Swimming Sideways (Cantos Chronicles Book 1)

by CL Walters

  29

  HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ABBY

  I wake up to a muted light filtered through my window. It’s hazy outside, the first day of November. My birthday. I focus on the white ceiling and then pull the comforter over my head to roll over to try and go back to sleep, but I can’t get Seth’s story out of my mind.

  “It’s eaten at me,” he’d said after the tears had subsided and before he’d had to walk home. “And it got so big I didn’t know what to do.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t deserve any sympathy, Ab,” he’d said, and I knew he was right. “I deserve all the regret and pain I feel. Gabe has suffered much worse. I told him that the other day.”

  “You went to see him?” I asked, surprised. “When was that?”

  “Couple of days ago.”

  Seth had been to see Gabe to apologize before the cafeteria the day before - the day Gabe hadn’t come to the cafeteria for lunch. The day Gabe had been moody and hadn’t wanted to talk.

  “Were you trying to put an end to it? The Freak Challenge?” I’d asked.

  Seth nodded.

  “Why not just say you’d started it?” I asked him though I’m pretty sure the answer is obvious for both of us.

  “Would you?” he asked.

  “Probably not,” I’d admitted thinking about the video and how I’d done everything that I could to hide from that. Seth and I aren’t all that different in many ways. “I think it’s good you tried to change it,” I had said.

  Now, in the quiet of a diffused morning, I feel as hazy as the clouds drifting through the sky. In the light of the morning, when my thoughts should be clearer and reflective, they are a swirling mass of bewilderment. How do I align the Seth of my childhood? The Seth who showed up for me, took me surfing, and told me I was going to be okay? The boy I care about with the one I came to know in the darkness of a confessional? And how do I make sense of the mixed-up feelings I have for Gabe? The boy I’ve come to know in the chaos of turbulent seas, who’s become a life raft but who has needed me just as much? The boy who says I’m strong, and who was wronged by the boy who I say is my friend? How can I trust anything I feel? Nothing is right.

  A knock at my door draws me out of my thoughts and into the filtered white of the cocoon.

  My door creaks, and I hear: “Good morning, my dear girl.” My mother.

  I lay on my back and push the comforter away from my face.

  Mom has a plate in her hands, behind her my father and brothers. I sit up. They sing as a family happy birthday in Hawaiian to me: Hauʻoli Lā Hānau. It’s a return to our usual tradition before Poppa died and it makes my heart burst with happiness fireworks.

  Dad is here. He’s smiling and present. My brothers are as happy as any fourteen-year-old, I suppose, singing for their sister on a Saturday morning. Mom sits carefully on the edge of my bed holding a banana pancake, my favorite, decorated with candle. I smile in spite of my personal turmoil and release it to the clouds to be in this moment with these people, my ohana unfettered by worries. It is my birthday, after all, and I deserve that much.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “Blow out your candle and make a wish,” Mattie says. “And then hurry up, ‘cause we want to eat too.”

  Nate punches Matt’s arm to make him shut up.

  I ponder the flickering flame, and close my eyes picturing Seth and Gabe. I make a wish for everything to be alright and blow it out.

  “Perfect,” mom says.

  “Let’s eat,” Mattie says and turns on his heel hustling out my door.

  “Matt,” My dad says. His tone suggests that he’s about had it for the day with my twin brother. I smile because the day has only just begun. “Wait for all of us,” he adds.

  My family is already sitting around the dining table when I finally appear, waiting. Matt has his fork and knife at the ready. I make a show of slowing down to collect a cup of coffee. “Abby!” Matt yells. There is more levity at the breakfast table than there has been in a while. The conversation is animated, the faces happy and content. It dawns on me that it has been a long time since we’ve all been together - like this - and I’m so thankful that dad is home. And that he’s made good on all of his promises so far.

  “I'm thinking,” Dad says, “maybe we could work on your car today. I think it needs an oil change and I’d like to check those spark plugs.”

  I glance at my mom who is smiling. It’s a content smile, and she glances at him and I feel the warmth in her gaze. I haven’t seen her look at him like that in a long time. “That sounds good,” she says turning her gaze on me.

  “I took a look at the car this morning,” he says, “and figured out some of the parts we’re going to need. Want to go to the auto parts store with me?”

  Next to D&M Hardware. I need to see Gabe. I miss him and the way I left things makes me insecure. I nod. “Sure.”

  Once at A&S Auto, I follow my father around oblivious about the necessity of the items he is buying. “Dad,” I say.

  “Hm?” He’s looking at windshield wipers which I know having nothing to do with spark plugs. “I should get this since you’ll need some of these too.”

  I smile. “I’m going to go say ‘hi’ to Gabe and Dale, next door.”

  Dad looks at me. “What?” I repeat what I’ve said. “Oh. Okay. That’s good. I need to pick up that part for the water heater. I’ll meet you there.”

  I stop outside the door at D&M and notice Gabe right away, his presence so enormous. He's facing the door, leaning over the counter and flipping through a book reading something. I wonder if it’s his journal and if he’s written about me in it. His dark hair falls forward curling against his light brown skin and obscuring his eyes from view, but I imagine his serious face, his brows pulled together with an invisible string of concentration. There’s an ache I recognize that circulates in my toes and flutters through me until it effervesces from my skin; I shudder. Seth’s confession comes to mind and I imagine all those years of pain, all of those fights, all of those bloody noses and bruises, choosing to never defend yourself because you knew who was responsible.

  I think about the last thing we said to each other days ago. His hurtful words about me not caring. I’d walked away even though he’d said he was sorry. How will he feel today? How do I feel?

  As though he’s heard my thoughts, he looks up, his icy blue eyes unseeing at first, until he notices I’m just outside the door. An intensity overshadows his usual perusal of me - the same one from the art room that day at the sink - and then shifts to his usual smile. He straightens behind the counter, leaning on a hand, the black t-shirt stretching just right and beckons me in with a nod of his head.

  The bell on the door rings when I enter. He comes through the counter, the hinge snapping shut behind him as he strides down the aisle toward me. “I heard it’s your birthday!” he says and scoops me up into a bear hug. In his arm, I’m six inches from the floor as he sways me back and forth in his arms. “Happy Birthday, Abby. I’m so glad to see you.”

  God. I sigh. His arms are so strong, and I feel so complete, so safe there. I relax against him and enjoy the moment, the heat emanating through me from his chest against mine. When I consider that further, the heat rises through my cheeks. I lean my head back to look at his face. He tips his head back to look at me. It is the first time I think I have ever been level with his eyes and my heart beat sputters a moment at his smile and how it reaches his blue eyes making them sparkle like the sun on a glassy sea.

  “Are you still mad at me,” he asks, his eyes dart to my lips and then back to my eyes. “I wasn’t sure you’d ever talk to me again.”

  “I could never not talk to you,” I say.

  His smile evaporates leaving behind that look again only now I know I recognize it because I can feel it in my own nagging awareness of him. “I’m sorry.” He says. “About yesterday. I didn’t mean it.” He squeezes me tighter.

  I’m suddenly so aware of him, and his mas
culinity it has me dizzy and disoriented. “Well. I was mad,” I say and wiggle out of his arms needing distance, “but I understand.”

  He releases me and I slide down the front of him, my nerve endings lit up by every ridge and plane of his body. When my feet are finally on the floor, his hands rest on my waist, heavy, warm and welcome. My breath catches in my chest and for a split-second, time stops. I step back and tuck a stray hair from my bun behind my ear. When I look back at him his eyebrows are arched with his question.

  “I talked to Seth.”

  His eyebrows drop and his eyes dim with irritation. He removes his hands from my waist - I miss them - and shoves them into the pockets of his jeans. I want to smile at how cute and boyish he looks in that moment, and feel a deep regret that I didn’t know him then. He must have been so adorable, racing across a green lawn of grass with a superman cape - or so I imagine.

  “Last night at Hannah’s community service thing,” I add, though I bristle at myself for doing so. Why do I feel the need to justify myself to Gabe? “Seth was there too, helping, and I drove him home.” I reach out and place my hand on Gabe’s forearm. “He told me.”

  “And what was that?” His petulant tone returns.

  The bell on the front door rings and my father walks into the store.

  “Hi John,” Gabe says. He straightens and looks at me, eyes wide. “Missed seeing you around.”

  “Hi Gabe.” My dad’s eyes glance at me and I see that he’s noticed that I’m touching Gabe’s arm. I put my hands in the pockets of my jacket. “I need to pick up that part I ordered for the water heater. Your dad around?”

  “I can check on that for you,” Gabe says and walks back behind the counter. “Dad is on a run to Newport. He had to pick up some things from a supplier. I wonder if your part is with him?” Gabe does his research, walks into the maze and then returns. “Let me call him.” After Gabe places his call, I glance at my dad. He’s watching me.

  “Did you find what we needed?” I ask him.

  “ʻAe,” he affirms in ʻōlelo. He seems irritated.

  “Good news, we have the part,” Gabe says. “The bad news is that it’s with my dad. I can bring it by later, if you’d like,” Gabe offers.

  “Yeah, or I can come back next week. We aren’t critical yet,” Dad says.

  “It’s okay. I’ll run it by,” Gabe says and looks at me.

  My dad’s countenance is different when we get into his car, pensive. We spend the first half hour working on Brutus, minus the grunts for me to hand him tools, in silence. My father eventually breaks and says, “You like him?” It is a direct question, not unlike my dad, but certainly a bit unexpected considering the subject. He’d attempted the birds and the bees conversation once and got caught up in the graphics – too much for either of us to handle at the time.

  I ponder his question. I’m positive my dad is referencing a romantic kind of interest. I would have said “no” recently, but I keep replaying seeing him less than an hour ago in my mind and still feel the electricity shocking my system. I sidestep his question instead because I don’t even know myself. “Who?” I fiddle with a wrench, turning the dial thingy that opens the wrench wider.

  “Who.” He makes a psh sounds with his mouth and leans to look at me. Pointing the tool at me he says, “Whatever, Tita. You know who I mean.” In that action and with those words, I see Poppa in him and smile. He mutters a few words, sliding back under the car, and continues working on the engine. I hand him tools and supplies - the wrench, a screwdriver, the new filter - the perfect nurse. “Gabe,” he finally says when I don’t answer him.

  I smile amused by my father’s mood. “He’s my friend.”

  “Then why you smiling so big?”

  “I’m not,” I say, but now feel the smile that I can’t stop and it grows. My cheeks begin to hurt.

  “And that other boy? The one who took you surfing?” He slides back out from under the car and stands.

  My smile fades. “Seth? We’re friends, too.” Perceptive Dad. He’s hit the nail on the head. “I thought you liked Gabe, Dad,” I say.

  He glances at me, a bit of grease on his cheek. “I did.”

  I laugh at his joke and ask, “So what changed?”

  He leans over the front of the car disappearing under the hood. “Hand me that Philips on the bench, the one with the blue handle.”

  I stand and turn. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “It’s a dad thing.”

  “The whole ‘you’re obligated’ argument?” I hand him the tool.

  He takes it. “Exactly.”

  “You didn’t perform the obligatory duties when I went surfing with Seth.”

  He looks out from under the hood. “If I recall, you didn’t give us much choice with your notes left and not asking permission. Besides, it’s a little different.”

  I take my seat on the stool again. “Fill me in on how.”

  “You’re upset because I didn’t grill your boyfriend at the time?”

  “Seth wasn’t my boyfriend. Isn’t.”

  “That’s what makes it different.”

  “I’m confused because you’re being weird. You like Gabe - always Mr. Aloha when you see him. And he isn’t my boyfriend, either.”

  He turns back to the car dropping the subject. My mother used to tease us when I was little saying that I was always Daddy’s little girl. I don’t think his current mood has anything to do with Gabe or Seth or any number of boyfriends I could possibly acquire. “I don’t think you’re mad, Dad. I think you’re sad,” I say.

  He leans out again from under the hood and looks at me. Now who’s perceptive? I think congratulating myself. “My little girl is growing up,” he says, “and I’m not ready for it.”

  I wish I could tell him about the video and how much I’d messed up. Would he hate me?

  I slide off the stool and put my arms over my dad’s wide back because he’s still bent over the engine of Brutus. “I’ll love you, Dad.”

  “Maggy,” Mattie says from the doorway in that irritating, whiny voice he uses to get under my skin. “Hannah is on the phone.”

  My father straightens up and drapes an arm across my shoulders. He looks down and me and kisses my forehead. “I’ll clean up in here.”

  “Happy Birthday,” Hannah says when I take the phone.

  “Thanks. How was last night?” I want to hear about Darnell, but I won’t tell her about Seth.

  “It was fun,” she says. “Wish you would have come.”

  “And did Mr. Bingley/Darnell come through?” I ask with a smile.

  She giggles but doesn’t answer the question.

  “You have a mad crush!” I say opening the gate for her to go on and on as she does. It is a beautiful thing - her ability to talk. After we hang up, I infiltrate Matt’s room where he and Nate are playing video games. The phone rings and Matt dives for the phone. He snaps his fingers and holds a finger to his lips signaling our silence. “Hello?” Pause. He mouths: don’t say anything. “This is Matt.” Pause. A smile. “Oh hey. Yeah.”

  “I bet it’s Megan,” Nate says.

  Matt holds a finger and runs it across his neck.

  “Definitely Megan,” Nate says.

  “Come on,” I say. “Want to toss around a football?”

  Nate pops up off the floor of Matt’s room and jogs into his own to get a sweatshirt and a football. We leave Matt to have his conversation with Megan. It is cold outside but bearable and not raining which is a rarity. The sun slightly warm even as the air bites at our skin. Nate and I, dressed in hooded sweatshirts, stand in the front yard passing the pigskin. Comfortable with the quiet, we are lost in our own worlds of thought. I figure Nate’s thinking about a girl named Norah and I’m contemplating a boy named Gabe. A bit later, Matt comes out the front door. He stands at the top of the steps and watches us probably thinking about a girl named Megan. Nate tosses him the football, inviting him to join us, and the three of us throw the ball around.


  Matt throws the ball which goes way over my head.

  “Abby, the ball!” Nate yells.

  A truck driving past slows down as I pull up to a stop before chasing the ball into the street. I lift my hand to wave and realize that it’s Gabe. He waits for me to get the ball and then parks the truck a way down from the yard.

  “Abby!” Matt yells once I have the football. “Throw it!”

  I toss it to my brothers, a horrible throw that falls several feet short because I’m more concerned about the boy getting out of the truck. “How was work?” I ask Gabe as he walks up toward me. I suddenly feel out of breath, but it isn’t from football.

  “This is for you,” he says and holds up a package. A Sunday comics page is wrapped around a box and taped with masking tape. It looks more like a newspaper ball stitched together than a gift. Attached to the top, is a red rose. “Martha helped,” he says. “Happy Birthday.”

  “Come on. We can go inside so you can make your delivery.”

  "Hi Daniels," Nate says and tosses the football at him.

  The ball hits Gabe in the center of his wide chest. His hands remained in his pockets with the other package wedged under his arm.

  "Sorry." Nate puts his hands on his hips. "Thought you might want to join us for a catch."

  "Sure. Let me deliver this to your dad, first" Gabe says. “Then I’ll school you in real football.”

  Matt scoffs.

  I take the packages from him. “I can take them inside,” I say. When I reemerge from the house and stand at the top steps of the porch, I watch Gabe throw a perfect pass to Nate.

  "Nice!" Matt exclaims. “Why aren’t you playing on the team? They could use you.”

  “I used to,” Gabe says.

  “That was awesome. Come on, Abby." Nate waves me in to join them.

  Gabe looks at me, a big smile on his face. His boyish excitement is endearing. I join them.