by Edie Claire
"Stop it!" I commanded, my cheeks flushed with heat. "Don't even bother blaming yourself—I won't listen to it. It's completely ridiculous. Now, go on."
His eyes turned misty. They avoided mine. His body remained disturbingly faint.
"Eventually, I caught her using," he continued, his voice steadied. "But she shrugged it off. Told me she was stressed out and needed something to help her relax. I didn't buy it, of course, but I didn't know what to do about it, either. She wasn't the kind of parent to lean on her kid; despite the fact that I was old enough to drive and work, she treated me like I needed protection—she would never tell me her problems, or admit how bad things really were. Whenever I tried to talk to her she would tell me that everything would be fine—that she'd just had a fabulous job interview and that she was sure this would be the one. I had no idea how much trouble we were in until I started noticing the bills.
"Everything was overdue. Her credit cards were maxed. The money from my father's estate had been disappearing as quickly as it came in. We were behind in the rent; the only food in the house was what I bought. I gave up delivering pizzas and took a job in a warehouse that paid better—but between school and work, I was hardly ever home, and mom got worse. I begged her to drop the guys. I begged her to go into rehab. She wouldn't listen to me. She just wouldn't."
The pain in his voice was so deep, I could feel it in my own gut. Hot liquid swelled behind my eyes. "You did everything you could," I said inadequately. "She put you in an impossible situation. You know that."
He made no response. "I tried to get someone else to talk to her. Someone whose opinion she would respect more than mine. And a few of her longtime girlfriends did try. But they'd been telling her the same things for months already; my mother wouldn’t listen to anybody. We didn't have any family to turn to. My father was dead, my grandparents had been dead a long time, and I never had any aunts or uncles or cousins. The more desperate I got, I kept coming back to the same conclusion—that she wasn't going to get help on her own. And that if she didn't get help, she was going to end up killing herself."
His voice turned deadpan.
"I started thinking about talking to the guidance counselors at my school. I'd put it off because I knew that talking to anyone in authority could get her into legal trouble, but I figured at least she would get court-ordered rehab—which was the only thing likely to save her."
"That was a good idea," I affirmed.
"Was it?" he asked dryly. "I was still only seventeen. I had no other family. What do you think happens to kids in that situation when their legal guardian is declared unfit?"
I drew in a breath, disbelieving. "Not… foster care?"
He smiled at me, weakly. "Yes, foster care. I wasn't stupid; I knew it would happen. But I was less than a year away from my eighteenth birthday. I figured all I had to do was stick it out. The bulk of my father's estate money was tied up in trust till I turned twenty one; but I knew that once I turned eighteen, I'd at least have access to enough to support myself. I wasn't worried about being a prisoner in the system forever, and I knew I could manage just fine when I got out. It seemed a reasonable price to pay for getting my mother healthy again."
"You did a very selfless thing, then," I assured. His words seemed to be leading to a happy conclusion, but his expression told otherwise, and my stomach twisted with anxiety. "What happened?"
He was quiet a long while. Very little of his body was solid now; and the mere sight of him, pale and nebulous, frightened me. It was all I could do not to shout at him, as I had before, to release him from his reverie. I wasn't sure what the transparency meant, but clearly, its timing was no coincidence. Whenever his thoughts took him to his past, they carried a chunk of his substance with them.
"My memory isn't perfect yet," he said ruefully. "I have no idea how much time has passed between the last thing I remember and now, so I'm not sure what I'm missing. I know that I did end up in foster care. My mother was horrified at having 'lost' me to the department; it shook her up enough that she agreed to go to rehab right away."
I let out a pent-up breath. "That's good."
"It was a voluntary commitment," Zane continued. "She walked out three days later. Two days after that, she overdosed and died."
My hand clapped over my mouth. It was unfair. So horribly, brutally unfair. "Oh, Zane," I cried, having no idea what to say.
He sprang up and walked to edge of the bunker. His form took on a more solid shape as he moved. "You don't have to say anything," he responded, not facing me. "There's nothing to say. Except that I guess now you can understand why I didn't want to get into it."
He looked out over the open ocean, which was hosting an impressive display of pent-up power at the moment—a series of ridges that rose seemingly simultaneously out in the open water, swelling higher and higher, rolling in toward the break zone in almost military formation. The sun seemed to be shining again, though I couldn't feel its warmth.
I wanted, more than anything, to jump up behind him, wrap my arms around his waist and hold him, comforting without words. But my limbs seemed too cold and heavy to move, and my mind knew better than to try.
"Awesome set!" he said more brightly, a welcome splash of color returning to his semitranslucent skin. "I think I'll go for a dip."
He dove off the bunker into thin air, but instead of landing on the sand below, his form blurred and disappeared. He rematerialized just off shore, and I watched as he swam freestyle out toward the approaching giants, heedless of their pulverizing strength.
The waves broke right through him, easily as mist.
***
I sat on the bunker, alone, for a long time.
Zane worked out his grief on the water. I used the time to process my own.
In my heart, I knew it was a good thing. Zane was regaining his memory, and his ghostly form was… well… fading. It was what we had both wanted. His leaving Oahu—and me—could only mean that he was moving closer to the light, whatever and wherever that might be. It would be a good place, because he was a good person. He would be reunited with both his parents, perhaps other family as well.
It was the best thing I could hope for him. Wishing anything else was pure selfishness.
I felt a buzz at my side. My phone was ringing. I pulled it out of my bag and saw that it was my mother, who would have texted if it wasn't urgent. I hit the button and put the phone to my ear.
"Hi, mom," I said distractedly. "What's up?"
"What's up is dinner," she responded, her voice agitated. "We're supposed to leave in half an hour. Where are you?"
Crap. The time. I hadn't checked in ages. First, we were having too much fun. And then…
"Sorry, mom," I apologized. "We're up at Turtle Bay. I'll be right home."
"We who?"
Double crap.
I thought fast. "Just some guy I met." Should I say he was teaching me to snorkel? No way… it was too unbelievable. And why hadn't I said it was a girl?
Triple crap!
"I decided to check out the resort, and there are a bunch of high schoolers here," I improvised. There had to be some here somewhere, didn't there? "They're just tourists, though. I'm heading home now, okay?"
My mother was silent a moment. "Kali, when we get home tonight, you and I are going to talk."
I groaned inwardly. Though I was proud to have her genes, there were times when I could really use a mother who wasn't so irritatingly intuitive. "No problem, Mom," I answered with pretend lightheartedness. "What do you think we'll have for dinner?" Food distraction… it was always worth a try.
"Nothing if you don't get here in the next fifteen minutes."
Swing and a miss. "I will. Promise. Bye."
We hung up.
I rose and waved my arms in Zane's direction. "I have to go!" I shouted, my voice hardly carrying to my own ears over the roiling sounds of the ocean.
He saw me, though, and appeared instantly at my side. "What's up?" he asked. Both
his body and his hair were dripping wet again, as appropriate. But my breath caught nevertheless. The solidness of form that had always separated him from the shadows was gone. He was visible, and he was whole. But whereas before he had been solid with occasional see-through ripples, his body was now mostly semitransparent, with only patches of solid.
"What's wrong?" he asked, alarmed.
I stammered, trying to get a hold of myself. I could not let him see my distress. This was supposed to be a good thing.
I forced a smile. "I think it's working, Zane. You remembering your past. Your form is fading. Look. Can you tell?"
He looked down; held out an arm and then a leg, examining them. His expression was wooden. "Well, what do you know?" he said with the same forced cheerfulness I had just used myself. "I do feel a little different. Like I'm not… well… totally here."
His eyes turned toward mine. "Does that make any sense?"
I blinked. His eyes were no longer solid either; I couldn't read them as I once had. My insides lurched uncomfortably. "It makes perfect sense," I answered. "You're doing what you're supposed to do. You're moving toward the light."
His gaze left mine; his expression turned thoughtful. "I don't see any light. But I definitely feel different." He was silent a moment. "Kali?"
My heart pounded. I was frightened, and growing more so. I knew I shouldn't be. But I couldn't seem to help it.
"Thank you," he continued softly. "You're a genius."
I looked back into his face, and for a few, beautiful seconds, one eye turned solid enough that I could make out the familiar twinkle.
"I just want you to be happy," I replied.
He smiled at me. But he made no response.
I held his gaze another moment, then shook myself roughly. "I have to get home fast," I explained, grabbing my bag and jumping off the bunker. "I'm late, and the whole family's been invited over to Matt's parents' house for dinner."
Zane had no response to that, either. He merely appeared at my side a few yards down the beach and kept pace with me, silently, as we made our way to my car.
We were off the resort grounds and back out on the Kamehameha Highway before we spoke again. I didn't know what he was thinking, but in my own mind, I was hearing his story over and over again.
"Zane," I said tentatively, breaking into the awkwardness with a seemingly random thought. "You said your mother's name was Bayne. You can't seriously be Zane Bayne?"
To my delight, he chuckled. It was a sound we both needed to hear. "No," he answered. "I told you Zane was a nickname. My mother used her name as my middle name—Zachary Bayne, ergo Zane. I went by my father's last name."
"And what was that?" I asked quickly. "Do you remember?"
He looked uncomfortable. "Yes, I do. I'm afraid I owe you an apology about that. I've remembered my name for a while, but I didn't want to tell you."
My brow creased. "Why not?"
"Because you would have looked me up online," he answered simply. "And I wanted to remember for myself. I didn't want you or anyone else knowing things about me that I didn't know myself. Does that make sense?"
I nodded, feeling sheepish. He was right—I would have looked him up. I wouldn't have been able to resist. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," I agreed.
He shook his head. "It doesn't matter now. It's Svenson. Zachary Bayne Svenson. My mother and I lived in Hackensack."
An unexpected smile escaped my lips. "New Jersey? You grew up in New Jersey?"
He offered a mock glare. "You have something against the East Coast?"
"No," I said, laughing. "It's just… I assumed your mother worked in LA and you grew up in California… you know… surfing."
"Hey," he defended, "Manasquan's got some decent waves in the fall. A kid has to start somewhere, you know."
I continued to chuckle. "Your mom worked in New York City, then?"
He smiled with me. "Yeah. She thought Hackensack was a better place to raise a kid, though, so she commuted. We had a nice apartment, with a big playground complex to run around in, and there were plenty of other kids."
He grew quiet, and I braved a glance in his direction. Once again, his form was eerily faint.
"We had to move out of it at the end, though," he said absently. "To someplace cheaper. The next neighborhood wasn't so good."
I was at a loss. "I'm really sorry, Zane," I said softly.
He shrugged.
I drove on, conscious that my parents were waiting anxiously for me at the condo, but also aware that my concentration for driving was less than optimal. Driving was harder for me than most people. The shadows drifted across the road just like anywhere else, which meant I was constantly making snap judgments. I couldn't brake at every shadow—if I did, I'd cause a multi-car pileup every time I hit the highway. But I couldn't take chances when I wasn't sure, either, which resulted in a fair amount of "Sorry, I thought I saw something in the road" explanations to confused passengers. My father called me "brake happy." My mother just shook her head and held on.
Zane said nothing further, and after a few moments I glanced his way again. It was a compulsion, and I knew it. A part of me was half afraid that the next time I looked at him, he might not be there.
He was still there, all right. But the sight of him made me gasp out loud.
He was slumped in his seat, looking idly out the window. His form was largely transparent, with a few solid patches. His legs, from mid-thigh down, were bare, and his skin was pale. He was wearing a blue cotton hospital gown.
"Zane!" I shouted, and the car swerved suddenly toward the shoulder. I righted the wheel and forced myself to breathe slowly.
"What?" he asked, sitting up straight, his eyes searching the road ahead. The gown was gone. He was wearing a tee shirt and cargo shorts. He was fine. "Did you see something?"
I shook my head without thinking. It would have made the perfect explanation, since I was always seeing things in the road. I didn't want to tell him the truth. I couldn't.
"Zane," I said with a squeak, unable to restrain myself, "do you remember what happened… I mean… how you died?"
He did not appear thrilled at the question. I couldn't blame him. He had remembered enough rotten stuff already. His own death must surely be the worst.
"Don’t answer that," I said quickly. "It doesn't matter. I'm sorry."
"You don't have to apologize," he answered. "But for the record, no, I don't. I can't remember anything past when my mother died."
"Maybe you shouldn't, for now," I announced, filling my voice with a positive energy I was nowhere close to feeling. We had reached the turnoff to my condo, and I pulled in with relief. Freakin' shadows were everywhere this afternoon, especially near the beach lots. "I think you should just relax for a while," I suggested.
"Yeah," he answered brightly, rubbing his hands together. His voice was cheerful, vintage Zane, but I didn't believe he felt any better than I did. I just figured he was a better actor. "If you don't mind, I think I'll hang around the condo tonight while you guys are gone. Catch some basketball on TV, make myself a sandwich. That okay?"
I offered a smile. I wasn't surprised that he didn't want to go with me to Matt's house. It was better for everyone that he didn't. How much I would miss him wasn't an issue.
I would miss him for the rest of my life.
I pulled into our drive and shifted the car into park, fighting hard to contain the moisture building up, once again, behind my eyes.
"That's cool," I agreed. "Just do me a favor, surfer boy."
He smiled at me, dimples and all. "Anything."
"Be here when I get back."
Chapter 19
I knew my mother would be annoyed with me. But when my dad, who was usually the epitome of easygoing, offered little more than a glare as I hustled down the stairs of the condo two at a time to join them in the idling car, I knew I was in trouble.
"I don't like to keep a colleague waiting, Kali," he said shortly, st
eering out of the drive before I could get my seat belt fastened. I'd had no time for a shower and felt totally grubby—my hair was still clammy with sea water from the cove.
"I know, Dad," I apologized. "I'm sorry. I just lost track of time. I'll tell them it was my fault."
We rode in uncomfortable silence a few more minutes; but lucky for me, my father never stayed mad long. Besides which, it was obvious there was something he was dying to say.
"Looks like we've found a house!" he announced finally, his voice back to its usual buoyant tone. "Your mother and I both really like it, and we think you will, too."
"That's great!" I said sincerely. "What's it like?"
My mother showed me some pictures she had taken on her cell phone, while my father described every aspect of the house and neighborhood in glowing detail. It was smaller than our house in Cheyenne, as we all knew it would be, given local housing prices. But clearly, it had character. Funky multiple levels, wide, gently sloping eaves, and over-large windows made it look wonderfully Hawaiian.
"The rooms are small, and it needs a lot of updating," my mother admitted. "But the house is definitely livable. And I know you'll like your room, Kali. It has its own door leading to a lanai that looks out over the backyard."
I smiled broadly. Having my own personal deck would be too cool for words. I could see myself now, nibbling on fresh mango, sipping some tropical concoction while filling out college applications on my laptop. The sun would be shining; there would be a nice breeze, scented with flowers. Zane would pop over and perch on the railing, telling me how great the surfing was—
My smile faded. I had to stop.
"It looks fabulous," I answered, handing the phone back to my mom. "I don't mind if it's smaller. I'll be off to college in a year anyway."
"We can drive by it tonight," my dad explained, "but we can't get inside. We've scheduled with the agent for all three of us to take another walk-through tomorrow afternoon."
It was clear from his tone that the outing was not optional.