Girl at Sea (22 page)

He sat there, hugging his knees, looking at her. It was strangely calming. There was no need to say anything. His high cheekbones and bright, quick eyes didn’t look hard or searching, like they normally did. They just looked . . . good. Reassuring.

“So,” he said. “I guess you didn’t have a good call to your boyfriend. Is that why you decided to swim?”

“I didn’t call my boyfriend,” she said quickly.

This was true. She had no boyfriend. And it had been an e-mail anyway.

“So what were you doing?” he asked. “Or is it a secret?”

“Yeah. I’m on a secret mission, just like the rest of you. I was calling headquarters and getting my orders.”

He reached out and peeled a piece of hair that had been sticking too close to her eye and set it back in place. A shock went through her body. Maybe it was jellyfish venom, or adrenaline, or maybe an electric eel had gotten her too . . . but it 183

practically crackled. Suddenly, she was very aware that under the comforter, she was lying there in only her underwear and a very wet tank top. And that he had already seen this.

“Whoever this guy is,” Aidan said, “he must be a piece of work to put up with you.”

He left his hand resting lightly against her head, just one finger lightly running along her hairline. Such a small movement, but Clio had never felt anything like it. It blocked out all the pain or at least made her stop caring about it. Nerves that she didn’t even know she had, ones that had never been stimulated before, shot to life.

“I never said—” she began.

“What?”

He was leaning in just a bit. They shared a little pool of yellowy light from the lamp on the end table. At that second, Clio knew that she could have just leaned farther over on the sofa and that Aidan would have kissed her. It was
absolute
knowledge
of a variety she had never encountered before.

The other thing was . . . she wanted him to. Very, very badly.

This theory had to be tested. She inched herself slightly toward the edge of the sofa. He leaned just a fraction of an inch closer.

It was amazing. It was like a magnetic field between their faces.

And then, just as she was sliding closer, she caught a whiff of Elsa from the comforter.
Friend,
her brain said.
That smells of
friend.

It did. It smelled of friend. A friend who was getting her help at this very second.

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She couldn’t pull back from this. He was looking at her. This was her moment. This was what she had waited for so long.

“Never said what?” he asked.

The smell of Elsa was overwhelming her now. She hadn’t even known there was an Elsa smell before.

“You and Elsa,” she blurted.

He pulled his hand back but stayed where he was.

“Me and Elsa what?” he asked.

But she could see he knew what she meant. She wanted to take the statement back, to make the feeling return, but that was impossible.

“I’m not feeling so good,” she said, closing her eyes. “I think I’m . . .”

She couldn’t say what she was.

“Yeah,” he said. There was an odd note to his voice. It sounded like he was laughing, but at himself. Grimly.

“Yeah,” he said again. “You were right about me. I am an asshole. Sometimes you just do things . . . because you can.”

She heard him sigh. Another tear trickled out of her eye, but he didn’t remove it.

“I’m going to see if they’re coming,” he said. Then he got up, opened up the glass doors, and stepped out onto the deck.

185

The Venom

The doctor was a small, polite man in a tan gabardine suit. He sat on the white leather armchair, sweating and making notes on a pad. Then he made a proclamation in Italian, waving his pen like a magic wand.

“He says they have a bad jellyfish problem around here,”

Elsa translated. “No one should swim outside the swimming area.”

“No,” Clio mumbled into the sofa.
“Really?”

Clio’s examination was over. It had taken place right there in the living room. The doctor had flipped back the comforter, revealing Clio in her underwear. Martin and Aidan retreated to the deck while this was going on, but Elsa leaned over, like a helpful nurse, translating away.

It was impossible to count the jellyfish stings—they were long, tentacle stings, tangled up on each other. It looked like someone had dropped a knotty mess of unraveled red thread all 186

over Clio’s legs and back. They slashed right through the tattoo.

The doctor explained that if Clio had been allergic, she would already be dead. So her being alive was a very good sign. Still, he had gone on to say, and Elsa had gone on to translate, it was never advisable to get so many jellyfish stings.

He opened his bag and shook some pills out into a glass tumbler. Then he injected Clio in the arm, set his card on the chair, and left.

Elsa tried to put some clothes on Clio, but the process was much too painful. So Clio was wrapped back in her cocoon of comforter.

“How did you guys get back?” Clio asked.

“We went looking for you. We bumped into Martin on the way. He was about to take the raft back. My mom and your dad were staying out a bit longer.”

Nice. Not only were they just left behind—they were left behind so that her dad could go on a date. She had a feeling that this should make her very angry, but the anger didn’t really come.

“I think he gave me something . . . interesting in that shot,”

she said.

“Rest,” Elsa said. “Okay? I’ll stay right here with you.”

She felt Elsa slip her hand under the blanket and find Clio’s hand. Aidan stood in the middle of the room and looked at her, then left.

“You know, when I first met you, you sort of seemed like a cheese goddess,” Clio mumbled to Elsa. “Did I ever tell you that?”

“I
am
a cheese goddess,” Elsa said.

She stroked back Clio’s hair.

“You’re quite mental,” Elsa said. “You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” Clio said.

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“Why did you run out?” Elsa said. “We were so worried about you.”

“It’s complicated,” Clio mumbled. But her thoughts were getting soft and heavy, like big, sopping-wet bags. Wet bags of thoughts that glowed on the inside like jellyfish, like trapped lightning. She saw Aidan come in from the deck and look at her over Elsa’s shoulder, and then she shut her eyes.

When she opened them again, she felt gummy and heavy.

Outside, the sky was light and lavender. It was morning, very early. One of the fat armchairs had been pulled up close to the sofa and her father was sitting in it, looking out the glass doors at the sunrise. Clio watched him for a moment, then, unable to hold her eyes open, she drifted back to sleep.

When she woke up again, it was much brighter. The chair was back in its place and her father was gone. Elsa sat in it instead, her knees tucked up under her chin and a magazine balanced on her feet.

Clio was sure she had seen her father there during the night.

It was time for a body check. She lifted the blanket a little and looked down at herself. What looked like red thread the night before had puffed up to the size of yarn. From her ankles straight on up, she looked like some kind of insane road map. She flipped the blanket back over quickly.

“I’m deformed,” she said to Elsa. “Hideously deformed.”

Elsa looked up and let the magazine slip from her feet as she stood. She lifted a corner of the blanket and looked under. Her eyes widened, and she lowered the blanket softly.

“It’s just a little swelling,” she said quickly. “It’ll go away.

Here. Do you want your pajamas and sweatshirt?”

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Clio could sit up now, and she accepted the clothes. The tank top hadn’t exactly dried during the night. It felt sticky and swampy, but she didn’t care. The damage was too extensive to worry about something as minor as a humid shirt. She managed to slip on the polka-dot pajama bottoms and pulled on the sweatshirt.

It was time to try to stand. Her legs hurt and they were stiff, but she could support herself. She lumbered over to the glass doors and looked out. She was surprised to find that they were docked.

“We’re staying at least another day,” Elsa explained. “Your dad doesn’t want to leave port until he’s sure you’re all right, in case you need a doctor again.”

“Was my dad here?” Clio asked.

“They went to get some breakfast,” Elsa said. “He and Martin. They’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“I guess they can’t survive without me, huh?” Clio said. “They couldn’t make breakfast?”

“Not as good as yours,” Elsa said.

“I’m sorry if I scared you last night,” Clio said. “I came back, but . . .”

“I know,” she said.

“You know?”

“I saw you,” Elsa said. “You came back to the club. You left because you were trying to help. And you did.”

Help? She had been trying to help?

“You saw what happened,” Elsa said, unable to contain her smile. “It was good. He’s not as useless as he seems. He doesn’t do any of the annoying stuff. He’s not grabby, and he doesn’t 189

force his tongue down your throat. It’s just the right amount of pressure. The boy is good.”

Clio decided it was time to sit down again, now. Elsa sat next to her.

“For the first night in a long while, I didn’t dream about Alex at all,” she said. “I think I’m cured.
Cured
, Clio. Cured.”

“That’s . . . great,” Clio said.

Someone was coming up the steps. It was Aidan, freshly showered, with still-wet multidirectional hair.

“What’s up, moron?” he asked.

It was the normal Aidan voice. She looked for a hint of the madness of last night, but it wasn’t there. It was the old, snarky, arrogant voice. It fact, it was slightly more snarky and arrogant.

“Nothing,” she said. “I’m just sitting around, swelling. You know. Like any other morning.”

“I’m going to go get my bag,” Elsa said.

He nodded and went into the galley, emerging a minute later with a can of soda. Clio searched his face for what she had seen last night, but there was nothing there.

She felt like she had done something wrong. Clearly, she hadn’t. She hadn’t kissed him. She hadn’t cheated on Ollie, because it wasn’t possible to cheat on someone you weren’t dating—especially not by
not kissing
another guy. Elsa and Aidan weren’t exactly dating yet, so there was no betrayal there either.

But she felt wrong. Queasy. It was probably whatever that doctor had given her.

Aidan sat down in the chair and played with the tab of his soda can.

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“So,” he said. “You feeling okay?”

“Sort of,” she said. “It’s not my best morning feeling ever.”

“No. Guess not.”

“Good dancing last night,” she said. It sounded very feeble and strange, and he just nodded in reply.

“So,” she said. “You’re going . . . out?”

“Yeah,” he said, squeezing the empty can and making a loud crinkling noise. “Elsa thought . . . well, we’re here. So. Yeah.”

Then they seemed to run out of things to say to each other, so he got up to throw away his can in the kitchen. He didn’t look at her again.

Elsa came back with her bag.

“All set,” she said, sitting on the edge of the sofa. “Your dad just called. They’re on their way. But if it’s all right . . . I’d like to go before they get back. I feel like if we’re still here when my mom gets here, she’ll make Aidan do something so he can’t go.”

“It’s fine,” Clio said.

“I feel bad that you’re stuck here,” Elsa said. “We’ll be back later. You try to rest, okay?”

“I’ve got that one covered.”

Aidan came back in from the galley. His walk was stiff and odd and he kept rubbing the back of his neck, blocking out any view of Clio with his elbow. It had to be deliberate. For some reason, he wanted nothing to do with her now.

As they left, Clio got just a quick hit of the fresh breeze coming in from outside, and then the glass doors slid shut, leaving her in the cool, sterile air-conditioning, alone.

191

Oyster Girl

The other three returned only minutes later. Clio stared out at them from her little tube of comforter, just a pair of eyes blinking out of seven pounds’ worth of down. They brought with them several bags of Italian pastry. And they had all gotten very loud. Maybe just walking around on an Italian street made you loud.