Breathing Underwater (11 page)

The iron gate behind my father’s house was painted white each spring, but it was October, and the metal was weathered by sea-spray, heavy with paint-covered rust. I pulled it. The latch creaked open. Our feet met cold, dry sand. I slipped off my shoes and motioned to Caitlin to do the same
.

Again, she begged me to take her home. I could hear tears in her voice
.

“Fifteen minutes,” I repeated. I was lying, but it didn’t matter. She’d either forgive me everything or hate me forever. “Please, Caitlin.”

Caitlin sighed and threw her sandals by the gate. I tried to take her hand. She pulled it away but followed me down the shelly slope until we reached the shore. There were never many stars there, but the light-bleed from downtown lit our way. I led her to an outcropping of rocks by the seawall, away from the main beach. I pointed at the water and whispered to her to watch. I waited. Ahead was nothing but black water. Caitlin started to look away, but I pointed again
.

Finally, a dorsal fin emerged, a bottlenose, a tail flipping through surf. Then another. Two dolphins played in the night ocean. They disappeared and surfaced again. I nudged her. “Worth it?”

She ignored me, staring straight ahead for another few minutes. I was freaking. This was all I could give her, all I had, all I was. If she couldn’t understand why I’d brought her here, it was over. Over
.

But finally, curiosity took hold, and she said, “How did you know they’d be here?”

I told her they always were. I’d first seen them when I was eight
.

I leaned back on the sand, trying to figure out the best way to tell the story so she’d know what it meant. Finally, I said, “I was camping out, lying here almost asleep, when I saw a dark shape behind these rocks. At first, I didn’t know what it was. Then, it moved and I saw it was a man. Big guy, maybe six feet tall, hair all around his shoulders. A homeless person, I figured
.

“He demanded to know who I was, what I was doing here. I tried to sound brave when I wasn’t. I told him my name, and that this was my house
.

“He laughed. He said I didn’t act like it was my house. In fact, it was his house.”

I snuck a look at Caitlin. She was listening, interested. Good
.

“He came closer,” I said. “His voice sounded rusty, like he hadn’t said a word in years. He told me how he’d built the house in 1925. ‘You were nowhere to be found, my boy. A Johnny-come-lately, I’d call you. Or an intruder.’ He pointed to the water. ‘Why, that dolphin’s been here longer’n you have.’

“I started to smart off, saying there were no dolphins around, except at the Seaquarium. But before I could finish, one leaped through the air like someone had held up a fish. I stared at it, then him. I asked him how he’d done that
.

“He whispered, ‘She knows me. Showed up after the big hurricane of ’26.’

“He told me his name was Desmond Rodgers. He’d come to Miami in 1925. Before that, he was a Manhattan banker who’d hit it big in the stock market. But his wife, Gabrielle, had tuberculosis. The doctors recommended a warm climate, so he’d moved to Key Biscayne—wilderness, then—and built a mansion by the sea
.

“He pointed toward my father’s house, and a light appeared in a third-floor bedroom. Probably the maid, but I was eight years old, so I saw ghosts. Meanwhile, the dolphin was hanging in the water like it was listening to the story.”

I leaned back, remembering. Caitlin’s voice interrupted me
.

“I’m not stupid, you know.” She drew away. “I’ve heard this story before. It’s an old legend, so I know it didn’t happen to you, Nick.”

Nailed. She was right, of course. I was lying. And she didn’t understand why. I barely understood myself. I reached for her hand, and she pulled it back. She stood and started to walk away
.

“Wait!” I said. “I don’t think you’re stupid. I just… I had to get you to stay. I couldn’t let you be mad at me. I had to explain … but it’s true about this house, the dolphins. I’ve been watching them all my life.”

“Really?” She looked back at me then into the water. Finally, though she tried to hide it, I saw her smile. “I’d heard the story, but I didn’t believe it. And I never saw the dolphins before.”

“They’re here.” I edged forward, on my knees before her. “Here, with me. I never told anyone else the story. They wouldn’t understand. They’d think I was a wuss.”

I realized it was true, not just some line I was handing her to get her back. It was like I’d always wanted the story to be true, and Cat made it so. I said, “Please come back, Caitlin.”

She nodded and sat a few inches from me. “Tell me then.”

I reached for her waist. She pulled away but let me hold just her fingers. I continued with the story
.

Desmond and Gabrielle had lived in the house only nine months. Gabrielle’s health was improving, and they thought maybe they’d leave soon. But the storm changed everything
.

There was no television those days, no tracking maps with computer animation or weathermen screaming to board up the windows. So when the wind started howling, no one knew what it was. By midnight, coconuts hit the roof, and at one o’clock, some windows broke. But the house was secure. So at two, when the winds calmed and Gabrielle wanted to check on Wotan, their German shepherd, Desmond rolled over and went to sleep
.

I paused dramatically at that point and moved nearer to Caitlin. She snuggled close. The dolphins’ sound rose and fell. I went on with my story
.

The winds began again. The calm had been only the eye of the storm. But the next morning, when Desmond woke, he was alone. He called for Gabrielle. No answer. Finally, he ran onto the beach
.

In the yellow light, everything had changed. Palm trees overhung the sand like bridges. There was debris everywhere. No Gabrielle. Desmond saw someone’s roof a little ways along the beach. Underneath was Wotan’s body. When Desmond looked at the shoreline, he realized his house was the only thing still standing
.

I turned to Caitlin. “Desmond walked for hours, calling Gabrielle’s name. Nothing. Finally, as night fell, he heard a sound from the sea. He hoped it was Gabrielle. Instead, there was a dolphin jumping in the surf. Strange thing was, there’d never been dolphins near Key Biscayne before. Days later, a reporter photographing damage by the lighthouse found a woman’s body washed ashore. It was Gabrielle.”

Caitlin slid next to me. My fingers stretched to touch the ends of her hair. My other hand was trapped in hers
.

For years, there was just the one dolphin. One dolphin and a lonely old man in his mansion. Then, one day, the old man disappeared. No one ever saw him again. But from that day, there have always been two dolphins in this cove. “My father bought his house from the bank when I was a kid,” I told Caitlin. “But I’ve never brought anyone here to see the dolphins but you.”

I stopped talking, feeling a force like invisible hands, pulling me toward Caitlin. I leaned to kiss her. She kissed back, and I knew I was forgiven. We sat, listening to the roar of the surf
.

Finally, Caitlin said, “I wasn’t mad at you.” In response to my
yeah, right
look, she added, “Well, not mostly. I was freaking about you meeting my mother.”

“Why? She’s beautiful.” I was trying to make Caitlin feel better
.

Caitlin twisted her head, maybe to see if I was serious. “That’s the problem. Her life revolves around being pretty.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just what I said. An eternity putting on makeup, doing her hair. Hours reading Vogue and even my Seventeen if I don’t hide it. And in her free moments, she works on me—all these suggestions about my hair, my makeup, saying I should lose five more pounds. ‘I wish I had your youth,’ she says. ‘I wouldn’t waste it like you do.’ And I believe her. She was coming on to Tom tonight. He’s fifteen, she’s forty. I was so embarrassed.”

I kissed her again. “Don’t be.”

“I am. And my father’s no better.” Remembering she was talking to me, Caitlin backed up. “I mean, he’s not like your father. He doesn’t hit me. He doesn’t have the time to even look at me. My mother says it shouldn’t matter as long as his massive monthly support payments keep coming. I know she’s right....”

“But you want more?”

“Is that selfish?” When I shook my head, she said, “I’ll never get it. He has his new and improved family. I’m just this fat girl he sees at Christmas.
Some
Christmases.”

I whispered, “You’re not fat, Caitlin. God, don’t you know you’re beautiful?” I held her hand to my face, kissing her fingers, taking them, one by one, into my mouth, loving even the taste of salt sand under her fingernails. Caitlin drew closer, and only when she eased her body practically on top of mine did I pull away
.

“Screw them,” I said. “Think of them as sperm donors, they’ve done a lot for us, right?”

Caitlin looked at me, stunned. Then, a whisper of a smile crossed her lips. “Right.” She put her head on my shoulder. “I love you, Nicky.”

I didn’t say anything, just stood and sprinted to the seawall. The evening breeze was cool against my face. I jumped, then treaded water. “Come with me!” I yelled to Caitlin, who was still onshore
.

“Where?” she said, shocked, but laughing too
.

“Key West, Cuba, New York. I don’t care!”

Caitlin laughed and yelled that I was crazy. Her mother would kill her, and I said, “Forget her.” I started to swim farther out. My jeans slowed my progress, and something else. The thought that she wouldn’t follow. Still, I kept going until my legs ached and my eyes stung with salt water. I turned
.

Cat yelled for me to wait. Then she was in the water, paddling toward me. I watched her slow progress from shore. When she reached me, she was gasping for breath. I embraced her, kissing her until we both sank beneath the surface. She struggled a moment. When she stopped, I held her there as long as my air held out. Then, seconds longer. Finally, I let go. She surfaced, sputtering and lunged for me. But I was too fast. I swam back to shore with her chasing me. When we reached the rocks, I embraced her again
.

“We’re two of a kind,” I whispered
.

“Yeah,” she said. “I think I always knew that.”

We clung to the rocks and each other until the clouds crossed the sky and kissed the moon. I drove her home, three hours late and soaking wet
.

She forgave me that time
.

It’s Saturday afternoon. I’m kicking the curb at Texaco, wondering why Leo hasn’t been in class and watching the chimpanzee in his
HELLO, MY NAME IS WILLY
jumpsuit lube my father’s Land Rover, when a familiar car pulls into self-serve. Saint’s old white Mercury Cougar. Saint doesn’t acknowledge me, but a second later, a girl in a skirt and a pink T-shirt comes out of the mini-mart and runs to where he’s pumping gas.

“Missed you,” she says.

Saint sets the pump on automatic and musses her hair. Then, he pulls her toward him. “When were we supposed to meet them?”

“An hour ago.”

“Then there’s no time—?”

Her kiss interrupts his question. I feel her soft lips, her fingers in his hair as though his flesh was mine. “They’ll wait,” she says.

The pump snaps off, and he walks her to the passenger door. Her eyes follow him to the driver’s side, meeting mine in the middle. She looks away.

“’Scuse me, man. How you wanna pay for this?” Willy grins and displays an array of changed-out filters. I hand him my father’s Optima card and watch Saint pull away. My neck prickles from the heat, and my head pounds. I sign the slip Willy shoves at me and somehow drive away.

The girl in Saint’s wreck was Caitlin.

My room, ten minutes later