by CJ Brightley
“Yeah, but I had to turn around.” At least six flavors of regret on my tongue as I said that.
“S’okay. You’ve got more brains than me about making choices,” he said—and why did that make me feel bad? “You’re still friends with Jenya’s little brother, right? Small Bill? He’s a good kid. You gotta pick your friends carefully.” There was an edge to those words, and I wanted to ask him what he meant, but just then Ma and Aunt Brenda walked in the front door, loaded down with plastic shopping bags full of groceries.
“Who’s that on the phone?” Aunt Brenda asked.
“It’s Jiminy,” I said.
“Calling here?” Aunt Brenda frowned. Ma’s lips twitched. She let the grocery bags slide off her arms and hurried to my side.
“Let me talk to him,” she said.
“Em, you still there?” Jiminy was asking, anxious.
“It’s Ma,” I said, handing the phone to her.
“Those calls cost a fortune, Josie,” Aunt Brenda said. “I really don’t think Lew’s gonna be happy having him—”
Ma wasn’t listening, though. She even had a finger pressed in her free ear to muffle Aunt Brenda. She slid open the glass door into Aunt Brenda’s backyard, stepped out, and slid it shut behind her.
She came in a couple minutes later.
“Is he still there?” I asked, reaching for the phone, but Ma shook her head and put it back in its cradle. Aunt Brenda had her arms crossed and was giving Ma a look.
“I’ll pay for the call,” Ma said.
Aunt Brenda raised an eyebrow.
“I’ll pick up hours at Taunton’s until something better comes along. I don’t mind farm work.” Ma lifted her chin just so. She reminded me of me.
“Can I make some more chocolate milk?” Tammy asked, in a small voice.
“Not now,” said Ma. “Em, take your sister upstairs.”
So here we are, upstairs. And now Ma and Aunt Brenda have moved into the living room, and I can hear some of what they’re saying:
“… our house and our rules, Jo. Repentance first, then forgiveness. He’s gotta show that he’s making an effort to mend his ways—they have programs, you know, in some of the prisons—maybe if he gets involved in one of those. But didn’t you say it was brawling sent him to the infirmary? That doesn’t sound like a change of heart. It’s not something I want Mandy exposed to, and honestly, you should consider the effect on Em and Tammy. I ain’t saying it’ll always be so, but right now he’s a bad influence.”
“Listen to yourself, Bren. Makes me recall why I left home.”
“Mmmhmm, and how did that work out for you?”
Ma’s not answering, and Tammy, sitting next to me on the bed and listening in too, is all big eyes and hunched shoulders. Maybe it’s time for me to take her for a little walk. I’ll write more later.
September 13 (Em’s diary)
Aunt Brenda laid down the law yesterday at suppertime. “Mandy,” she said, “If ever you answer the phone and it’s a collect call, you give it to me or your father or Aunt Josie, understand? Don’t you accept any collect calls on your own. And if there’s no grown-up around, just hang up. Em and Tammy, that goes for you too.”
“‘K, will do,” said Mandy, reaching for the lemonade. “Want a top-up?” she asked me, after filling her own glass. I don’t think Aunt Brenda’s new phone rule made even the tiniest splash in Mandy’s thoughts.
“Em? Tammy? Do you understand the rule?”
“No thanks,” I said. I was answering Mandy, but I half meant my reply for Aunt Brenda too, and I think she knew it, because her eyes widened and her mouth squinched up. I waited the barest half-grain of a second more before saying “Yes, I do, Aunt Brenda.” Tammy chimed in with a solemn me-too, nodding.
Ma had talked to me alone earlier in the day, so I knew it was coming.
“I know you heard me arguing with Aunt Brenda yesterday,” she had said. “But I expect you to abide by any rules she makes regarding Jiminy and the telephone, you hear?”
“But she don’t want to let him call here at all!”
“No buts. She has her reasons.”
“Her reasons stink! She’s just stingy and, and prissy! And mean!”
“Mind your tongue!” Ma had flashed back. “Don’t you dare speak about her that way! Last I checked none of your cousins were behind bars. She must be doing something right.” That last part Ma had said more to herself than me, still with heat in her voice, but as if it was her own self the flames were for.
“She tried to be both mother and sister for me, after your grandmother—your other grandmother, my mother—died. That can’t have been easy. And she even stood up for me to your grandfather when I announced I was getting married, even though she didn’t think much of the idea herself. All the evil things coming out of your grandfather’s mouth that day, the old racist—she wouldn’t tolerate them. So anyway. We’re both going to respect her rules.”
We’re both, Ma had said, like maybe it’s hard for her, too.
“But what about Jiminy?”
“I was thinking, when I’ve earned a little money, maybe I can get us a cell phone. Then he can call that number.”
So that’s why I said yes to Aunt Brenda without any fuss or argument, yesterday. And now I’ve already broken the rule.
It was just like last time, no one here but me and Tammy, and the phone call came in, and I couldn’t press 9, I just couldn’t. Jiminy asked for Ma. He sounded jumpy.
“She’s not around, and Jiminy, me and Tammy aren’t allowed to take your calls no more, Aunt Brenda said. Only her and Uncle Lew and Ma.”
Jiminy called Aunt Brenda a rhymes-with-witch, which is language Ma never likes to hear.
“Ma said she’d get a cell phone though, maybe, soon, and then you can call that,” I told him. But it felt weak.
“Yeah, okay. Jesus. I dunno. I guess I was just hoping … It’s terrible here, Em. They won’t leave me alone.”
A big cold wave of dread crashed over me. “Who won’t? Is it more fights? But you’re still not better from the last one.”
“Tell me about it!” he said, with a short almost-laugh.
“Is it because you’re a seachild?” I asked, and then he laughed for real.
“Aww, Em, nobody cares about that, except as how coming from Mermaid’s Hands makes me one dumbshi … uh, one dumbass,” he corrected, as if he could see me squirming at the words he was using. “Too stupid not to beat up, I guess.” He paused. “Looks like some of my friends—the guys I thought were my friends—they think it’s my fault they’re in here.”
“But it’s not, right? You didn’t rat them out, did you?” It was bad enough that Jiminy had to be a thief, but so was Sabelle Morning a thief, if you look at things the way Ma and Aunt Brenda do. But Sabelle Morning was never a rat.
“I didn’t mean to! I was trying not to—I took the fall for them! ‘Here, you take the gun. You never been arrested; if they catch you, they’ll go easy on you,’ they said, and ran, and it was just me that got caught. I was terrified. None of them came to see me at the police station or before sentencing … I guess they had to lay low, but it felt real cold.
“But I didn’t turn on them! Even when the police said that the lady picked me out of the line—which I still don’t understand, because I don’t look nothing like Ace—and they were charging me with armed robbery, I just said, okay, yes, it was me. But maybe they had their doubts, cause they kept pressing me with questions. ‘You’re loyal; you’re a good friend, aren’t you,’ they said. ‘You’d never give up Ace or Sandman or Dusty or Weathervane, would you?’ And I was like, ‘Weathervane, what’s he got to do with anything?’ and then they go, ‘Oh, so Weathervane wasn’t involved? But the others, they were all there, weren’t they.’ That’s how they do it. Talking to them is like wandering into soft mud. Every word you say just gets you deeper and deeper in the muck. Next thing I know, the word going round is that it’s because of me that Ace and Sandman were arr
ested.”
My thoughts were dragonflying this way and that. Jiminy maybe picked some bad friends, but he tried to protect them. He was loyal. My eyes felt tear-stingy.
“Wish you could of fallen in with someone like Sabelle Morning,” I said. “She’d of come in with guns blazing to rescue you.”
“Huh, Sabelle Morning.” He made another not-laugh sound. “You still listening to those stories? Still treasure hunting? Yeah, Ace and them ain’t nothing like Sabelle Morning. Ace’s cousin told me when Ace gets ahold of me, he’s gonna break my neck. Ace was like a brother before, and now he wants to kill me.”
“I’m a sister for you,” I said, “a real one, not just a like-a-sister.” I wanted to tell him about Sabelle Morning’s cup and speaking his name to the sea, but it isn’t much to offer, not in the shadow of guys who want to break your neck.
“I know you are, Em. I’m counting on that. I want you to see if you can get Ma to—”
I heard a car pull up in the driveway. “I gotta go. Someone’s come home.”
“K.” There was a click, and then the hum that the phone makes when no one’s calling.
Outside, a car door shut, and then the engine started up again. Out the front window, I could see somebody driving away and Ma walking up the driveway, looking tired. I opened the door for her just as she was reaching for the handle.
“Em. What’s wrong?” Her eyes narrowed. “Did you or Tammy break something?”
“No! It’s…”
Tammy appeared.
“Ma!” She gave Ma a hug, and the hard lines of Ma’s eyes and mouth softened a little.
“Maybe mix Ma a chocolate milk,” I suggested. Tammy nodded and ran to the kitchen.
“Go on then,” Ma prompted, sitting down on the couch with a sigh. “What’s got you so fidgety?”
“It’s Jiminy.” I took a breath, then said, as fast as I could, “He called again, and I know I ain’t supposed to accept a call, and I won’t again, but he said—” and then I told her the rest of it. She looked set to interrupt me when I said the part about taking the call, but by the end she was just listening, and even after I finished, she didn’t speak. I waited. She put green-stained hands over her face and said, voice muffled, “How did that boy get himself into so much trouble?”
“Will you get a cell phone soon?”
Ma ran her fingers along her eyebrows. Tammy brought in a tall glass of chocolate milk.
“I made it real dark,” she said.
“Thanks, love.” Ma took a sip. “It’s delicious.”
“Ma, will you?” I pressed.
“Yeah. Yeah, soon.” She didn’t meet my eye but her voice sounded firm.
“I’m sorry about accepting the call,” I said. “I told Jiminy I couldn’t do it again.” Ma reached up and gave my hand a squeeze.
“Don’t you worry. Sometimes you have to break rules. I’ll explain to Aunt Brenda.”
“Ma?” Another thought had occurred to me.
“Yes?”
“Will you try to get word to Dad? About Jiminy?”
Back went her hands over her face.
“Yes, I suppose,” she said at last.
“And Ma?”
She looked up at me, eyebrows raised. What more? they asked. I wanted to tell her about Jiminy being a loyal friend, just to the wrong people, but Ma looked so worn out, I decided to save it for another time.
September 15 (Small Bill to Em)
Em I know you are not gone for good you will be coming back one day but I wish it was sooner. I wonder did you happen to save Sa Bell Morning’s cup when Helga came. Most likely not but if you did you should set it out to catch the morning light because even on dry land that charm will work. Ma didn’t say so but its true. I know think it’s true. I been saying your name and Tammy’s to the tide. I even been saying your mother’s because maybe she might want to come back too.
Your friend Small Bill
September 16 (Em’s diary)
As everyone was trickling in for homeroom this morning, the teacher called me over. Ms. Hughes, her name is. “You’re from Sandy Neck, aren’t you?” she asked. “What do your parents think of this whole Mermaid’s Hands thing? Have they been following it on the news?” She folded a newspaper over and pointed to a headline, “Local Reaction to Mermaid’s Hands Decision.”
“I’m from Mermaid’s Hands, not Sandy Neck,” I said. A couple of the other kids looked up when I said that. “You mean, how do they feel about rebuilding? They want us to be able to rebuild,” I said. That headline said Decision, I was thinking. Have they made a decision? More kids were listening in now. I could feel prickles of sweat forming on my hairline and under my arms.
“You’re actually from Mermaid’s Hands itself? The place in the water?” Ms Hughes asked, disbelieving.
“Yeah. What was the decision?” I scanned the words underneath the headline—ordered … vacate … demolish … protest—I jerked my head back. I felt dizzy. The sweat was running down my side now. My mouth felt tacky, and I struggled to swallow.
“I’m sorry … I didn’t imagine … I’m sorry to bring it up,” Ms. Hughes said, her pale pink skin going red in the cheeks.
I forced my eyes back to the paper, where they landed on “seeking a stay on the demolition of the one remaining structure pending an appeal to the courts.”
“Is it true y’all don’t have birth certificates?” one of the kids said. I realized most of the classroom had gathered in a half-circle around me and Ms. Hughes.
“Sam, maybe now’s not the time,” Ms. Hughes said, pulling open a desk drawer, jamming the newspaper in, then letting the drawer slide closed.
“Yeah, I heard that too,” said another kid. “It’s like half of them don’t even exist, as far as the government’s concerned. “There’s only like fifty of you anyway, right?” he said, staring at me with new curiosity.
“Sixty-six,” I said. Sixty-five, if you don’t count Jiminy, but I’m always gonna count Jiminy. But then there’s Mr. Ovey, and Granny Fearing, and Indigo gone now. “I mean, sixty-three,” I said.
The kid dropped his eyes. “Sorry,” he muttered.
I was pondering what the first kid meant by birth certificates. What is a birth certificate? A prize you get for being born? Maybe they give you one if you’re born on dry land. I should ask Ma.
“Y’all should move somewhere safer now,” one of the girls said, but another said, “I’d like to live on the water. Like a houseboat.” Then another kid said he’d once taken a Cajun riverboat tour in Louisiana where they guaranteed you’d get to see alligators. Then Ms. Hughes told everyone to settle down and go back to their seats.
“I had no idea you’re actually from Mermaid’s Hands,” she said to me as I started for my desk. It looked like maybe she was going to say sorry yet again, but she didn’t.
I couldn’t concentrate for the rest of the day, just kept going over impossible things in my head. Does Ma know? Have she and Dad talked? Ma was going to talk to Dad about Jiminy. Did he tell her about this? What’s going to happen now?
Are we stuck on dry land forever? Can we go somewhere else, on the water? I remembered my message in the bottle. Sometimes I wish I could unrope our house and see where it might float to. But my wish didn’t make this happen. It couldn’t. Right?
Ma didn’t get home until after the rest of us had eaten. Me and Mandy were doing homework on the living room floor, with The Voice on in the background. Aunt Brenda was watching too. She says she don’t care much for the show, but Mandy says she always watches. Tammy was upstairs getting ready for bed. I waited until Ma came in to join us to ask her if she’d heard the news from home.
“What news?” she said, settling down with a sigh at the other end of the couch from Aunt Brenda.
So she didn’t know. I told her about the decision.
“Is that so,” Ma said, lackluster and tired. “That’s like the government, ain’t it. People live in a place for forever, and then suddenly th
ey get told they can’t. Well, they’ll work out something, I suppose.” She let her eyes close.
“Not they, we! We have to work something out. Have you talked to Dad yet?”
“Let your mother rest, Em. She’s had a long day,” Aunt Brenda said. “Y’all can stay here as long as you need.”
“But it’s not home,” I muttered, looking down. The carpet under my knees was the same color as the sand on the shore at Sandy Neck. From the corner of my eye, I saw Mandy raise her head up from her calculator.
“Are you talking about going home?” Tammy asked, coming downstairs in the long t-shirt she wore for sleeping. She still had a smudge of toothpaste in the corner of her mouth, but she wiped it with her hand.
“We can’t go home,” I said. “They won’t let us rebuild our houses. They’re saying even the Winterhulls’ house has to come down, that made it through the storm.”
Mom’s eyes flew open and she sat up straight.
“Em for goodness sake hold your tongue! What good does it do to upset your sister?” Tammy did have a strangled, wide-eyed expression, like she sometimes gets when she has an attack of coughing. But she didn’t cough.
“Where will we live, then?” she whispered.
“Stay here with us and be my ballet mascot,” said Mandy, reaching out to poke Tammy’s ankle, and she managed to tickle a grin onto Tammy’s face, but it faded fast.
“I liked visiting your ballet class today. I like being here. But seachildren can’t stay forever on dry land.” Tammy was speaking to Mandy, but her eyes were locked on mine, and I could feel her asking me What’ll we do? Where’ll we go?
“That’s foolishness,” said Aunt Brenda. “You’re a little girl with delicate lungs, not a fish. You’ll be much better off in a regular house and visiting the beach from time to time, like the rest of us do.”
And meanwhile I’m thinking about that kid in school who said that the government thinks half of us don’t even exist, and I’m remembering about Vaillant pledging allegiance to the sea, and I’m wondering if that’s what we ought to be doing, and if the Seafather would give us gills and take us home below. Only somehow it makes me frightened to think about that, because once you go below, you can never come up above again.