Beyond the Rising Tide (35 page)

But really, I don’t know what he would want. I only know what I want. And as crazy as it is, I want to tell them myself.

With a trembling hand, I pull the handle and push the door open. It’s a good thing I haven’t been able to eat all day, because I would be losing the contents of my stomach right about now. With every step toward their house, I have to find my courage all over again. Every muscle in my body is tense and trembling. Except my heart, which is robustly throbbing in my chest. I cross the street and drift up their driveway past a navy SUV. And then I’m standing on their porch. The door is painted the color of rust and a heart-shaped wreath hangs on it. The lacy curtains in the window are drawn, and I stand there for a minute, stalling, listening for noises on the other side of the door as I try to remember what I’m going to say.

I knock on the door. I’ve practiced the words a thousand times in my head, yet I feel so unprepared for this. The door opens way too soon, and there stands Kai’s sister. I know it’s her because she has the same blue-green eyes, and her curious expression is the same one I’ve seen on Kai’s face dozens of times. Suddenly my throat is closing up, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from bursting into tears. I can’t talk, can’t look away, can’t do anything but stand there and try not to see Kai in her face.

Her brows pull together, and she takes a small step toward me. “Um … are you okay?”

I nod, swallowing hard, even though I’m far from okay. “Are you Hannah?” I ask, my voice a pitch higher than usual.

She tucks a piece of long hair behind her ear. Her hair is much darker than Kai’s, like Dad’s darkest chocolate. “Yeah. Why?”

I take a deep breath. “I’m Avery. I was wondering if I could talk to you for a bit.”

“About what?” Her tone is impatient, and her gaze is wandering down the street. She probably thinks I’m a solicitor or something. And she’s holding a pair of black socks, as though she’s getting ready to go somewhere.

“About your brother.”

“Kai?” She perks up, giving me her full attention.

“Yes. Kai.” I wince when I say his name.

Her hand goes to her stomach, where it clutches her snug black T-shirt. “What is it?”

I peer over her shoulder into her house, but don’t see anyone else. Just a shiny tile floor and a black upright piano. “Is Jane here?”

“No. She’s at karate.”

I want to tell them both. But I’m here, and Hannah knows I have something to tell her about Kai, so I can’t say, “Never mind, I’ll come back later.” I gesture to the porch steps. “Can we sit down?” My legs are shaking, and there’s no way I’m getting through this standing up.

She steps outside and shuts the door behind her, and we both sit on the top step. She turns toward me, anxiously picking at a frayed hole in her skinny jeans. “Is he in trouble?”

It’s so hard to look at her. Not only because she reminds me of Kai, but because I can see in her eyes how much she loves him. What I have to tell her is going to hurt. But if I were her, I’d want to know.

“He saved my life,” I say reverently. “I went surfing one day, and got into trouble, and he jumped in the water to save me.”

She smiles, but her face is still worried. “That sounds like something he’d do.”

I nod in agreement, knowing for myself how selfless a person Kai is. I take a deep breath, because the hardest part is next. “It was during a storm.” I’m trying so hard to keep my voice steady, but I’m failing miserably. “We were both hanging onto my surfboard, but then he got swept off by a wave and he … he didn’t resurface.” My voice is so small when I say the last part that I’m not sure she heard me. But then her hand comes to her mouth, and I know she heard loud and clear.

“What do you mean?” Her face goes even paler than her already milky complexion.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, bracing her with a hand on her thin arm. “He didn’t … he didn’t make it back to shore.”

“What?” Her eyes fill with tears, and she shakes her head in disbelief. “Are you telling me he’s …”

I nod once, unable to say the words because my throat has closed up again. She understands my meaning, because she drops her head into her hands and starts crying. And then I’m crying too, and I blanket an arm over her, doing my best to comfort her, even though I know there’s nothing that will ease her pain.

“When?” she asks between stuttering breaths.

“Last December. But I didn’t find out who he was until recently, because … they never found his body.”

She sits up straight, her mouth open as though she’s astonished by something I just said. “December? Wait a minute.” She settles a hand over her chest, seeming relieved. “I just saw him last month.” In one breath, her expression has changed from anguish to elation.

“What?”

“Yeah—he came here in June.” She wipes the tears from her cheeks. “It was a short visit, but he was here.”

“Oh.” Of course he came to visit his sisters while he was here. This is a complication I didn’t prepare for, and now I have no idea what to say. I can’t exactly tell her that he was dead when he visited her.

“Are you sure he was the one who saved you?” she asks. “You said you just found out who he was. So what made you think it was him?”

“I … recognized him in a missing persons database,” I say numbly.

“Well then … he survived.” She takes a big breath of relief, then clutches my shoulder and smiles. “He’s a runaway. And supposed to be in foster care. At least for a few more months until he turns eighteen. So he probably took off when he got back to shore because he didn’t want to get caught.” She’s looking at me like she’s waiting for me to rejoice with her. I try to smile, but instead, my face crumples and I break down in tears. She wraps her arms around me and now she’s the one rubbing
my
back. “I know. Geez, that must have been horrible for you these last few months, thinking the guy who saved you was dead.”

This only makes me cry harder, and even though I’m a complete stranger to her, she lets me hold her and cry into her shoulder. It’s so bittersweet to have his sister in my arms. They share the same blood, or did, when he was alive. She’s the only person I’ve met that really knows him. I wish I could tell her how much I love him, just how much he means to me. I want to tell her everything he did for me, even after saving my life. And I want her to tell me everything she knows about him, to share all her memories of him. Because that would make him more real to me, more alive.

“Hey,” she says soothingly, leaning away so she can see my face. “Do you want me to tell him you’re looking for him? I can give him your contact info the next time I see him. I don’t know when that’ll be, but hopefully soon.”

I take a deep, shuddery breath. “Sure.” Because what else can I say? And then I realize that Hannah and Jane will never know what became of their brother. No one will know except me. And it doesn’t matter what I tell the detective now. If I tell him that it was Kai who saved me, then they’ll assume he survived when they talk to his sisters. I can never tell anyone the truth. This is a secret I’ll carry with me until the day I die.

Hannah has her cell phone out, a blank contact screen open. “Okay. What did you say your name was?”

I indulge her and give her my contact information, not only to keep up the charade, but also because maybe this can be the beginning of a friendship, a meaningful connection to the boy I’ll always love.

When she’s done entering my information, I stand to leave, but then pause. “Hannah,” I say, “can you tell me about your brother? I’d love to know something about the boy who saved my life.”

he moment I step into the Briar, I’m swallowed up in shadows. I hold up my pendant like a lantern, but even then, the light reaches only a few feet around me before being absorbed into the dark. I’m reminded of the times I played Hide and Go Scare in the woods back in Michigan with my foster siblings. I always won because, not only was I not afraid of the dark, but a kid jumping out from behind a tree was nothing compared to the real terrors I’d already experienced.

Only, this place is darker than any earthly woods, and I
am
scared. Scared of the unknown, of things foreign and unfamiliar. Scared that I won’t be able to find my mom, and that even if I do, I won’t be able to bring her out.

Charles didn’t say exactly where I could find her, only that I’d be able to feel where she was. So I pause and listen. Not for sound, but for direction. For the path that leads to her. I visualize her face and concentrate on my desire to find her, and after a moment, I feel a tugging in the center of my chest. Like I’m standing near a magnetic field and my ribs are made of iron. I don’t know how far away she is, but she’s somewhere off to my left. I’m tempted to quicken to her, but Charles warned me not to, saying that the thorns would slash into me, similar to how the rocks cut my feet.

So I move slowly toward her, stepping over fallen branches and around patches of twisted growth. Sometimes I have to backtrack when the vague path comes to a dead end. Every now and then, I see shadowy movements in the thicket, or ambiguous shapes slinking across my path. And sometimes through the trees, I see the glowing pendants of other guides. Eventually I cross paths with one of them, and we acknowledge each other with a nod. A man trails behind him, looking afraid and uncertain, his eyes darting about as if he’s expecting a monster to leap out of the shadows. “Keep your eyes on me,” the guide says, and the man refocuses and seems to calm a bit.

The sight gives me hope, so I forge on, constantly seeking the unseen path toward my mom. I wonder what she’ll look like when I find her. Will she be renewed and young again, the way Charles has changed? Or will she look the same as the day she died—fragile and spent, like a quivering autumn leaf barely clinging to a tree? I shut the image out and instead think of the times I saw her happy. Like when I brought home some clothes for Hannah and Jane and told my mom that the neighbors donated them. My guilt over stealing them came the next day, but I never told Mom the truth because I didn’t want to spoil her happiness.

Or like the time I was seven and came home from school with a note from the principal and a bloody lip. She sat me down in the bathroom to clean me up, and as she dabbed a moist washcloth on my lip, she asked, “You wanna tell me what this was about?” I told her the truth, how I tackled some fifth grader because he was making fun of Hannah’s hair. Mom gently laid her callused fingers on the back of my neck and gave me one of those rare smiles that reached her eyes. “That’s what I love about you most, Kai. You always look out for the people you love.”

And then there was the time she rallied enough courage to leave Dad, and she packed me and my sisters in our old Plymouth Duster and drove all the way to San Luis Obispo to live with my aunt. I still remember watching her from the backseat as we flew down the highway with all the windows rolled down. Her hair whipping in the wind, her face full of possibilities, like a prisoner set free.

It didn’t last long though. Whether it was Dad she missed or the drugs he provided, three weeks later we were back on the road, returning to Michigan.

Even then, she had trouble untangling herself from the dark.