by Sarah Beard
“You have my pocketknife,” I remind her. “And I really am sorry about the left hook. If it makes any difference, that’s the first time I’ve used it in over two years.”
The corners of her mouth are subtly indented, so I know she’s softening. “It looked well-practiced. You must have used it a lot at some point.”
“I used to get into fights at school,” I admit. “But I’ve never hit a girl, if that makes you feel any better.”
She stands up. “It does. Sort of.” Her hand is on her stomach, and she absentmindedly runs her thumb along the apron tie at her waist. “I guess this would be the perfect application for your magical human bleach?”
“Yeah.” I sigh and make a penitent face. “No more picking fights. I promise. And you can keep my pocketknife.”
She bites her lip, considering. Finally she says, “I have some work to finish up. But I’ll meet you back here in an hour.”
She leads me to a little outdoor café down the street where wind chimes dangle from a trellised dining area. It’s her favorite place, she tells me, but she hasn’t been here in months. Maybe because it overlooks the ocean, or because she hasn’t had anyone to come here with. There’s a mermaid mural on the exterior, and we step up to an outdoor counter that’s framed with bamboo. I order clam chowder since I’ve never had clam chowder that didn’t come from a can, and because it’s five bucks and I only have twenty. She orders the pesto shrimp linguine for twelve dollars and a Sprite, and as the girl at the register adds up our orders, I pray that I’ll have enough.
“Nineteen seventy-one,” the girl says. Avery reaches into her purse, but I slide my twenty across the counter before she can produce any currency.
“I got it,” I say.
She smiles at me. “So you found a job?”
The girl at the register gives us a funny look, like she’s not sure if she should take money from someone who was recently unemployed. I nod at the twenty and give her an encouraging smile, and she takes it and returns a quarter and four pennies. I drop them into my pocket, feeling like I just hit the jackpot.
“Never underestimate the power of determination,” I say to Avery.
We take our food to a little round table at the edge of the veranda. The tabletop is a colorful seascape mosaic, and a stained-glass wind chime clinks softly overhead. Avery sits across from me and pulls the pins from her hair and shakes it out. Golden waves spill over her shoulders, and with the evening sun pouring into the veranda, she looks like she’s the one who should be running around on an angel’s errand, not me.
“So,” she says after taking a bite of her linguine, “have you found a place to stay?”
“Not yet,” I admit. “But I know some people around here, so if all else fails, I’ll drop in on them.” My sisters live nearby with my aunt and uncle, but dropping in on them isn’t really a possibility, so I’ll have to make sure that not all else fails.
“Where are you from, anyway?”
Not for the first time, it occurs to me that I need to be careful with what information I divulge. If I give away too many clues, it could lead her to my identity. I don’t want to lie, though, so I’ll just keep things vague. “Michigan.”
She looks surprised by this. “You don’t look Michiganese.”
I laugh, and the rumbling feeling catches me off guard because I haven’t felt it in so long. “Michiganese?”
“Yeah. Michiganian. Or Michiganerd, or whatever. You look straight-up Californian. Or Australian.” She points to the top of her head and says, “It’s the hair.”
I eat a spoonful of chowder. It’s creamy and savory, with an entirely different flavor than the canned stuff. “What exactly do you think Michiganiots look like?”
Now she’s the one laughing. It’s a great laugh. Musical and subtle, like the wind chime above us. “Okay, what’s the correct term for a person who lives in Michigan?”
“I like Michiganese. It makes me sound exotic.”
“Okay then. What brought a Michiganese boy like you all the way to the west coast?”
Now we’re getting into trickier waters. “It’s a long story.”
“I don’t have anywhere to be.” She takes a bite and watches me expectantly as she chews.
“I already told you. I’m here to work.”
“But why not get a summer job in Michigan? There must be another reason you came here.”
Down the street, I see Tyler and blonde Betty Boop come up the stairs from the beach. He’s carrying both of their surfboards under one arm, and she’s carrying a beach bag in one hand and talking with the other.
Avery twists to see what I’m looking at, and her whole body tenses. When she turns back, she sets down her fork and leans away from her food, like she’s suddenly lost her appetite.
I don’t know what Tyler is thinking, going around with another girl when it’s clear that he and Avery both still have feelings for each other. What keeps two people apart when they’d both be happier together?
An idea comes to me. I hold it in my palm, weighing it. If Avery is in love with Tyler, he must have some redeeming qualities. There must be another side of him that I’ve never seen. The side capable of winning Avery’s heart. So even though a wave of nausea rolls my stomach at the notion, maybe Tyler needs to be part of this plan. Maybe I need to get them back together to make her happiness and healing complete.
“Tyler said you were his girl,” I say, swallowing the bitter taste in my mouth. “Is that true?”
Her eyes flash to mine, and there’s a mixture of pain and anger in them. Then she quickly looks away, and I see her trying to compose herself. She puts on the smile she uses to cover up what she’s really feeling. “If it were true, would I be here with you?”
I don’t answer, just keep my eyes on her, hoping she’ll feel the need to fill the silence. It works, because after stacking half a dozen grilled shrimp on her fork, she sets it down and gives a surrendering sigh. She answers quietly, like she’s afraid he’ll hear. “We were together, but not anymore.”
“Do you still love him?” The words just come out, because I really want to know. If I’m going to try to get them back together, I need to make sure it’s what will truly make her happy.
Her eyebrows go up. “Is this a date? Because if so, exes are a taboo topic.”
I lean back. “What would you rather talk about?”
“Tell me about Michigan.”
I slowly stir my chowder, watching steam rise from the creamy surface. I decide to humor her, but fully intend on circling our conversation back to Tyler. “Where I lived last, it’s green. And there’s a really big lake.”
She stares at me, waiting for more. I eat a spoonful of soup to let her know I’m out of descriptive words. “Wow,” she says. “With descriptions like that, you should host a travel show or something.”
I work on my soup for a minute, then say, “Can you do better? Tell me, how would you describe Avila Beach?”
She pulls in a deep breath and looks around. From where we sit, we have a sweeping view of the ocean in the west and green rolling hills in the east. “Green,” she says. She’s not smiling, but her eyes are sparkling. “There’s a really big ocean.”
It’s official. She’s adorable. I could sit here all night with her, discussing green hills and large bodies of water, and it would still be the best night I’ve ever had. “I’m humbled by your eloquence,” I tease.
“I know,” she says proudly. “In fact, I think I’ll petition the city to use it as their new slogan.”
“Tourists would flock, I’m sure.” I glance down the road to see Tyler and Betty Boop walking our way, minus the surfboards. They must have dropped them off at the surf shop. Avery glances back in time to see them settle on a platform bench overlooking the ocean. They’re sitting cross-legged, facing each other, and close enough to us that I can see Tyler’s swollen lip where I hit him. As if feeling our eyes on him, he turns and looks at us. He does a slight double take, and after a
moment of bewilderment, his expression turns angry.
Some human instinct inside of me wants to turn up the charm and tell Avery to forget about him. But I remind myself, as I have countless other times, that long-distance relationships don’t work when two people live on opposite sides of a country, let alone opposite spiritual realms. I want Avery to be happy. It just can’t be with me.
As much as I would like to sit here all night bantering with her, I need to use my time more wisely. Under the table, I bump my foot softly against hers to get her attention. She turns back to me, her smile gone and a restless storm brewing in her eyes. I set down my spoon and lean forward, letting her know that what I’m about to say is serious business. “Avery,” I say softly, “I don’t think most people realize how short life is. If there’s something out there that makes you happy …” I glance at Tyler, and at the vast, shimmering ocean behind him. “Then you should go after it.”
The storm in her eyes slowly dies, leaving behind a wake of sadness. Her arms fold around her waist, and she shakes her head. “Everyone makes it sound so easy,” she whispers so quietly that I wonder if she meant for me to hear. She sits there, perfectly still, like she’s disappeared somewhere inside herself. I’ve said something wrong. But before I can backpedal, she looks at me and says, “Is that why you’re here? Because you’re chasing what will make you happy?”
I wouldn’t know the first place to look for happiness. “No. I’m just here to help someone I care about.”
A white SUV pulls up beside Tyler and the blonde. She stands and shoulders her beach bag, then raises her arms like she’s going to hug him. But at the last second, Tyler steps back and holds up his hands as if to say, “Whoa, there.” Lowering one hand, he offers a cordial handshake. She doesn’t take it, just quirks her mouth awkwardly at the rejection, and then gets in the SUV.
Huh. Maybe I’ve misunderstood Tyler. Maybe all those girls I saw him flirt with on the beach were just customers, and being friendly is part of his job. And the truth is, I wasn’t there to hear most of his conversations with Avery after my death—I only caught bits and pieces. So maybe I don’t fully understand his reasoning for breaking things off. Maybe he’s capable of being good to Avery, but she pushed him away somehow.
Tyler watches the SUV drive off and round a corner, then turns and stares me down. I hold his glare, challenging him to come and take back what was once his. But after a minute, he dips his head and stalks off. I rake a hand through my hair and lean even closer to Avery.
“He obviously still has feelings for you,” I whisper. “And you for him. So … what’s in the way?”
The wind chimes stir in the breeze, casting colorful triangles across her face. She gives me a labored smile. “Sorry, but I make a point not to pour my heart out to people I just met.”
I happen to know that she makes a point not to pour out her heart to anyone.
“You don’t have to pour it out,” I say. “It’s written all over your face.”
Her smile vanishes, then reappears in a weaker version. She’s barely hanging on to it. “Well, I keep some things inside, and that’s where they’re going to stay.”
I sink back in my chair, studying her. In the last few months, I’ve thought a million times, If I could talk to her, I could find out what she’s thinking. I could help her work through it all. I could comfort her. Well, here I am now, her ears within the reach of my voice, and I feel just as powerless and voiceless as when I was invisible to her. Because she won’t open up to me the way I thought she would.
But what did I expect? I know her, but she doesn’t know me. I know she eats oatmeal with mangos for breakfast. I know she stays at her dad’s during the week, and her mom’s on the weekends, and that her little sister never goes to their mom’s. I know she walks to work from her dad’s house every morning, and even though there’s a dazzling view of the ocean on the way, she keeps her head down and her eyes on the sidewalk. I know she has half a dozen surfboards in her garage that she sometimes looks at longingly but hasn’t touched since my death. I know all this, and yet I’m a stranger to her. Of course she’s not going to open up to me. And it occurs to me that, if my plan is going to work at all, I’ll need a lot of time to break down her barriers.
Only, I think I have that wrong too. Here I’ve been thinking that I’d be able to come and sledgehammer through her walls. But now I see that it’s not a wall I have to break through. Her barrier is thin, like a veil, and a sledgehammer won’t break it; it will only bend the veil and break her.
If I want her to talk tonight, it needs to be about whatever she wants to talk about. “We’re called Yoopers,” I say. And when she gives me a funny look, I explain, “That’s what people who live on Michigan’s Upper Peninsula are called.”
She mulls this over a moment, and then picks up her shrimp-heavy fork. “You said you worked in a vineyard last summer. Was that here, or there?”
“There.”
“I didn’t know there were vineyards that far north.”
So I tell her about the vineyard in Marquette at the edge of Lake Superior. I tell her about the harsh winters and thick forests. I tell her nothing about me, only about the place I left behind. And soon she starts telling me things she feels safe sharing. She tells me about the sea lions at Port San Luis, and how she once had a crazy goal to hold her breath as long as they could. She talks about the marine science club at school and which classes she’ll be taking her senior year. Since I’ll never finish my senior year, I tell her I’m going to be an EMT. Which I already am, I just don’t use the same life-saving techniques mortals do.
The sun sets slowly over the ocean, and when the horizon disappears into a wash of indigo, she stands and stretches.
“I’d better get home,” she says. “I have to work again tomorrow.”
“Avery,” I say, hoping I can leave her with something more substantial than “it’s been real.” “You’re amazing. I hope you know that.”
She looks down at her sneakers and bites her lip, as though she’s deciding whether to swallow my compliment or spit it back out. A breeze flicks her hair and ripples her blouse like a white flag. “Thank you,” she says simply.
“No regrets, okay?”
I can see her gears turning, trying to find context for my words. I’m not sure if she succeeds or not, but she nods. And I think, if this evening with her is all I get, it was worth taking the ring for. And maybe it’s enough.
But as I walk her to her car, I can’t bring myself to say good-bye. One day isn’t enough. I want more. More time in this body, more time with her. I ante up another day, hoping I don’t lose the gamble, and say, “Can I come see you tomorrow?”
She nods again. “I can give you my number.”
“I don’t have a phone.”
“Then come see me.” She smiles. Then her expression turns concerned. “Can I give you a ride somewhere?”
There’s nowhere for her to take me, so I say, “I think I’ll stick around and enjoy the scenery.”
She nods and waves good night as she gets in her car, and then I watch her brake lights disappear around a corner.
hen I was ten, I qualified for a local juniors surfing competition. They even wrote about me in the local paper, calling me “fearless” and a “strategic executioner.” Mom had spent the evening calling our relatives to brag and shopping online for surfing gear that I didn’t need. I’d spent the evening sitting in a happy trance on the couch, dreaming of all the possibilities.
I feel the same way now. I got home from dinner with Kai an hour ago, and I’m still sitting in my driveway, staring at the watermarks on my windshield and holding Kai’s pocketknife in my hand. There’s something steadying about it, like I’ve just found a handrail after balancing for months on a rickety bridge.
I unfold the different tools of the knife, as though his secrets are hidden among them. There’s a file and a tiny pair of scissors, a screwdriver and the sharp blade I used earlier to free the crab.
I study each one, as if they’ll reveal something about him. But they’re shiny, clean, and unscratched, like they’ve never been used.
My phone chirps on the passenger seat, and I look down to see a text.
From Tyler.
You up?
It’s been weeks since he texted me. And something tells me it’s no coincidence that his first text came on the day I went out with another guy.
No regrets, Kai said before I left him tonight. I don’t know why he said it. Maybe it was some Michiganese way of saying good-bye. But the words struck me somewhere deep inside. Because I’ve spent the last six months doing nothing but regretting. Looking back and wishing I could undo the choices I made, and the consequences of those choices.
Maybe Kai is what I need right now. I’ve been hanging around the same group of friends for years. If I switch things up, maybe I can get out of this rut I’m in. When I was at dinner with Kai, I felt something shift inside of me. Like I’d stumbled onto a new path that I never realized was there. After floundering along the same path for six months, maybe it’s time to explore a new one.
I reach over and turn off my phone.
rom where I sit huddled in an alcove on the beach, I can see the clock tower on the pier. The minute hand looks like a dagger, and it’s killing time painfully slowly. Morning will bring another chance to see Avery, and it can’t come soon enough.
It’s past midnight, and the beach is empty. I’ve been sitting in the same spot for two hours, breathing in the salty air and running my fingers through the gritty sand. Partly because it makes me feel alive, and partly because I don’t have anywhere else to go.
The vineyard I worked at today had trailers for the workers, but the manager told me not to come back until I had my ID. And since my wallet is lost at the bottom of the ocean, that’s not an option.