Beyond the Rising Tide (11 page)

The sun sets slowly over the ocean, and when the horizon disappears into a wash of indigo, she stands and stretches.

“I’d better get home,” she says. “I have to work again tomorrow.”

“Avery,” I say, hoping I can leave her with something more substantial than “it’s been real.” “You’re amazing. I hope you know that.”

She looks down at her sneakers and bites her lip, as though she’s deciding whether to swallow my compliment or spit it back out. A breeze flicks her hair and ripples her blouse like a white flag. “Thank you,” she says simply.

“No regrets, okay?”

I can see her gears turning, trying to find context for my words. I’m not sure if she succeeds or not, but she nods. And I think, if this evening with her is all I get, it was worth taking the ring for. And maybe it’s enough.

But as I walk her to her car, I can’t bring myself to say good-bye. One day isn’t enough. I want more. More time in this body, more time with her. I ante up another day, hoping I don’t lose the gamble, and say, “Can I come see you tomorrow?”

She nods again. “I can give you my number.”

“I don’t have a phone.”

“Then come see me.” She smiles. Then her expression turns concerned. “Can I give you a ride somewhere?”

There’s nowhere for her to take me, so I say, “I think I’ll stick around and enjoy the scenery.”

She nods and waves good night as she gets in her car, and then I watch her brake lights disappear around a corner.

hen I was ten, I qualified for a local juniors surfing competition. They even wrote about me in the local paper, calling me “fearless” and a “strategic executioner.” Mom had spent the evening calling our relatives to brag and shopping online for surfing gear that I didn’t need. I’d spent the evening sitting in a happy trance on the couch, dreaming of all the possibilities.

I feel the same way now. I got home from dinner with Kai an hour ago, and I’m still sitting in my driveway, staring at the watermarks on my windshield and holding Kai’s pocketknife in my hand. There’s something steadying about it, like I’ve just found a handrail after balancing for months on a rickety bridge.

I unfold the different tools of the knife, as though his secrets are hidden among them. There’s a file and a tiny pair of scissors, a screwdriver and the sharp blade I used earlier to free the crab. I study each one, as if they’ll reveal something about him. But they’re shiny, clean, and unscratched, like they’ve never been used.

My phone chirps on the passenger seat, and I look down to see a text.

From Tyler.

You up?

It’s been weeks since he texted me. And something tells me it’s no coincidence that his first text came on the day I went out with another guy.

No regrets
, Kai said before I left him tonight. I don’t know why he said it. Maybe it was some Michiganese way of saying good-bye. But the words struck me somewhere deep inside. Because I’ve spent the last six months doing nothing but regretting. Looking back and wishing I could undo the choices I made, and the consequences of those choices.

Maybe Kai is what I need right now. I’ve been hanging around the same group of friends for years. If I switch things up, maybe I can get out of this rut I’m in. When I was at dinner with Kai, I felt something shift inside of me. Like I’d stumbled onto a new path that I never realized was there. After floundering along the same path for six months, maybe it’s time to explore a new one.

I reach over and turn off my phone.

rom where I sit huddled in an alcove on the beach, I can see the clock tower on the pier. The minute hand looks like a dagger, and it’s killing time painfully slowly. Morning will bring another chance to see Avery, and it can’t come soon enough.

It’s past midnight, and the beach is empty. I’ve been sitting in the same spot for two hours, breathing in the salty air and running my fingers through the gritty sand. Partly because it makes me feel alive, and partly because I don’t have anywhere else to go.

The vineyard I worked at today had trailers for the workers, but the manager told me not to come back until I had my ID. And since my wallet is lost at the bottom of the ocean, that’s not an option.

I look out at the vast body of water before me, a dark abyss peppered with moonlight. Somewhere out there, along with my drivers license, is my mortal body. Or whatever is left of it. The elements are probably scattered across miles of craggy ocean floor. The thought makes me sad. But also more grateful for this temporary body.

I run a hand over the smooth skin on my forearm. This body feels different than my mortal one, and yet the same. My arm is already healed where I cut it on the broken store window last night. And even though there’s no blood in this body, I’ve been able to eat. So there must be some kind of digestive and circulatory system. I press my fingers to my wrist to feel for a pulse, but there’s nothing. I try my neck, just under my jaw, and there—I feel something. A low humming, more of a current than a pulse. It sort of creeps me out, so I pull my fingers away and return them to the wet sand.

I feel weighed down and exhausted, and I realize that this body needs rest. I’ve been awake since the middle of last night, and my legs ache from walking miles to find Avery. I haven’t felt this tired since the night I left Michigan and walked fifteen miles in the snow before a trucker picked me up. I need a place to rest before I see her again tomorrow. Unless …

I look down at Charles’s ring. Moonlight glints off the metal, and the stone inlay catches the light, turning slightly luminous. I could take it off for a while and go back to Demoror, and I’d probably feel rested when I returned. But if I do, I’ll receive an assignment. And I can’t take another assignment until I’m finished with the one I’ve given myself. Besides, it was unexpectedly painful to materialize, and if I take the ring off, I’ll have to put it on again and re-materialize. And anyway, I like having this body, even when it’s worn out.

So I stand and head back the way I came, past the shops and inns, to the mouth of the small canyon where Avery dropped me off earlier. I follow the canyon road toward the vineyard where I worked earlier, determined to find a place to sleep for the night even if it’s behind an old barn. It won’t be the first time I’ve had to sleep outside.

No street lamps light my way, only moonlight sifting through a tunnel of arching trees. As I wander down the dark path, I have a sense of déjà vu. Not that I’ve been here before, but that I’ve felt this way before. Uncertain. Like I don’t know where I’ll be when tomorrow comes, or if my plans will work out. I used to come up with one half-baked plan after another. When I was a kid, my plan was to run away with my little sisters and live in the woods. I even tried it once, but when it got dark and the wolves started howling, my sisters cried so hard I finally brought them back home. It wasn’t much safer there, but at least we wouldn’t be eaten alive.

My sisters are safe now, but I’m still full of half-baked plans. What makes me think they’ll work out now?

I’m half a mile past the vineyard now, and there’s nothing but a steep hill on one side of the road and a thick grove of trees on the other. I step off the road and into the trees, thinking it’s as good a place as any to sleep. The long grass feels soft and cushiony, and as I weave through the trees, I hear something. A woman’s voice, calling for someone. Curious, I follow the sound through the trees until I stumble onto a dirt driveway.

“Dacio!” the woman is calling. Her voice is strained, worried. I jog down her driveway, stopping at the edge of her yard when I see her. She’s an elderly woman, standing on her porch in a long nightgown and slippers. Then I hear the unmistakable sniffing sound of a dog behind me, and before I can turn around, I feel its wet nose and tongue on my hand. I look down to see a golden retriever nuzzling my hand. “Hey there,” I say quietly, rubbing his head.

“Dacio!” the woman calls again. “
¿Dónde estás, muchacho?
”

Assuming the dog is Dacio, I say, “Come on, boy,” and lead him across the yard to the woman. When I near the porch, I use my gentlest voice so I don’t startle her. “Are you looking for him?”

She turns in my direction, and even in the dim light of the porch I can see that her eyes are glazed white. Yet, she looks directly at me, into my eyes, as though she can see beyond whatever disease or condition has made her blind.

“Are you here for me?” she asks, her Rs rolling with a Spanish accent.

“No. I was out on the road and heard you calling out. I came to see if you needed help.”

She takes a step toward me, holding onto the porch post for balance. “What’s someone like you doing walking around in the middle of the night?”

I’m not sure what she means by “someone like me,” but I decide to go for honesty. “I’m looking for a place to sleep.”

Cautiously, she hobbles down the steps and stands right in front of me. Her black and silver hair is long and stringy, draped over her frail-looking body like a tattered cloak. “Have you seen my son Miguel?” She squints at me, deepening the leathery wrinkles around her eyes.

Apparently she’s lost more than just her dog. Her son, and possibly her mind. I shake my head and then realize she probably can’t see the movement. “No. What does he look like?”

“Black hair, big brown eyes. Tall, but not like you. He died two years ago, when he was only forty-five, bless his soul.” She makes the sign of the cross.

Dacio puts his head under my hand again. I rub it, because I don’t know what else to do or say. Somehow, this woman knows what I am. And she’s asking if I’ve seen her dead son. For a second I worry what consequence I’ll have to pay for her knowing. But then I realize I didn’t actually
tell
her I’m dead, so surely I won’t be banned from Earth.

She must sense my astonishment, because her hand comes to rest reassuringly on my arm. Wonder flickers across her face when she touches me, and she squeezes my wrist. Then she hesitantly lifts her withered hand and runs it over the lines of my face. I hold perfectly still, letting her.

“These eyes may be blind,” she finally says, “but they can see.”

“How?” I’m suddenly wondering if there are others who know what I am too.