Spring Tide

by K. Dicke

  “Sylvia? Come on, time to go to bed.” I lightly shook her. Nothing. I shook her again. “It’s Kris from next door. Here ya go.”

  I helped her in and back to her bedroom, where she collapsed into the disarray that was her bed, mumbling about her boyfriend or ex, some guy named Joel. Her cat, Bongos, jumped down from the open bag of cat food (that I’d anonymously left at her door the week before) and up to her, purring.

  As I left, I pretended I couldn’t see her living room: the mishmash of dishes, clothes, papers, bottles, and a whole lot of cat hair. Everyone has problems, but hers seemed so punishing. I wished I knew what to do for her.

  In our unit, I went straight to the balcony and hung my towel on the railing. Goose bumps crawled across my back and I did an about-face to stare at an orange buoy a quarter of a mile offshore. Luminous, black mist hovered over a section of water behind the marker. In a sea of light its glitter was deviant, moving opposite the waves and changing shape. What is that? I blinked and it was gone, no planes or dark clouds in the sky to account for the shadow. For three minutes I looked over the area, but there was nothing. First Aaron, now mystery vapor. Heat stroke, sun stroke—take your pick.

  _______

  Derek and I worked evenings at Crazy Jim’s House of Crabs. The interior was treasure chests, fishing nets, and a giant papier-mâché crab plastered to the ceiling. My job was a step or three down from my previous kitchen experience and wage, but it kept me busy, my knife skills sharp, and my efficiency jacked when the dining room got slammed. I made salads, did prep and just about everything else, routinely offering suggestions for the specials to my boss, Freddy.

  I watched Derek refresh salt shakers through the opening from the kitchen to the wait area. He’d looked good last tennis season, real good. The way he’d whipped off his shirt while prancing around the court, yelling woo-hoo with every victory, was a bit much, but showcased a slender body with contours in all the right places. And at five foot ten, he was an ideal height for me. He wasn’t every girl’s cup of tea, but in my eyes he was noble. And the little mole above the corner of his lip was kinda sexy. He caught me surveying him and smiled. I winked at him and broke off another crab claw.

  Little things like that smile and that wink were the reasons rumors had flourished about our relationship for years in high school. When we were sophomores, Derek said I was sorta cute, not pretty or beautiful, but sorta cute, which meant we’d been secretly getting it on since we were fourteen. And that I never dated anyone and always hung out with him compounded it. But there were a few times in the last year when I’d passed him in the hallways and he’d stopped his conversation. His head had angled back and his lips had parted as he looked me over, his gaze so suggestive. I wanted him to look at me that way all the time.

  At a little after nine, Derek and I were seated in a booth in the back corner at Bruno’s Pizzeria, eating and making small talk about the people we worked with.

  He handed me the crushed red pepper. “So the dishwasher guy quit?”

  “Ben, yeah. He was convinced that there’re snakes under the kitchen’s floor, that they’re gonna go dark side, rise up and take over.” I held in a laugh. “I think that’s something we all worry about now and again.”

  “It could happen. So what’s goin’ on with you? You’ve got this look on your face.”

  “And you’ve been freakin’ weird all day.”

  “Nu uh.”

  “Yeah huh. When you suck at Frisbee the way you sucked today, somethin’s up.”

  He crossed his arms. “I didn’t suck.”

  “And speakin’ of weird. I saw this … localized patch of fog over the water today. There was something about it that—”

  “Ah God, is this gonna turn into one of your science experiments? Should I be looking forward to collecting data and whatnot?”

  “No, it’s just bugging me that I don’t know what it was, how it moved like it did.”

  “You’ll get past it.” He tapped his straw against his glass twice. “What’s bugging me is that Pam called—”

  “Your ex? That Pam?”

  He nodded. “She’s spending the summer with her sister in Rockport, twenty minutes up the road. I think she wants to get back together.”

  “Oh.” My voice went flat.

  “What?”

  “Nothin’. My news is that Joshua’s been asking around Austin about me.”

  “He can burn in hell.”

  “Thank you. Let’s leave it at that. I’m still trying to forget the shit that went down with him.” I held the edge of the table and swiveled myself around so I could sit next to him. “Did Pam break up with you because of me, because we partnered on everything—?”

  “You and I partnered because we play off of each other’s strengths. It was justice. You, me—us poor kids so graciously accepted into Falls Creek at reduced tuition like white trash takin’ a handout. I’m so sick of people calling our neighborhood the ghetto or—”

  “Derek, you gotta get over all that. So your dad’s not a dermatologist like Sarah’s and my mom’s not a lawyer like Nick’s. Big wow. But that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about the rumors about our friendship that never die. Did Pam break up with you because—?”

  “I broke up with her. I got tired of accusations every time I came from your house. It got old.” He shifted closer to me.

  I leaned into him. “Do you wanna get back together with her?”

  “I’m not sure what the right move is, you know?” He lightly thumped my thigh with his fist.

  “I don’t think it’s about moves. Just do what feels good.”

  “What feels good,” he put his forehead against mine, “could wreck everything.” He sat up straight and wadded up his napkin. “All set?”

  I rose and dropped a twenty on top of the check.

  Wreck what? I wasn’t sure what he meant. But I did know that Pam’s upper-class family represented the things Derek wanted: security, status, respect. We came from decent, middle-class homes, but for him it wasn’t enough. Between Aaron trolling the scene, the possibility of Derek reuniting with Pam, my neighbor being a total lush, and the mention of Joshua, my idyllic summer was going to crap.

  We went out to my car and when I turned on the ignition, music blared through the speakers, startling him. I liked my music and I liked it loud, even if nobody else did. And I’d adjusted the volume before we went in because I got a kick out of seeing him jump. On the way back to his place, we took turns using adjectives or nouns to describe Nick (Boy Wonder) in alphabetical order: athletic, boner, crass, delinquent …

  _______

  I stopped at the boys’ house the next day, after going to the phone store to continue the eternal argument that cell batteries were a scam. I charged mine every night, but like clockwork, it was worthless two months later.

  Derek was sitting outside on the patio, reading a financial report on his laptop.

  He looked up from the screen and handed me a manila envelope. “You’ve mentioned ninety thousand times that you’re twisted up about a major. This might help. It’s a diagnostic test that’ll identify which areas of study best match your interests.”

  “I don’t need a test, ding dong. I just need a little time.” I picked up the deck from the middle of the table. “Cards?”

  We were on our fourth hand and I was waiting for Derek to make up his damn mind and put a card down. Observing the beach bunnies bouncing about, my eyes stopped at thick brown hair swept back from an angular face. The guy turned his head and looked right at me, a smile on his lips beneath intense eyes. “Hello, Kris” rose from my memory and a shiver trickled down the backs of my arms.

  “Edwards, it’s your play and stop gawking. It doesn’t suit you.”

  I dropped a ten of spades on the pile and wished to take it back. Dark eyes met mine once more before he strode into the water.

  Derek laid down his hand. “Gin.”

  The next week went quickly: worked,
rocked Frisbee, worked, scored cheap sunglasses from the gas station, had a towel whipping war with my boss at Crazy Jim’s, cleaned up Sylvia’s place while she was passed out, slept, and of course, worked.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The alarm pierced my eardrums at four a.m., the entire Western Hemisphere asleep except me. Dazed, I smacked the nightstand until I hit the off button. I rose, my friends’ voices in my head telling me I was deranged for taking a job with these hours. Maybe they were right, but it was only three days a week. I brushed my teeth and pulled back my hair, noting that my shirt was on inside out.

  “What’s the big deal?” I asked the voices. “It’s better than sitting around all day like Sarah. Ugh, the boredom. No way. I really like this gig and four is just a number.”

  Arriving at The Bakery, I stopped several feet from the building and rubbed my eyes. I thought I saw someone standing by the rear entrance. In the meager light dispensed by a failing bulb, glittering, black fog wafted from the brick of the shop and joined with darkness. I rubbed my eyes again and it was gone. I need caffeine bad, real bad. I unlocked the back door and flipped the switch inside, lighting the black-and-white tile floor and sherbet pink walls. After firing up the ovens, taking loaves off the racks, and starting coffee, I was well underway but couldn’t move fast enough to stay warm.

  Deborah, the owner, came in the back a little after six.

  “Morning, Deborah.” I handed her a mug of coffee. “When you have a minute, I have a couple things.”

  “You’re shaking.” She put her hand on my forehead. “Are you getting the flu? You can’t get sick.”

  “I’m just cold.”

  “I’m hot.” She walked to the thermostat in the back hall. “It’s set to seventy-four. I have a jacket you can borrow.”

  “I’m okay. So this morning when I got here there was … like a blackish mist out back. You ever see that?”

  Her head jerked. “Smoke?”

  “It didn’t smell like anything. Might be condensation from the a/c units, like a lot of condensation. It might be nothing. It was early. I was kinda whack.”

  “I’ll look into it.” She blew on the mug.

  “Any interest in adding Irish soda bread to the offerings?”

  “Mrs. McCarthy asking?”

  “Sourdough-Two-Éclairs chick. Crazy cool, ultra nice.”

  “It’s McCarthy. She brings it up every couple of months.”

  Customers filled up the hours. A few were snippy. Some were thoughtful, like they were making the most important decision of their lives. Others were like dogs at a butcher shop, big paws marking up the glass and killing my soul. I was boxing an order for pick-up when the bells on the door clattered. Glancing up, I saw a guy who was so phenomenally perfect I thought I was going to combust. Wavy, blond hair to his shoulders, high cheekbones, indigo eyes set off by flecks of turquoise, a brown T-shirt and faded Levi’s. Baby, baby, please.

  “Let me know what you’d like whenever you’re ready.” I know what I’d like and I’m ready anytime. Ferry boat, my boss’s office, it’s all good …

  His forehead creased and he looked left and right around the store, not in the cases. “A, uh … muffin.”

  “Flavor? Plate or bag?”

  “Chocolate, a bag.” He half smiled. “Please.”

  I got his order and reached across the counter to take the money from him. Our fingers touched and a visible spark of electricity crackled. Where’s the static coming from? The soles of my shoes were rubber and the floor was tile. I apologized but he didn’t respond. He was staring at my hand. Then I realized he was probably checking out the scars that lined my forearms, like so many other people did. His sight moved to my face and he looked at me with confusion or wonder or aversion. I couldn’t tell which.

  He walked to the door. “It’s cold in here.”

  “Right?”

  “Too cold.”

  And yet the sight of him made me warm, so warm. He scanned the shop and left.

  Deborah came to the front. “You can go, Kris. Thanks for doing the restocking and I noticed you cleaned up the storeroom too. You’re gold.”

  “If you need me, I can stay.”

  “I took advantage of you last week. Go.”

  I went out the back and circled the a/c units three times, looking for anything that might signal trouble. Then I remembered I knew absolutely nothing about heat and air repair. As I crossed the lot, I saw the gorgeous customer I had just served and wanted to serve again, repeatedly. He was sitting on the tailgate of a dark gray truck. His eyes rose from his muffin and targeted me. I dug into my backpack, pretending to look for my keys. Get a grip. He’s so far out of your league that fantasizing about him is criminal. Between him and tall, dark, and handsome, I am so not ever giving up this job.

  _______

  I’d picked up extra shifts and had hardly seen Sarah for two days, so when she asked me to go shoe shopping I had to say yes. It wasn’t as bad as her usual kicks run. She was pulling into the condo’s lot after only two hours at the mall—miracle!

  We walked to the doorway. I punched in my code, the door clicked, and I opened it for her.

  Not four steps out of the elevator I shivered. “Why do the halls have to be fifty degrees in here? Everywhere I go it’s cold.”

  “It’s regular temperature. I think you have poor blood circulation.”

  Sarah’s key was in our door when a man came out of Sylvia’s unit. He was neither attractive nor unattractive. His hair was gray but he wasn’t old, probably in his thirties. He stared at Sarah with eyes that looked like hematite, no expression on his pale face. I quickly turned the knob and all but shoved her inside.

  “That guy’s been going in and out the past few weeks. He gives me the creepies.” Sarah sat sideways in a club chair, her legs hanging over the arm.

  “Think he’s related to her?”

  “If you heard them in the early morning through my bedroom walls, you wouldn’t ask that. You know? Yeah.”

  “Really?”

  “I hate that I’m gonna say this, but he’s gotta be some kind of megastar, judging by the way she moans. I’m jealous and grossed out at the same time.”

  “I didn’t wanna know that.” I sat and sank two feet into the couch of doom.

  She handed me the shoe box. I knew what I had to do.

  I’d been strutting the imaginary catwalk for a full five minutes, modeling her new heels as she liked me to do and feeling profoundly stupid, when Derek called. I pulled off the shoes, relayed the news, and waited for her at the door.

  “I’m not going,” she balked. “Nick can drown just fine without me being there to see it.”

  I met Derek at Laces, the wind whipping my hair around my face. Waves crested at five to seven feet, crashing down with tremendous force. Fascinating. Someone was actually surfing and it certainly wasn’t Nick. The guy paddled into the leviathan and in a second was up, water streaming from his body and sunlight shining off his golden hair. With incredible control, he carved the water and found ramps where there appeared to be nothing but spray. I was taken by how he adjusted his stance second by second to the wave’s flow. Three guys to my right were also spectating, terminology such as “cuttie” and “tail throw” being uttered or exclaimed, all suggesting that this surfer was the chief of their clan.

  Boy Wonder’s maiden voyage was much less intriguing. At six foot four with a brawny body, Nick looked oversized for his board. Clunky arms oared him into the somewhat safer zone farthest from the rip currents. Over and over, he missed the wave or got up on the board and fell off. Derek’s boredom was increasing as fast as my awe for the good surfer’s skills, and he challenged me to thumb wrestling.

  “I don’t think Nick should be doing this.” I overtook his thumb and counted to three.

  “Let him make his own mistakes. It’s how he learns. Gotcha.” His thumb held mine.

  A set was traveling inland fast, their height unparalleled by what we’d seen so f
ar. The lip of a huge wave bashed Nick and he went under. His head surfaced for a millisecond and was rammed by the board as another titan knocked him forward and down. Raging white ejected turquoise and he didn’t come up. We ran into the shallows but then stopped because the good surfer had already dove in. From under the water in the midst of the turmoil there was a brilliant, bright blue flash spanning the area where our eyes were fixed.

  “Whoa!” I slapped Derek’s arm.

  “What?”

  “The explosion of light, like supernova …”

  “It’s the sun bouncing off the water.”

  “Not sun!”

  “Edwards, seriously, get your eyes checked.”

  Aaron, mystery vapor, big bright light. “Maybe I should.”

  Two heads showed above the water and another wave rolled over them.

  Derek nudged me. “Hey, twenty bucks says he’ll go back for more within five minutes of chucking his lungs out.”

  The ocean cast a board onto the sand. Nick followed on his hands and knees, hacking up water, his giant body convulsing. I looked around the break and the surfer was on his board in the same spot he’d been before Nick’s wipeout—thirty or forty yards away. How’d he get back there so fast? Dude’s a fish. Nick dropped on his stomach. Derek pushed his arm against mine and laughed into his hand.

  “It’s not funny, Derek. He could have really hurt himself,” I said.

  “But he didn’t.”

  My worry over the king of morons evaporated and I had to chuckle. To see Nick defeated was an uncommon event and Derek was praising him on his form while he was still in a subservient position. Nick continued to cough, wheezing out “rockin’” and “awesome” between bouts.

  After ten minutes, Boy Wonder rose and nodded toward the surfer. “He told me I had no business being here, said a clean-up set would bury me. Guess I showed him.”

  Well done, Nick.

  _______

  In the morning I woke to drizzle, but by nine it was paradise. No work until three, sunshine and puffy clouds, a fabulous day made just for me. I ran, had a nice little swim, squeezed oranges for juice, and then sat in the sand with my acoustic, plucking the strings to accompany whatever song happened to be playing in my mind. A few minutes into my half-ass concert a guy walked over and gave me a buck. Maybe I’d found my calling—sit on the beach and play guitar all day. It was a nice thought but didn’t feel too meaningful.