Ripple

Chapter Eleven

I spend the next afternoon at the ocean, walking the beach for the first time in months. I wade in the saltwater, and wait. For what, I don’t know. The sea took everything from me. Is it so wrong to hope that it might give something back? Some whisper of an answer?

The sun crosses the sky, and I know I have only two more hours, and I haven’t figured anything out. I lie down on the sand, and stare up at the clouds. They’re big, white, fluffy things that don’t reflect my mood. It’s low tide and the ocean is calm, quietly lapping away at the sandy beach. Seagulls waddle across the sand, picking at seaweed and shells that have been exposed by the ebb of the tide.

If only I could sleep, I bet I could take a nap, right here on the sand. I bet it would feel peaceful. Relaxing, maybe. It’s hard to remember what it felt like, before my sixteenth, back when I used to sleep. No wonder I’m such a wreck. I close my eyes anyway, even though I know nothing will happen, and listen to the give and take of the gentle waves, broken only by occasional screeches from the birds. I wouldn’t mind lying here forever, until the tide comes in and carries me away.

But then a shadow falls across me—I can tell even through my closed eyes. I pop them open.

“It’s peaceful down here, right?” Cole says quietly. He’s not looking at me; he’s looking at the ocean.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, as if the ocean belongs to me.

It sort of does. In some of the myths, it’s as if the sirens own the ocean. It’s as though they’re killing because you dare disturb their corner of the universe. The original sirens, in Greek mythology, were part human, part bird, given wings to search the seas for Persephone when she was abducted. They eventually gave up and settled on an island, singing their songs and luring ships to wreck upon the shores.

I know I’m not related to those sirens. That sounds nothing like me. And their song is supposedly about calling out to Persephone. I don’t really know what I sing, but it doesn’t feel like I’m calling to some long-lost Greek goddess or anything.

There are a lot of myths, a lot of stories. None of them get it perfectly right, but each of them managed to get a little piece of it. Hans Christian Andersen’s The Little Mermaid describes the mermaid on land for the first time, and he says every step she takes is like walking on shattered glass. Just like I feel after I miss a night of swimming. The story also says mermaids are soulless, which I hope isn’t true.

I have a whole notebook crammed with research, but I’ve never found anything that describes how I am. Nothing that describes the way I sing. It’s like . . . an overwhelming loneliness that can’t be contained. When I sing, it’s as if I let a little piece of that go, let it float away. It soothes me in a way that nothing in the daylight ever has. But when it’s over, reality screeches back, and I hate myself for needing that.

“I live right there,” Cole says, pointing behind me. His words jolt me back to reality.

I sit up and twist around, then realize with a sinking heart he’s right. I’ve lain down right in front of his house. I’d been so deep in thought I hadn’t even realized I was so far away from where I’d parked my car and that there Cole’s house was, tucked away on the other side of the dunes and reed grass. I must have walked for an hour.

“Oh. Right.”

I start to get up, but Cole puts a hand on my shoulder, and next thing I know, he’s sitting down next to me, kicking off his flip-flops and burrowing his toes in the sand.

I stifle another sigh and just stare out to the sea. Our sides are nearly touching, and if I sit very still, I can see the rise and fall of his shoulders. An odd sense of peace washes over me. There’s something calming about being near him, knowing he doesn’t blame me for what happened to Steven, even though I know he should.

I watch at least a dozen waves crash into the sand before he finally speaks. “I love the ocean,” he says.

I nod. I’m not so sure I do. My body loves it, but truth be told, most of the time I hate the ocean, the water, everything. The silence comes back.

Cole rolls up the sleeves of his button-down, exposing his forearms. Then he reaches down and picks up a handful of sand, lets it slip through his fingers. He’s not dressed for the beach. I’m surprised he even sat down in the sand. “Do you miss him?”

I watch the sand slip from his hands for a long moment. “More than anything.”

“He was going to ask you to homecoming.”

My stomach flips. “How do you know that?”

He smiles, picks up another handful of sand. “He told me. It was funny, really. He asked out girls all the time. But with you, it was different. He was nervous. He kept asking me if I thought you would say yes.”

I stare down at the sand between my feet. “I would have. Said yes, I mean.”

“I know. That’s what I told him.”

I chew on my lip for a second. I shouldn’t want to talk to him. I shouldn’t. But I do. “Why do you keep doing this?”

“Because I hate seeing you this way. I miss the girl you used to be. I miss that smile of yours.”

I shift in the sand, wishing he wouldn’t look at me so directly. “Do you think Sienna is going to be okay?”

He turns his attention back to the sand. “I don’t know. I hope so. It’s like . . . instead of dealing with losing him, she just blocks it out, so she’s never really gotten over it.”

I nod, swallow the lump growing in my throat. I will not cry in front of him again.

“Do you remember that barbeque, the summer before he died? With the croquet?”

I feel my lips curl, the tiniest ghost of a smile. “Yeah, and I was—”

“Terrible,” he says.

I try to look offended.

“Oh, come on, you know you were. But Sienna and Steven were laughing so hard it didn’t bother you.”

I nod. “And then they started moving all the little hoops, lining them up right in front of my ball, just so we could finish the game before it got dark.”

Cole gets a faraway look in his eyes, as if he can see the whole thing playing out again. “I had fun that day.”

“Me too,” I say, wishing I didn’t sound so wistful.

He looks over at me and for a fleeting second lets his hand rest on my knee. “Let me take you out. One night where you don’t worry about any of this.”

I close my eyes and concentrate on the feeling of his hand on my knee, remember what it felt like when he hugged me. When he sat by my side and let me cry. And I know I can’t resist him, not right now, not in this perfect moment. “Okay.”

The cell phone in Cole’s pocket chirps. I pull away from him, suddenly feeling sheepish.

“How about tomorrow? I can pick you up,” he says.

“No. Meet me at the theater. We can see a movie.” I get up, dusting the sand from my pants. “See you then,” I call over my shoulder, the soles of my shoes sinking into the sand as I rush away, fear and hope churning together in equal measure. I just agreed to a date. My first formal date, ever. I always dreamed it would be Steven, but instead it’s going to be Cole. What am I doing? All he had to do was ask, and I waved the white flag.

When I’m far enough down the coast that he won’t be able to see me, I wade into the surf, letting it lap at my calves. It’s cold. Too cold to be wading. But dusk is still an hour and a half away, and I never get this far into the ocean anymore. I avoid looking at it, being around it.

Too many people died in this ocean.

Steven’s not the only one. An hour down the coast, not far from our old home, is the marina where they found my mom’s body. And now, despite the risks, I’m letting Cole in, inch by inch.

And the scary thing is, this time I know what could happen.