen and Jeanie, try
to pull themselves
out of the nightmare
they’ve been living
by searching for
their biological child.

They want to find her.
They want to meet her.
They want to know her.

In a surprise decision
the judge is sympathetic
to the bereaved couple,
and she awards
shared custody.

Six months with one family.
Six months with the other.

I close my eyes and breathe.

The taffy rolls around on my tongue.
Strawberry.
My mom’s favorite.

My only mom’s favorite.