Fathom (5 page)

Today was a day of mourning.

Then, as if the gods had sensed my sorrow, a perfect sunset bathed the village in pink and gold.

Now the land shadows were growing longer around us. I missed the toss of the waves—every step on dry land made me nauseous. Ever since the night we landed, my feelings of guilt had grown. Ethan was out there, somewhere in the ocean deep, alone with the Hinquememem.

I prayed to the gods that he was dead, for the other option was much worse.

Still I kept the smile on my face, forcing myself to remember my mission. Ethan would have wanted it that way. I knew Kira had walked on this street. I could feel it. Her lungs had breathed this air. Somewhere nearby, her words hung in the air and I longed to hear them.

I longed to see the ocean in her eyes, secretly hoping that somehow she could erase the pain in my heart.

Kira:

My cousin, Celia, and I leaned on the front counter of my uncle’s store, Crescent Moon Souvenirs, and stared out the window. The sun was still shining and all the other kids my age were either skateboarding, surfing or playing video games. They wandered past the store in packs, most of them heading toward the beach. Sometimes my skin itched in anticipation when I thought about the ocean. I think it must be like a sensory memory or something, from the salt in the water. I scratched my neck, imagined that I was cresting a wave beside Sean, our boards racing toward the shore.

Then I remembered my upcoming chemistry final. My book sprawled open on the counter and the periodic table stared up at me. A chill shiver ran over my skin as I thought about the C I got on my midterm.

“Tourist season is starting early this year,” Celia said. She was five years older than me and we’d both been working at the store since we were tall enough to reach the register.

“Yeah.” I was attempting to memorize the oxidation numbers, but it wasn’t working
.

“You wanna bet who comes in next?”

“Sure.” Anything was better than pretending to study chemistry.

“Okay,” she answered. “Loser gets the register for two days in a row.”

“Deal.”

We both hated running the register, so now we studied the crowds that sauntered past. Somewhere outside there had to be a tourist in need of a Crescent Moon Bay memento. I was determined to win this time, even if it meant I had to stand in the doorway and flash a couple of glass paperweights in the dying sunlight.

“Them,” she said, nodding at an older couple who wore matching Hawaiian shirts and tan shorts. They both came to an abrupt halt as soon as she said that, then they turned and stared in the window. I hated how good Celia was at this game. The man walked closer and even rested his hand on the doorknob. But, at the last second, his companion shook her head and pointed down the street. He shrugged and they both walked away.

“My turn,” I said.

I always worried that my uncle—or worse, my dad—might walk in during one of our games. So I pretended to work, wiping the counter with a cloth while I watched everyone who walked past, hoping to make the right choice. That was when I spotted a group of teenagers coming down the street. They looked about my age, although I could tell instantly that none of them were local—they all had the typical pale skin of a tourist. If I had to guess, I’d say they were from Canada or England. They walked in silence until they stopped on the sidewalk right in front of our shop. But I knew there was no way they were coming in here. We didn’t have anything for people my age.

Then one of the boys pushed his way to the front.

At that point I almost forgot about the game.

This guy was gorgeous and then some. Light brown hair streaked with blonde, skin paler than you’d expect for someone as athletic as he obviously was. I couldn’t tell what color his eyes were, but I had a feeling they were green or blue. Like mine.

My heartbeat sped up when he stared at the window display. Then he did something unusual—he lifted his gaze, as if he was trying to see through to the inside of the store. He looked around, first at the racks of postcards, then at the display of starfish and shells, then at the ceramic mugs painted with our store logo, until at last, he spotted me at the counter. Our eyes locked and his lips curved in a swoon-worthy grin. Suddenly I felt embarrassed.

I turned my face to the side and whispered behind my hand.

“Them,” I said, wishing it, but not believing it.

“Good choice,” Celia answered, her voice an octave lower than normal.

He turned and talked to the rest of his crowd. One of them, a petite girl with short, cropped black hair, followed his gaze into the store. Then she actually leaned her hand against the glass so she could look in. A silver ring dangled from her lower lip and a full sleeve tattoo decorated one arm. She didn’t smile when her eyes finally met mine.

I flushed and started scratching my neck again. Maybe I didn’t want them to come in after all. A cute guy and a mean girl didn’t make a very good combination.

I held my breath.

Cute Guy walked around his friends until he stood in front of the door, five heartbeats passed, then the door opened and one-by-one, they all stepped inside. An ocean breeze followed them, salt and sand and seaweed, and suddenly the inside of the shop felt like an unexpected summer squall; the floor dipped just a bit, like I was on a boat and waves were rocking me back and forth. They were all around the shop then, all six of them, three boys and three girls, all of them poking and prodding the merchandise, all whispering, all of them glancing at me now and then, as if I was one of the items on display.

All except Cute Guy.

He walked right up to the counter and leaned against it, staring at me as if he wasn’t sure whether I was real or not. Then he flashed me a shy smile. I’m not used to that kind of attention and a slow burn crept up my arms and over my chest, finally settling on my cheeks. I glanced down, nervously fiddled with that Celtic cross Gram had given me, sliding it between my thumb and forefinger.

He took a small step backward.

“Can I help you?” Celia asked.

“Yeah,” he said, although he didn’t take his eyes off me—eyes that were the color of the ocean. Sea green, almost turquoise. Just like mine. “Do you have any maps of the town, maybe some historical sites, that sort of thing?”

“Sure.” Celia walked over to a stand, then pulled out several folded maps.

You’d think he would have followed her—if that was why he really came in here. But he didn’t. Instead, he stayed at the counter, his head tilted slightly as if waiting for me to talk. “We just got into town,” he said, “and I was wondering, is there anything fun to do around here?” He paused, leaning even closer. “Like, which beach is best?”

“For what?” I asked.

He raised his eyebrows.

“Do you want to go surfing or swimming or fishing? Do you want to see the seal colony or do you want to collect sea shells or maybe you want to see the whales?”

He grinned. “Yeah. All of that.”

I smiled back.

“You want the local map,” Celia told him. She grabbed it, then brought it over and handed it to me, giving me a wink.

I pretended like I didn’t notice her as I opened the map, then drew circles on three different beaches with a red marker. “Moonwalkers Beach for seal watching and swimming,” I said. “Crescent Beach for shells and whales, Sunset Beach for fishing and surfing.” I lifted my gaze and stared straight into his eyes.

“Right,” he said. “But I think we might need a tour guide. I mean, a guy could lost around here.”

Celia laughed. “Lost in Crescent Moon Bay?”

Mean Girl drew closer. I didn’t realize it until right then, but her skin was just as pale as his. “She’s right,” she said in a dusky voice. “Nobody could get lost in this backwoods town. Pay for the map and let’s go.”

Cute Guy stopped smiling. He stared down at the counter, tapped his fingers on the glass. The rest of his friends got quiet, they froze in place, all gathered in a cluster by the postcard display, staring at us, as if waiting to see what he’d say—even Mean Girl. Arms crossed, she watched me. I wondered if she was his girlfriend, if he’d crossed some line by talking to me.

“How much for the map?” he said at last.

“No charge,” Celia told him.

“Thanks.” Then he held out his hand to me. “By the way, my name’s Caleb.”

I shook his hand, felt myself blushing again. “Kira.”

“Hope I see you at the beach. Kira.”

Then he held the door for all his friends and Mean Girl sauntered out last. Just before he headed outside, he turned and gave me another half-smile, another flash of sunshine.

And he was gone.

Dust motes swirled through the room like ghosts.

Celia glanced at me as she grabbed a broom and started sweeping the floor. “Sorry about that,” she said.

“About what?” I asked.

She stopped, leaned one arm on the broom handle and stared at me. “I shouldn’t have made that crack about getting lost in Crescent Moon. He obviously wanted you to show him around.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

“Did not.”

She shrugged and latched onto the broom, then opened the door and started sweeping the sidewalk in front of the store. Meanwhile, all I could think about was his smile and the way it had felt when he touched my hand.

•

Six o’clock and my shift was finally over. We locked up, turned off the lights and grabbed our purses. The sun was still teasing the ocean. You could see a great view of the water when you walked out the front door. The street swept toward the beach, just a few blocks away, and beyond that stretched a blue-green horizon. Couples meandered up and down the sidewalk, hand in hand, some headed toward the Uptown Cinema in the historic district, some down the hill toward the beach, some toward the string of restaurants that lined both sides of Main Street. Chatter from patio tables at the coffee shop next door drifted past, accompanied by the clink of ice in glasses and the tinkle of silverware against china.

Meanwhile, my cousin and I climbed into her Volkswagen bug. I fidgeted with my seat belt while she flicked on her headlights.

“You should have given him your number,” she said as we pulled out onto Main Street.

“What?”

“It was clear that hottie wanted to see you again.” We rumbled at the first stop sign, waiting for a herd of kids with boogie boards to pass.

I snorted. “Since when do you give out dating advice?”

“You’re blind when it comes to guys, you know that?”

“Sure. The street’s clear. We can go.” The last thing I wanted to do was get involved with a tourist. I’d lost enough people I cared about. Didn’t need to add another.

“Seriously.” Celia turned the steering wheel as we ambled through the intersection. She glanced at me. “Have you ever noticed how Sean looks at you?”

I frowned, trying to keep my eyes on the road. My skin heated up, just at the mention of his name. “What do you mean?”

“Wish I had a best friend like him.”

I didn’t say anything. Because right now I was wishing he wasn’t my best friend. That might make the new feelings I was having toward him easier.

The car growled its way up the steep hill toward my house. I could see the lights still sparkling in the trees in our yard from here. The light glowed, cascading down the cliff like a beacon, like it was calling something or someone to return from the darkening sea.

“You really don’t see it, do you? You have two of the cutest guys in town interested in you and you don’t even notice.”

“What I notice right now is that you aren’t even in your own lane.”

 Another car lumbered down the narrow switchback toward us, headlights blinding us every time the car turned in our direction. Just before the other car got close enough to take us out, Celia swerved onto my driveway, an almost vertical climb that nothing but an SUV could handle. She always stopped here, at the bottom of the drive, and I hiked up.

“Thanks for the ride, Cel,” I said as I opened my door.

“Yeah, have fun in the nunnery.”

“You’re hilarious.”

“See you next Tuesday.”

Then I climbed up the hill, grateful for the shadows that hid the fact that I was blushing. I didn’t want to admit it, but the thought of having of two guys interested in me at the same time was slightly intoxicating. It was a hundred times better than the way I felt every time I walked down the halls at school.

Kira:

Sometimes I see my sister trailing behind me, a six-year-old ghost who never grows older. She’s there when I put on my wetsuit, when the morning sun turns the beach into a haze. I see her from the corner of my eye, racing me into the water, laughing. Sometimes, at night, I forget that we put her twin bed in the basement and I think I hear the springs squeak across the room as she climbs in. I don’t open my eyes because I like to imagine that she really is there.

Over the years I’ve built a shrine to her on my dresser, inhabited by items I’ve stolen from the boxes packed away in the basement. I have her favorite doll, a class photo from school, a dried-up bottle of bubblegum pink nail polish, a box of sea glass she had been collecting, a Snow White headband she got when we went to Disneyland and three barrettes with bits of her hair still stuck in the clasps.

Neither Dad nor Gram have ever said anything, even though the collection continues to grow over the years. We all pretend like it’s not really there.

I keep my favorite item tucked inside a drawer, under my socks.

It’s a bottle of vanilla musk perfume that Mom bought for Katie the Christmas before...before my world changed. The bottle’s so old that the label has worn off. Sometimes, when my door is closed and no one else is around, I take the perfume out. I twist off the cap and inhale, my eyes closed.

I can almost see her then.

Long dark hair in two pigtails, front tooth missing, a smile like sunshine. She used to tell ridiculous jokes, stuff she made up, then laugh so hard that she’d make me laugh too.