Beyond the Rising Tide (30 page)

I don’t want to tell her I’m leaving in the morning. It’s such bad timing. But it’s either say good-bye now or leave without saying good-bye. I wonder why someone hasn’t already come for me. Maybe it’s because I’m with her, and they don’t want her to know. Maybe I can just stay with her. For tonight. And tomorrow. And the next night. It won’t work forever, but it could buy me more time.

She straightens and turns to me. By the light of the dashboard, I see that her brows are pursed together, her makeup all cried off. She looks beautiful. “Kai, I heard you talking. When you were helping my mom. What were you talking about?”

I keep my eyes on the road and my face composed. I can handle this. I’m an expert liar. “Sometimes when I’m stressed out, I mumble things.”

“It sounded like you were talking to someone.”

“I was talking to your mom. Telling her to stay.”

She pulls one knee up. Her shoelace is untied, and instead of tying it, she starts winding it around her finger. “You said something else too …”

As I wait for her to finish her sentence, I try to remember what I said earlier to Jerick. How can I explain myself?

“You said, ‘I’m here to help Avery. Just for a little while.’ ” She releases the shoelace. “Why did you say that?”

“I was there to help you … with your mom. I mean …” How can I possibly explain? I can’t. And from the skeptical look on her face, she’s not buying what I already offered.

“But …” She shakes her head with her eyes closed. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“Avery,” I say in a heartbroken tone that makes her straighten and look at me. She’s not expecting what I’m about to tell her, and it’s agonizing to say the words. “I’m leaving in the morning.” And just like that, it’s out.

Her mouth drops open a little. “Leaving? For good?”

This is it. This is good-bye. I feel something fracture deep in my chest. It starts to spread, like an earthquake dividing a continent in two. It makes it impossible to speak, so I just nod.

She stares at me. My eyes are on the road, but I can see the hurt in her face in my peripheral vision. “Why?” Her voice sounds small, fragile.

I can’t answer honestly. So I don’t even try.

“Is it because they know where you are?” she asks.

I know she’s referring to earthly authorities and not heavenly ones, but I nod an affirmative.

“Are you ever coming back?” The sliver of hope in her voice is enough to shatter what’s left of me.

No. Never. Now that they know what I’ve done, I doubt I’ll be able to return to Earth with or without a body. But I don’t say that. I just repeat what I said to her on the cliff. “This isn’t good-bye forever.”

I must not sound convincing, because the silence that follows is worse than anything I’ve ever endured. It’s the sound of hopelessness, of her heart breaking. I want to comfort her. I want her to know that I have no choice, that I would stay if I could, that I’ll be thinking about her for the rest of eternity. But I’m leaving. Anything I say now will sound insincere.

She doesn’t say anything else. Maybe she’s too emotionally exhausted from what her mom just put her through. But it kills me that she doesn’t question me, that she accepts my plans without debate or further discussion. She goes back to looking out the window, and her hand moves to her arm, where she digs her fingernails into her skin.

She’s back to square one. What was the point of my coming here to help her, if I was just going to break her heart anew? I reach over and unhook her hand from her arm, then lace her fingers through mine. Her hand feels lifeless in mine.

I wish I could convince her that I’ll see her again someday, but I don’t know that for sure. So I lift her hand to my mouth and kiss it. Then I say the only words I can say with certainty. “I love you, Avery Ambrose.”

She says nothing in return. Doesn’t look at me. Just keeps staring out the window.

When I pull up to her house, she doesn’t say good-bye. She gets out and quietly shuts the door, then walks to her front door and disappears inside.

s soon as the door clicks shut behind me, I sink to my knees and surrender to the tears I’ve been holding back. I can’t believe he’s leaving. Can’t believe he couldn’t wait a little longer, especially after what happened tonight. And if he knew he was leaving, why didn’t he tell me earlier? Why wait until now? Maybe because he just made the decision. Maybe he’s more like Tyler than I thought, and he doesn’t want the burden of trying to console a grieving girlfriend.

Only, when I think of everything he’s done for me over the last few days, I know that he wouldn’t abandon me without good reason. I just don’t understand what his reasons are.

I feel so alone. Like a castaway, drifting in the middle of a dark ocean without a lifeboat. The house is so dark and empty that I may as well be.

I hear a whimpering sound coming from the hallway. It takes all my strength to rise to my feet and follow the sound to Sophie’s bedroom. She’s curled up in bed still wearing her combat boots, arm over head. I kick off my shoes and lay beside her, draping my arm over her and pulling her close.

“She’s okay,” I whisper.

Sophie cries harder, her whole body convulsing. I know what she’s feeling. She doesn’t have to say it, because I feel it too. There’s no point talking about it, because there’s nothing to be done. There’s only grief and anger and sorrow, churning around us, through us, over us.

I clutch her hand in mine, grateful that at least we don’t have to drown alone.

My head is only an inch below the water, but I’m going to drown. And it’s not my life that’s flashing before my eyes, but a poster I once saw in my pediatrician’s office warning that it only takes a couple inches of water for a child to drown. My fingers claw at the leash around my neck, but it’s so tight I can’t squeeze a pinky underneath. Just when I think my lungs might burst and the edges of my vision turn black, I feel a sharp sting, and for a second I think I’m being attacked by some sea creature. But then the pressure around my neck releases. A hand circles my arm and yanks me above the surface and onto my surfboard. I cough up the liquid in my lungs, and when I can somewhat breathe again, I follow the arm that’s draped over my back to its owner. Through the rain, I squint at the boy who’s hanging onto the opposite side of my surfboard. All I can really see is that he’s shirtless, and I wonder what he’s doing in the winter Pacific without a wetsuit.

“Are you okay?” he shouts over the roar of the rain and waves. We’re traveling up and down from peak to trough, as if we’re on some sadistic amusement park ride. I want to get off now, but the only exit is the beach.

“We need to get back to shore!” I shout back, as though he doesn’t already know.

He moves his arm from my back to my surfboard, then turns away and, holding onto my board with one arm, starts kicking and paddling toward shore. I join him, kicking as hard and fast as I can. With the rain falling in my eyes and splashing up into my face, all I can see is his arm on my surfboard and the upper part of his back and shoulders. I notice a long white scar running along his shoulder blade. Every now and then he looks back at me, like he’s making sure I’m okay, and through my squinted eyes I catch little glimpses of his jaw and lips.

After a while, he stops and turns back toward me. He dips one arm into the water and pulls out what’s left of my surfboard leash. He grabs my wrist and ties the leash around it, and for the first time, I see his eyes.

My eyelids fly open, and for a minute I don’t know where I am. In the ocean? At the hospital? I glance around, and when I see the Astromotts poster on the wall, I realize I’m still in Sophie’s room, lying beside her. I feel her warm body beside me, breathing deeply. As opposed to my own quick, shallow breaths.

For the first time, I saw his face in my dream. Only, it didn’t feel like a dream. It felt like a memory. And once again, the face I saw was Kai’s.

I sit up and quietly slide off Sophie’s bed. I don’t know what time it is, but no light is seeping through the cracks in her blinds. I go to Dad’s office and turn on his computer, glancing at the clock while it boots up. It’s just past five in the morning, and I feel exactly like I’ve had two hours of sleep. But there’s something I need to do so that maybe I can prove to myself that I’m not losing my mind.

I type in “missing foster kids Michigan” in the search engine and hit enter. Up comes a link for an official Michigan website that says, “Help us find these missing children.” I click it and find a database. I know Kai’s picture will be in here somewhere. I don’t know why I need to see it. Maybe I want to know if I’ve seen his picture before in another missing persons database. Because that might explain why he looks so familiar. Why I’m imposing his face on the boy who saved my life.

“Where are you, Kai Lennon?” I whisper, wincing at the ache that comes with saying his name out loud. With a pounding heart, I click on a link at the left of the screen for children whose last names start with L.

Three profiles populate the screen, two boys and one girl. No Kai though. Maybe he’s not in the database after all. Or maybe …

I start clicking through the other letters, starting with A and moving down the alphabet. My palms grow moist as I anxiously search through each page for his face.

When I get to T, at least a dozen profiles pop up. I scroll down the list, scanning the pictures for his face.

Halfway down, my heart stops.

There he is. Looking at me from a thumbnail picture on the screen.

His hair is darker, a sandy blond. His face looks more tan, a bit more worn and angry. But without a doubt, it’s him. And then I look at his name.

Zackai L. Turner.

L for Lennon.

Kai is a nickname. And Lennon is his middle name.

Why would he lie to me about his name? Maybe he was afraid I would report him if I found out he was a runaway. A shiver runs through me as I click his name to view his profile. The picture expands. There’s absolutely no question now that it’s Kai. I read the information on his profile.

Missing since December of last year. Last seen in the Upper Peninsula. Current age: 17. Six foot two. One hundred eighty pounds. Blond hair. Blue-green eyes. Other Distinguishing Features: Scar on back over left shoulder blade.