My father was sixty this year. The year he would have been able to retire. He never decided if he would or not. Now he’ll never get the chance.
I breathe the cooling mist from the clean outside air deeply into my lungs and hold it there before opening the door to the house.
This was once a home full of boisterous laughter and music. Late night conversations and the smell of frying fish mixed with the sweet scents of sugar kelp rum. Now that my father is gone, the house that greets me is cold. I hesitate before stepping inside, but it’s the right thing to do so I force myself to move a foot over the threshold.
“Where were you, you selfish brat?” the woman that is my mother croaks from her rocking chair in the corner.
“At work,” I answer softly as I remove my sandals. “Where else would I be?” She begins to rock her chair faster, causing the nerve grating creak I’ve come to know so well.
“I figured you left me like your sister did.” She glares at me with bulging eyes.
“Meghan didn’t leave you. She got married years ago, remember?” I close the storm shutters tight, blocking out the light from the wharf, and move through the darkened house to find the whale oil lantern. The flame comes easily.
“Of course, I remember. She married that halfwit,” my mother cackles. “Couldn’t do much better than him, could she? But she chose to leave me just like your father did.”
“Dad didn’t leave you,” I sigh. We’ve had this conversation more times than I can count. “He had an accident and drowned while working on his machine five months ago.”
“That machine,” she spits. “I told him he was an idiot for believing it would work. He spent all his time on that stupid thing.” She rocks the chair faster making the creaking sound unbearable.
“He left me on purpose!” she screams.
“Did you eat today?” I ignore her outburst as I rummage through the cupboard.
“Why should I eat?” Her yellow teeth gleam from the light of the lantern as she snarls at me. “You’d all be happier if I was dead so you can take my house.”
“Eat something.” I pull out a few pieces of dried goose jerky and carry it across the room. She stares despondent as I place the food on her lap.
“What’s the point?” she cries out suddenly more childlike than feral, but the sound doesn’t pull at my heart like it once did. “Nobody loves me anyway. You don’t want me around. You all just want to leave me.”
I study her weathered face as she begins to sob, searching for a trace of the beauty my father proclaimed her to be. Instead I see only anger and hatred. Frown lines and crazed eyes that glare at everything yet nothing at all.
I wish I could say that his death did this to her, but she’s always been this way. He was the one who took the brunt of her anger. He thought that if he loved her enough, she wouldn’t sink into this black abyss of despair. Now my father is gone and all that remains is the hateful woman stewing in her own bitterness that rocks in the chair before me.
“That’s not true,” I whisper, wondering if it is. “Eat something.” She looks at the jerky like she’s only just noticed it and I use the silence to slip away.
The chain link latch I installed a few months ago provides a barrier for what’s to come. I breathe in the simple comfort of safety and climb onto my bed mat in the room I once shared with my sister. The seashells I hand strung with strips of discarded plarn from the spinners clatter delicately above me.
The flashes of abalone and coral pinks line the ceiling and break artfully into curtains that frame the mural on my wall. Dancing trees in earthy brown tones drip down to the lower sketches near the floor. My father loved those early sketches so much.
In my youth, in the days I spent behind the wall, I used the mud of the earth to paint pictures on the rocks. Berries could be smashed for red. Green was squeezed from leaves between my fingers. The day I was too old to go on the land, I cried for hours because I’d miss my drawings so much. My father promised he’d find a way to let me keep them. We spent hours crushing shells in the mortar stone. Then we mixed the powder with whale fat to get the right colors.
“Our little secret.” He’d grin at me as he snipped a small chunk of my hair to fasten to a pole. No one in our world paints. There’s no need for it. I guess it would be considered a useless waste of time. But to me it’s like breathing, I couldn’t live without it.
My eyes close. The images from the mural are already embedded in my mind. The shells make their own little music that I try to focus on as the banshee who I call mother begins her nightly screams.
*
I dream of the soil. Running my hands through the rich earth as I fall laughing to my knees. Then I’m in the apple tree next to Lena. Her face is older than I remember, and I struggle to merge the two versions of her. The one I know now and the one I knew as a child.
Shhh… She places a finger over her lips and points behind me. I turn to look.
And now I’m falling. Drowning in a sea of dark green. The color of the watchmen’s clothes. It blocks out Lena’s face and all the other colors. She can’t see me anymore. I can’t see anything at all. The fall continues pulling me into a world where I no longer exist. I thrash against the descent, ready to fight whatever surface I’m falling toward.
*
I jerk myself awake before hitting the bottom of my dream. The closed storm shutters allow the weakest stream of early morning light to come through. I hastily dress and then unlock the latch as I tiptoe across the cold floor to retrieve my shoes by the front door. My mother sleeps hunched over in her rocking chair with a trail of drool running down her chin.
Sighing, I make my way back across the room to retrieve a blanket from the bed. It lays folded in the same place I left it a few days ago. As softly as I can, I drape the blanket over her chest and use the corner to wipe up the spit. I shut the front door quietly so as not to wake her.
It’s easy to leave the nightmare behind when the day is as cleansing as this. Fat clouds drift lazily through the clear blue sky showing no sign of the coming storm. Except the large number of boats anchored in the harbor tell a different story.
On my way to the docks I stop by Jillian’s stall. Her house is attached to the outside booth so she’s usually the first one to open. This causes a few complaints because she’s always sold out by noon. Jillian is sitting outside swatting at flies but welcomes me as I approach.
“Do you have anything fresh today?” I ask excitedly. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve been down here early enough for her produce.
Jillian’s mother Vera created this aquaponics system in their home with PVC piping and fish tanks. It’s really interesting, but I have no idea how it works. I just know they can grow plants without soil. Jillian makes a good living from this setup. I’m not sure why Vera retired when she was doing so well here but I guess she worked harder than most to earn her place on the land.
“I haven’t seen you in a while.” Jillian comes out from behind the table to embrace me.
“No watchers today,” she remarks quietly as she checks out the wharf around us. Jillian is the only person I know who understands my predicament. The watchmen are watching her too. If she hadn’t noticed and pointed it out, I might think I was absolutely crazy by now.
“They must be getting ready for the relocation,” I whisper back.
“Thank the gods.” She smiles mischievously. “We finally get a break.”
“About that,” I keep my voice low as she pulls me deeper into the stall. “I’m hoping it was a fluke. Maybe the next rotation of watchmen won’t be as intense. It was the same one watching me for the past few months. Do you think maybe he was just weird or something?”
Jillian smiles at me sympathetically. “Maybe.” She nods. “I hope that is true for you, but they’ve been watching me for years now so I’m not expecting anything to change.”
“Did you ever ask them why?” I turn to look over my shoulder. Our voices are still low even though t
here is no one else around. “Maybe we should ask. They aren’t all that bad. Sarah dated one a few years ago if I remember right. Plus, they always seem so nice when they are off duty and hanging out at the tavern.”
“I’ve tried many times,” Jillian sighs. “The bastards don’t tell me anything. Have you tried to speak with them?”
I shake my head.
After my father drowned, I spent days searching for his body. I dove into the crevices between the rocks, spending so long under water that my eyes burned red and my lungs screamed for oxygen. One of the watchmen saw the incident happen and I have no reason not to believe him, but I couldn’t believe the sea swallowed my father without giving me a chance to say good-bye.
The afternoon of my last dive was the first time I noticed the watchman. He was standing on the jagged rocks in the place too sharp and uneven to be of notice to anyone except my father. I don’t know why he was there, but the sick feeling of dread washed over me as I sat staring at the ocean. I’d never done anything to draw their attention. Yet the watchman was there, and I was the only one to watch.
Maybe I should have talked to him. What harm would that have done? They are allowed to speak with us. It’s only when someone gets out of line or breaks the peace that they become scary.
Then they swarm in like a school of fish and the troublemaker just vanishes. They get rid of them one way or another. I’ve never questioned where they go. Really, it’s the perfect way to control us. No one wants to disappear. It is their job to protect the wall and dangerous people are a threat to everything. I guess it is a little terrifying when someone is forced to leave, but other than that the watchmen are a normal presence in our lives. Unless they suddenly and inexplicably turn their attention onto you.
“I still don’t understand,” I say to Jillian’s back as she continues to arrange her produce. “Why are they watching us so intently and not doing anything about it? I know what happens when people disappear. It’s fast. One minute someone does something crazy, like the day John waved a knife at his wife on the wharf, and minutes later the troublemakers are gone. But this is agonizing, the watching with no explanation.”
“Would you rather disappear?” She turns her head over her shoulder and smirks.
“Not at all,” I gasp. “I just want to know what we should do.”
She hands me a small cup of ripe red cherry tomatoes. “If I knew that answer, you’d be the first to know too. You haven’t done anything wrong though, so just keep being you and stay out of trouble. Maybe the new ones will leave you alone and I’m just a crazy old woman.” Jillian’s words are grounding. Every time I speak with her my heart feels a little less heavy.
“If you’re crazy than I’m crazy.” I smile. “How much for the tomatoes?”
“For you?” She scrutinizes my face and pretends to calculate the tab as I anxiously await the total.
“On the house,” she finally laughs. “Now get out of here before the watchmen come back and think we are up to something.”
*
The tomato bulbs are crisp and sweet. I savor each bite as I head to the waiting docks. It’s been too long since I’ve had fresh produce and my taste buds are soaring to match my mood.
“What are you doing down here, kid?” Rowan calls out as he passes me on his way down to the docks.
“Tordon needed some help scraping this morning. I’m heading over there now.” I laugh as my brother-in-law tousles the top of my hair.
Rowan is a large man. He towers over the other fishermen as they hustle around the wharf. Meghan is so tiny compared to him, but she’s definitely the boss in their marriage. He’s not at all the halfwit my mother proclaims him to be. He’s just quiet and only speaks when there’s something important to say. My dad liked him. Well, he liked him after he married my sister.
“Did you drop Zander off at the wall today?” I ask.
He looks up at the calm sky. “Aye. I wanted to let Meghan sleep. She had a restless night.”
“Do I still need to pick him up?” With the sun on his face I can see the dark circles that color his eyes.
“Would you?” He gives me a tired smile. “I’m going to pull in the crab pots and then tie up the boat before heading home.”
“Of course I will. I already told Tordon I’d need to leave. Plus, I want to check on Meghan,” I explain. “You should probably get some sleep too.”
Rowan nods and waves clumsily as he continues down the dock to where his boat waits for him. I laugh as I hop onto the opposite raised bridge that leads deeper into the spiraling maze of the harbor.
‡ Chapter Three ‡
Aegir, Tordon’s father, is ancient but you wouldn’t know it by looking at him. He stands on the bow of the Bara, the deep blue boat that is his favorite of the nine-vessel fishing team. His thick white hair curls around his face connecting without seam to his trimmed beard. The muscles flex across his bare chest which is peppered with hairs matching the color on his head.
“Over there,” his deep voice booms as he sends Endre, Tordon’s younger brother, scrambling for a tool. When I was little, I thought Aegir was a giant. Tordon used to make fun of me for it.
Now the giant catches sight of me standing on the dock. His dark blue eyes light up in merriment and he leaps agilely from the bow of the boat to the walkway causing it to sway. I grab the railing for support, but it slips from my hand as I’m lifted off my feet. Aegir spins me around in a crushing hug that is tight enough to make my bones crack.
“Little Brooke,” he beams. “I’m so happy to see you again.” I’m dizzy as he sets me back on my feet. Thankfully he keeps his hand on my shoulder to steady me after the world-shaking event.
“It’s been too long child. We miss you coming around. You know you always have a place at my dinner table. In fact, you should come tonight.” He rubs the hairs on his chin, nodding at his own plan. “I’ll have a feast and we’ll…”
“There’s a storm tonight, dad,” Tordon interrupts his father as he comes walking up behind us carrying a stack of crates.
“Ah. Yes.” Aegir seems momentarily distraught before regaining his perpetual joy. “After the storm then! In the meantime,” he pushes me forward so that I’m smushed against Tordon’s side, “why don’t you two go work on scrubbing Kolga’s back?”
Aegir grabs the crates from Tordon with one hand and shoos us away with the other. I’d almost forgotten how imposing Aegir’s presence was until he climbs back onto the Bara and I’m left standing awkwardly with Tordon. We walk in silence down to where the Kolga is docked. The boat looks so lonely sitting out here by herself and it only adds to the strained tension now that we are also alone.
“Sorry about that,” Tordon says breaking the ice between us. We slip into the water and hang onto the plastic ropes dangling from Kolga’s hull. “I had a hunch he was trying to reconnect us somehow. I should have told you last night, but I wasn’t sure how to word it.”
“Oh good,” I chuckle as I remember Lena’s teasing. “I was wondering why you were acting weird.”
Tordon’s smile is tight lipped. He reaches for the tool on the dock before diving under the boat. I groan to myself as I grab the second scraper. I really should learn to think before I speak.
Keeping one hand on the vessel, I follow the smoothness of the fiberglass until I feel a ridge. I begin to scrape the barnacles gently until they release from Kolga’s belly. I’ve only been working for a few minutes when Tordon reemerges beside me.
“I haven’t been acting weird,” he says while wiping the water from his face. “You’ve been the weird one.”
“I’m sorry my father died.” I glare at him.
He doesn’t even have the decency to look sympathetic. “You were acting weird before he died. Right after we kissed you stopped talking to me.”
I feel the heat rise to my cheeks. This wasn’t a conversation I was ready for today. Honestly, I’m not sure if I’d ever be ready for this particular conversation. My first though
t is to accuse him of not talking to me either, but I just promised myself I’d think before I speak. I do the most logical thing I can think of, let out an inarticulate gasp and quickly dive beneath the boat.
He’s sitting on the dock moving his bare feet back and forth in the water when I emerge on the port side of the Kolga.
“You aren’t getting off that easy, Brooke.” The playful smile I’ve known since we were kids curls his upper lip. I blow out a heavy breath expelling the held air from my lungs and send water droplets spraying across the ripples of the sea.
“Fine,” I exclaim. “It was weird. The kiss was weird. And I felt weird after it. Not in a good way, but in an I shouldn’t have done that way.”
“You regret kissing me.” It isn’t a question. Tordon’s eyes glaze with thought as he processes what I’ve said. “I guess I knew that. I mean, why else would you avoid me for all these months?”
“I didn’t mean to avoid you.” I swim to the edge of the dock and grab the metal beam. “With everything that happened after the kiss, it’s been too much to think about.”
“I get it.” Tordon reaches down his hand to pull me onto the dock. “And I don’t blame you. I was thinking that you needed some time, but I guess I knew all along that wasn’t the case. Besides, you kiss like a wet fish.”
“I do not!” I try to pry my hand from his. He laughs but doesn’t let go as he yanks me up out of the water.
“It wasn’t that great for me either.” Tordon winks. “I thought I was doing it wrong, but maybe some things are not meant to be.”
“Maybe not.” I roll my eyes and turn to watch the sea. The sky is bright blue with drifting white clouds. Still no sign of the impending storm.
“What do we do now?” I ask. Tordon is silent as he watches the water. Probably still hating me.
The City on the Sea (City on the Sea Series Book 1) Page 2