Swimming Sideways (Cantos Chronicles Book 1)

by CL Walters

  My dad comes out of the house pulling on a jacket shortly after. “Let me show you how the old dogs play,” he says but calls into the house. “Grace! We need a sixth.”

  A few moments later, my mom follows him out pulling on her jacket.

  We play a rousing game of touch football; Gabe, Nate and I against Mom, Dad and Matt. Nate instructs us to let Matt win since he’s crippled with the old folks and if he loses we won’t hear the end of it. Despite our collusion, Matt and the old folks give us a game and beat us fairly by one score. We still won’t hear the end of it as Matt begins his taunting.

  “That was fun,” Gabe says. “I better get back.”

  “Gabe!” Dad says, back to his good-natured self. He looks at me. “Join us for dinner and cake?” Dad to the rescue.

  Gabe’s eyes dart around to each family member. “I wouldn’t want to impose,” he says his eye resting on me again. They are bright with exercise and something else. He cocks a single eyebrow at me - a kind of challenge - which makes me want to laugh.

  “Please stay.”

  For the second time in less than a twenty-four-hour period, we are assembled around the dining table as a family. The conversation is fun, flows with ease, any awkwardness I might have feared would hamper things is inconsequential.

  “Thank you for dinner, Mrs. Kaiāulu,” Gabe says with some difficulty over the Hawaiian pronunciation. “It was delicious.”

  Mom stands to clear the table. “Thank you for celebrating Abby’s birthday with us.” Gabe tries to help her. "Guests don't clean, Gabe. Matt, your turn."

  "What!?"

  Nate’s helping Gabe with the Hawaiian of our last name.

  "Matt." The tone of my mother's voice is even and low which indicates that my brother is walking a fine line, as usual.

  The buzz of the doorbell interrupts Matt's sullen temper tantrum. Nate gets up to get the door. I'm grateful for the short interruption to quiet Matt until Nate return a few moments later. “It’s someone for you, Ab,” he says. His eyes communicate a telepathic message; it is clear he’s concerned.

  I walk around the corner, into the hallway and freeze. Just on the other side of the open screen door is Seth. My pulse quickens, a rush of every word he said to me about Gabe, about his tears the night before, his soul consumed with guilt, and his accusation in the cafeteria two days ago. With Gabe in the next room, I know how this will look to him. Worry and guilt perch on my shoulder. The new and unclear feelings that I have for Gabe blooming in my heart.

  He smiles when he sees me.

  “Seth,” I say and step out into the cold night air. I pull the door shut behind me.

  “Happy birthday,” he says and smiles brightly at me. His eyes shift to the lit house behind me. He seems nervous, unsure on his feet. I imagine that in his place, I might feel unsure having just made the revelation he has, a secret shame, just like I did when the video surfaced.

  My throat constricts suddenly sad. “Thank you,” I say and fold my arms rubbing the bare skin of my arms.

  He glances at the shut door again, and then at my bare arms. “Is this a bad time?”

  “We’re just about to eat birthday cake.” Under different circumstances, I would have invited him, but with Gabe in the next room, that wouldn’t be a good idea after what happened in the cafeteria and his confession.

  “I’m sorry for interrupting.”

  “Don’t be,” I say and shiver uncontrollably. I want to cling to the way that things were rather than what they are. With the thought I think about my own pikos. What was: my head piko. What is: my belly piko. Is that the problem? I’ve been clinging to the past rather than accepting what is?

  He mistakes my sudden shiver for me being cold. “It’s cold out here. You should go back inside, and I kind of snuck out, so I need to get back.”

  I shake my head and glance at the door, “I’m okay,” I say and shiver again, my teeth beginning to chatter. I need to be honest with him, I decide. “Look, Seth. I need to-” I start, but am interrupted by the creaking of the door opening.

  “Abby?” Gabe says and steps through the door with my jacket in his hands. He sees Seth and smiles that infuriating smile that I want to slap from his face. “Hi Seth,” he says. “Abby, your mom asked me to bring this out,” he says and hands the jacket to me. “Your dad says not to be too long. He’s getting ready to cut the cake.” He looks at Seth again and says, “Nice seeing you, Seth,” and then turns and walks back into the house.

  My eyes slip shut. I’m embarrassed and infuriated. I hold the jacket in my clenched fist. I imagine from Seth’s perspective how this looks like a picture of familiarity. I can imagine what Seth is thinking: Gabe Daniels is comfortable in my home, with my family? And he is wondering how long it would take for that familiarity to occur. And he is asking himself how long I've been stringing him along?

  Then he says, which makes me know I’m not too far from the truth, “Oh.” He takes a step away from me. “I see.”

  “Seth,” I start and take a step toward him.

  “Look. Forget it,” he says and takes another step away maintaining the gap.

  “I was just going to tell you. I know this looks bad, but it really isn’t what you think,” I hear myself say but realize that I’ve somehow already disconnected from him.

  “You know what I think? We didn’t make any promises,” he says, turns and walks down the porch steps. Then he stops and turns back around. “Just friends.” He looks at the top step, just shy of my feet and stays that way for several seconds before he pulls something from his pocket, looks at it and he says, “I found this for you.” He leans forward and puts it on the top step. “Happy Birthday,” he says and then turns and walks away.

  “Seth,” I call and walk after him, but I stop at the end of our property and watch him disappear. I fight the urge to cry. All day I had wondered how I would feel when I saw him. All day I wondered how we might move forward after he trusted me with his secret. And now, it doesn’t matter because he chose how it would go. When it comes down to it, he never stays to fight; he always runs away.

  With a heart of lead, I pick up the dainty velvet box and hold it. I sit down on the top step, no longer feeling the cold. I’m angry with Gabe. The box creaks when I open it. Inside, nestled against shiny red fabric is a gold charm of a surfboard with an etched heart at its center.

  Tears slip from my eyes and then and my heart breaks. It breaks for Seth and what he must think. It breaks for our friendship that feels like it has slipped away. It breaks for all of the change and chaos that I can’t seem to control.

  The screen door creaks again and Gabe walks out drawing his coat on. “I should probably get going,” he says. He won’t look at me and instead works to keep his eyes everywhere but on me.

  I stand and shrug into my jacket and shove my hands into the pockets. Gabe still hasn’t looked at me, and I know already, he knows what he’s done. “I’ll walk you to your truck,” I say. I wipe the tears of my heartbreak from my face.

  “Abby-”

  I walk down the steps of the porch. “What part of your apology today was real?” I ask and turn around to look at him. I don’t want him to go. “Maybe you’re the one who doesn’t care.” I throw his own words at him. “Or has all of it just been an act so you could use me in your game against Seth because of what he did?”

  “Abby. No.” He follows me down the steps and stops in front of me finally meeting my gaze. “That isn’t-”.

  “I don’t believe you,” I say interrupting him even though I do. The tears are back and unwelcome. I swipe them angrily from my eyes. “You used me.”

  He shoves his hands in his pockets and stalks past me. “You’re right. Just now, I did.” He walks to the end of the sidewalk, turns around and stalks back until I have to look up at his face. “But can you blame me, Abby? Can you blame me for losing my head knowing what he’s done?” He points in the direction Seth walked. “Can you blame me for forgetting to keep my head clea
r? Can you blame me for not being the better guy?” He turns away and walks back to his truck.

  I watch him go and something further breaks in me, even though I’d thought there was nothing left. I want to call him back, but I can’t. I’m caught in a vice between them.

  Gabe drives away and I’ve never felt lonelier.

  My anger dissipates with my next breath into unrestrained sadness.

  A few moments later the strong arm of my dad is around me. I nestle into the crook of him and turn my face into his body to cry. He doesn’t say anything at first and just holds me. His strength is exactly what I need.

  After some time, he says, “When I was hurting, Poppa used to tell me a mo’olelo or an ʻōlelo noʻeau to help me. When I was a kid I always found that I wanted to punch his face when he did that because it would make me so mad.” He chuckles. “My pride, you know, often gets the better of me. Now, that I’m an adult and miss him so much, I appreciate those moments with him, but I’m not Poppa, and regrettably don’t have his wisdom. So, baby-girl, here’s my attempt: I love you; you’re strong, and no matter the struggles you face, you aren’t alone,” he says and squeezes me to him.

  I realize that I’m not angry at Gabe, not really. Putting myself in his shoes, three years of taking punches because of something Seth had done, it’s hard to fault him. In his situation, maybe I would have made the same decision, even if it was misguided. I remember hitting Sara just a few weeks ago, in anger.

  I suppose if I’m being honest with myself, I’m angry for hurting Seth. Yes, at Gabe for his role in it, but more at myself because I hadn’t handled the situation very well. I should have invited him. I should have forced it instead of presenting the situation for misinterpretation. The look on Seth’s face, the broken look of rejection, even if I hadn’t actually rejected him. It was clear that was how he felt and I feel terrible and unsettled. Poppa once told me that a humble person walks carefully, so as not to hurt others, and I hadn’t done that for Seth.

  I take a deep breath. “I feel mixed up, Daddy.”

  “Been there,” he says. “And it’s okay. Most times there’s no way around something, only through it.” His hand caresses my arm with reassurance. “When we moved to Cantos, I thought I was going to start over and leave my past behind me,” he says. “I thought that if I just left the mistakes I’d made in Hawaii, if I ran from the grief I feel over Poppa, that I’d be able to escape and start new. But it doesn’t work that way.”

  I turn and look at my dad hearing my own story in his words.

  “Turns out, the only thing we really can do is face our demons because they will find us one way or the other. If we run, the demon chases us. It doesn’t matter how far we go, one way or another, they will find us and we will have to face them. If we don’t, the anger, the fear, the sadness, the insecurity, will consume us.”

  And I hear the truth in his words, but I’m not thinking about myself. I’m thinking about Seth and Gabe.

  30

  ANTIDOTE

  The next morning, we’re roused early for church. “What the heck?” I hear Matt say from his room. He whines about something, his words unclear.

  “I don’t want to hear it Matthew,” my mom voices as her steps retreat down the hall. “This is one of those promises to make us a better family,” she adds as her voice mutes the farther she gets from our rooms.

  I glance out the window, see that it’s raining and dress accordingly. While going to church has never been my favorite activity, I can’t honestly say I’m sad about going. I’d definitely rather be a family together and functioning than what we have been, and I’m pretty sure Matt feels that way too - he’s just got to do what Matt does which is irritate everyone. I smile.

  I walk downstairs, my gaze floats to the unopened gift Gabe gave me last night. I hadn’t the heart to open it without him, and then was too sad to think about not having that opportunity. I pass it and go into the kitchen. Dad sits at the counter with a cup of coffee and his phone.

  “The news?” I ask.

  “Reading a text Uncle Fern sent me last night. Said Auntie Tressa is on the warpath.”

  I smile. “How come?” I pour myself a cup of coffee.

  “Seems Uncle Fern failed to clean out the car port from some project he was working on for the house. She drove the car in and nails flattened her tires.”

  “Ah oh,” I laugh imagining Aunty Tressa snapping at Uncle Fern, she with her fiery Portagee temper and Uncle Fern with his super laid-back Hawaiian style. “And Uncle Fern is still alive?”

  “He’s asking if he can move here with us because Tressa has threatened to - and I quote - ‘string him up by the balls.’”

  I nearly spit out my sip of coffee and bend over the sink laughing.

  He laughs with me. “Hey. Would you please drive and meet Mom and I at church?” My dad asks changing the subject. “I want to take your mom out for a date after,” he says and wiggles his eyebrows up and down.

  Mom walks into the kitchen. She’s looking beautiful and my dad beams.

  “I thought it was family day?” She says but I can see the idea of being with my father is appealing by her smile

  “It is, and that’s what going to church is, right.” He’s walking around the counter and folds her up in his burly arms. “I just want to take my gorgeous woman out. I also don’t want to face Uncle Fern’s fate.”

  I laugh.

  She giggles but for a different reason.

  Matt walks into the kitchen and rolls his eyes. “Ew. No one wants to see that.”

  Nate follows him in and looks at me with a grin.

  I agree to drive.

  Once there, I realize that it has been a long time since we went to church as a family. The last time was for Poppa’s funeral, and that wasn’t really going to church. The last time was long before that. Obviously, this is a step in the reincarnation of my parents’ marriage, but for me, not an unwelcome one. Though as I walked toward the arched white double doors, I do wonder if maybe God will strike me down for my past.

  He doesn’t.

  I smile and send up a thought of gratitude.

  Inside the building, the walls are windows housing stained glass reliefs of the New Testament. There’s a giant wooden cross at the back of the pulpit. My family and I walk up the center aisle. It’s a full house, filled with people talking to one another, some sitting. We look for a row in which all five of us can fit.

  “Abby,” I hear my name and turn to my left. “John.” Dale Daniels is smiling at us, and I suppress the urge to immediately look for Gabe. I hadn’t known that he’d be here. My heart races even as my belly drops out from under me.

  You’re welcome, I hear a quiet internal voice say.

  God?

  All I hear in my heart is a chuckle.

  Dale extends his hand to my father. “It’s so wonderful to see you. I was hoping to see you here one of these days!” He turns to Martha and introduces her to my dad and mom. “You already know Gabe.”

  My gaze dances from Dale, to Martha and then, even though I’m uncertain, slides to Gabe, anxious about the look I’ll see there after last night. He gets a handshake from my dad and brothers, a hug from my mom, and then his eyes seem to mimic mine, hesitantly slipping from what’s safe into the unsure waters of where we left things. When those disconcerting eyes contact mine all of the insecurity and anger of the night before has blown out leaving only a promise of a new day full of new growth.

  I’m sorry, he mouths silently.

  Me too, I answer.

  My heart somersaults into my belly leaving a lingering trail of fairy dust in my lungs. I smile at him, suddenly shy and struggling to catch my breath. I can’t fathom why. We’ve been friends now for a while, but then, acknowledging my feelings has changed. That and the walls between us have begun to crumble.

  “Here,” Dale says. “Sit with us. There’s room.” He steps back to let us pass. I move through first and sit next to Gabe until all of my fam
ily has filed into the pew.

  The service begins. Gabe and I stand shoulder to shoulder. We share a hymn book, and I listen to the melodic baritone of his voice when he sings. It scrambled my insides into mush. Our shoulders touch, and I feel as though maybe he’s leaning toward me to make sure they do. When I look up at him, he looks down at me, but rather than smile, there is a nagging awareness of something new and different between us. Something with more depth. I’m the first to look away, cautious and fearful about what I’m feeling.

  The pastor shares a message about God’s plans. “Jeremiah 29:11 tells us,” the pastor intones, “‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ says the Lord. ‘They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.’” I glance at Gabe again, now sitting next to me, his hands on his thighs and his long legs crossed at the ankles. The outside of his left thigh, dressed in black slacks that fit him perfectly, presses mine. I look up at him through my lashes and wonder if he is part of God’s plan for me. Am I part of God’s plan for him? Where does Seth fit in? And I wonder, why would God care?

  After the service, Gabe and I walk slowly with one another, not touching and not talking. It isn’t that I don’t have a million words on my heart to say about last night, but it doesn’t feel like the place. Our parents walk ahead of us and file out the front doors stopping to greet the pastor and his wife. Matt and Nate have already escaped into the yard beyond, waiting for me. I know the moment I’m at the door, they will be yelling to go home. Matt has already mentioned there’s a bunch of guys getting together for a pick-up basketball tournament at the gym later. I don’t want to rush, because leaving means leaving Gabe and I’m loath to leave the equanimity that’s surrounded us behind.

  Once beyond the building we wander through the yard toward the shade of a tree at the edge of the yard. Matt and Nate are momentarily engaged in chasing each other, Nate dodging Matt and laughing. My parents are talking to Gabe’s and there isn’t the need to say goodbye yet. When we get to the tree Gabe stops and leans against it with a shoulder.