by Jessi Kirby
Rusty’s eyes met mine for an instant, and I saw in them the same glee that I felt right then. Without having to say anything, we both hopped up the steps onto the deck, and I realized we were high on a bluff. And spread out below us, vast, and huge, and sparkling, was the ocean. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
I’d seen it in movies plenty of times. Run my eyes over the blue of it in pictures and posters, and tried to imagine what it would really feel like to be there. And now there it was, right in front of me, loud and alive and real. I wanted to capture that moment, that feeling of seeing something so very big, and so beautiful, it made my heart want to burst right open.
Neither one of us spoke for a long time. We just stood there, side by side, and stood there, and kept standing there, trying to take it in. The fiery ball of a sun melted into the horizon, throwing pink and orange light that broke into a thousand tiny diamonds when it hit the water. Far below us, the sand glinted slick and shiny and inviting. The happy voices of a couple of kids playing in the water drifted up on the breeze, and I watched as the boy took the little girl’s hand and they ran together, away from a wave that crumbled into white foam in front of them. After a long moment full of too many feelings to sort out, I grabbed Rusty’s arm. “C’mon. Let’s go put our feet in the ocean.”
A slow smile, a real one, crept across his face. “I saw some stairs over there when I pulled in.” He headed down the steps and toward a path lining the bluff. I lingered a second, not quite ready to take my eyes off the water or let go of the feeling that this was one of those tiny moments that turned out to be one of the big ones later on.
“You comin’?” Rusty called. He was on the path already, barefoot and smiling like a little boy.
“Yeah, I’m coming.” I swept my eyes over the water again, all the way to the horizon, before turning to go with him, and a warm kind of peace spread out in me. I kissed it into my fingertips, then blew it into the breeze, a silent thank-you swirling its way up to Finn.
We sat on the sand, feet and legs glistening with salty water in the leftover glow from the sun. Just as the last sliver of it dipped into the ocean, we’d put our toes in the water and let it splash cool and foamy up our legs, laughing together with a lightness we hadn’t had since we were kids. No hurt feelings or undercurrents of complications. Just true, simple happiness. Rusty leaned back on his elbows, watching the waves line up, then break, and I raked lines in the sand with my fingers, wondering at the fact that we’d really made it all the way to the beach.
“Hey, Rusty?” I said suddenly, “I’m sorry about how I acted earlier today. I just . . .”
He turned to me, eyebrow raised. “Woke up on the wrong end of a tequila bottle?”
“Yeah.” I laughed, feeling more than a little sheepish, but happy he wasn’t one to hold a grudge. “I guess I did. I’m sorry.”
Rusty waved it off. “Been there plenty of times.”
“And I wanted to say thank you. For getting us here. To the ocean. I think Finn would be happy.”
“Yeah.” He nodded but didn’t seem to be paying attention anymore.
I followed his gaze, expecting to see a hot girl in a bikini, but instead I saw a big crowd of people walking up the beach toward us. And not just any people. Most of them had their heads bowed, and they all carried what looked, from a distance, like white boxes. An elderly Japanese man dressed in a long yellow robe held a torch, and in between the crash of the waves, his voice drifted toward us, singing or chanting words I didn’t understand.
I looked around for cameras or something. Maybe they were filming a movie? We were close to LA and Hollywood and all that.
We kept watching as the group, a mix of all ages, made its way to the mouth of a wide creek near us that emptied lazily into the ocean. The leader—priest, I guessed, stopped at the edge of it and waited quietly as they gathered around him. I looked away because it felt a little like intruding to keep watching, but Rusty was watching them intently, and the few other people on the beach had gathered to do the same, so I brought my eyes back to where they stood.
The old man started up again, now close enough that I could hear the age in his voice. And when he spoke, I was surprised it was in English. “Welcome,” he said, spreading his arms wide. “We are here, on this final evening of Obon, to honor the loved ones we’ve lost and the ancestors who came before us.” He paused and swept his eyes over the ocean. “Our tradition tells us that humans come from the water, and so tonight, we will return the spirits of our families to the sea. Each lantern we set afloat will carry a departed spirit from our shore, where they passed their lives, to the horizon of peace and redemption, where they will rest.” He turned toward the real horizon, then back to the people gathered around him and bowed. “The sun has set. Let us begin.”
A tiny woman, bent over from age, stepped from the crowd and began to sing, soft words I didn’t understand, but the feeling behind them was something I did. Rusty and I watched quietly as the first person, a middle-aged man, stepped forward to the priest. He lit the candle inside the man’s lantern, then spoke a name before bending gently to the water with it. When he opened his hands, the lantern trembled a tiny bit before it caught the edge of the current and drifted placidly toward the ocean. The priest repeated the same motions for each lantern, lighting the candle, speaking the name, and setting the lantern adrift down the creek and out to sea.
It was beautiful, and as I watched, I wished Finn’s memorial had felt this way, so much more soft and peaceful than the sternness of his military funeral. The rifle shots and the trumpet, the general’s words and the flag—all those things were meant to honor and pay tribute to him and his service. But they didn’t bring the sort of peace that this seemed to bring the people who set the little lights afloat. The lanterns spread out, flickering over the water in the calm of the evening, and it seemed like the way saying good-bye to someone ought to feel—like you were setting them free so they could always be out there somewhere. It was a wholly different feeling than watching the shiny black casket be lowered slowly into the ground. My eyes swept the sky like a reflex.
Rusty and I sat and watched for who knows how long as each individual lantern was lit, then set free. We watched until the very last person stepped up to the priest. She was a little girl, maybe six years old, and he had to bend low to light her candle. She bowed her head solemnly as he did, but when he reached for her lantern, she shook her head and hugged it tighter. Carefully, she knelt down and set it in the sand, then reached into her pocket and brought out a rolled-up piece of paper tied with a string. She gave it a kiss, looped the end of the string around the corner of the lantern, and stood slowly with it. But she didn’t give it to the priest then. Instead, she held up her chin and stepped toward the edge of the creek, and in a small, quavery voice, spoke the name of her person before she set the lantern into the current herself.
It got very quiet as we all watched it drift down to the ocean to join the others floating peacefully out to sea, their tiny lights shimmering into the night. I watched hers for as long as I could, wishing I’d had the courage and grace to stand up at Finn’s funeral and send him off in my own way, with a speech or a letter or some tiny gesture that was as sweet and earnest as what she’d just done.
After a while, the breeze picked up and the air got so cool I had to wrap my arms around my knees to stay warm. Slowly, in twos and threes, the crowd of people separated and drifted back up the beach, stopping every so often to point out to the ocean, where the tiny lights were now spread far and wide like constellations over the water. And the whole time, Rusty didn’t move or speak. He just sat back next to me in the sand, and I wished I knew what he was thinking about. Asking him wouldn’t do anything but ruin it, so I didn’t say anything either.
It wasn’t until the little girl and her family left that he finally sat up and looked over at me. “You hungry or cold? You wanna go back up to the car?”
I shook my head, scared that if I tried t
o talk, something in me might come unhinged.
“Okay,” he said like he understood. “We’ll stay a while longer then.”
He took my hand and held it in both of his, and we sat there that way on the dark beach until the last tiny twinkle of the lanterns was just a golden speck. By the time we made it back up the stairs to the Pala, we were both worn out and spent from the day, so when Rusty pulled us into an empty lot along the bluff and parked next to the little kiosk, I didn’t argue. Wordlessly, we climbed into the back and arranged our clothes and the one sleeping bag I’d brought into a decent enough bed for us to sleep on. Any other day, I probably would’ve made a big deal about sending him to sleep in the front seat, far away from me.
But tonight I didn’t care about any of that. Tonight I wanted to be close to him—not in that kind of way, but in the kind of way that made me feel less alone and less sad. The kind of way I hoped could help him, too. So when he slid under the sleeping bag, near enough for me to feel the warmth coming off his skin, I moved near enough to cuddle up and hoped he would understand. He shifted and brought his arm around my shoulders, pulling me in even closer, and I laid my head down on his chest and closed my eyes to everything but the steady rise and fall of his chest and the solid thump of his heart.
28
The first knock on the window woke me up enough to realize it was morning. At the second knock, I rolled over and figured out that the heavy weight across my chest was Rusty’s arm, which was enough to startle me upright just in time to see the officer lean down and peer in the window before knocking on it again. Oh, god. He saw me see him and said, from the other side of the glass, “Miss, would you please step out of the car?”
I nodded in a panic, then shook Rusty hard. “Wake up! There’s a cop outside!” What do we do, what do we do, what do we do?
“Take it easy,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “They probably just want us to move the car or somethin’.” He lay there a minute, blinking up at the ceiling like it was no big deal there was a cop outside the window asking us to get out. Or that I had completely snuggled up to him the night before.
The cop knocked again. “Miss?”
“One second,” I called brightly, hoping being nice would earn me brownie points. “Come on,” I said pulling on Rusty’s arm. “I’m not getting out by myself.”
Finally, he sat up and squinted out the window. “All right, I’m comin’. Gimme a sec.”
“We don’t have a sec. Hurry up.” I smoothed my hair back as if that would somehow make a better impression on the policeman. Rusty finally sat up and nodded at me, and we each opened our door. “Hi,” I said, a little too chipper, to the officer who stood by my door.
He was younger looking than I’d expected, and cute, with buzzed blond hair and bright blue eyes that stood out against the morning gray. “Good morning.” He nodded, then looked past me as Rusty stepped out on his side.
“Mornin’ officer,” he said, running a hand through his hair and wearing his best Big Tex grin. “Is there a problem?”
The officer—S. Chase, according to his name tag, opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted by a snort from a second officer walking up behind him. He was older and taller and had that pompous air about him you can just sense on some people. He adjusted his belt, and as he got to us, chest all puffed out with his own authority, he planted his feet firmly, like he planned on staying awhile.
“‘Is there a problem?’” He laughed like he’d just cracked a joke and looked to Officer Chase like he should too. “That’s a new one, huh?” He turned his attention to Rusty and spoke with a smile that was anything but friendly. “Of course there’s a problem. Otherwise . . . we wouldn’t be knocking on your window this fine morning. Would we?”
I looked to Officer Chase for help. “We’re contacting you because it’s illegal to camp overnight in this parking lot,” he said simply.
“Oh. We . . .”
I didn’t know what to say, but Rusty stepped in with his manners turned up a notch higher than I’d ever seen. “I apologize, sir, we weren’t aware of that. We’ll head out right away.”
The other one shook his head, and the sun glinted off its shiny, bald surface. “Oh, you weren’t aware? Can’t you read? Because you parked directly in front of the sign that says ‘No Overnight Camping Permitted,’ see?” He pointed and, sure enough, below the money-collecting window of the kiosk was a sign saying exactly that. “So no. You won’t be heading out. First we’ll need to see your IDs and the registration for this vehicle.”
Rusty’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t drop his smile. “All right, sure.”
We opened up the two front doors and leaned in to dig for our wallets. Rusty slid his license easily out of his, then opened the glove box. “Registration in here?”
“I think so. . . . I don’t know. . . .” I fumbled with the plastic pocket of my wallet, trying to get my license out.
Rusty looked at me, serious. “What do you mean, you don’t know? Where’d you put it?”
“I mean . . . I don’t think I got it?”
A bad, sinking feeling started in my stomach, and it got worse when Rusty stopped what he was doing and asked me slowly, “Did you pay the registration for the car this year?”
“No. I never did. I thought Finn took care of all that stuff. . . . I . . . oh, no.” I stood up, knocking my head on the door frame in the process.
“You okay, miss?” Officer Chase asked.
“Yeah.” I handed him my license, then rubbed the back of my head. “Here’s this. Um, about the registration—”
“It’s nine months overdue,” the mean one interrupted. “I ran it already. You know what that means, sweetheart?”
“What?” I asked sharply. I was starting to hate this guy a little more every time he opened his mouth. I looked to Officer Chase. “Do I have to pay a big fine or something?”
“It means we have to tow it,” he said grimly. “It can’t be on the road when it’s that long overdue.”
“You can’t tow it! We’re eight hundred miles from home.” I willed myself not to cry. “It was my brother’s car, and he was over in Iraq, and I didn’t know I was supposed to register it, and he . . .”
Rusty cut in. “Look, her brother just passed away, and I’m sure we can get it all straightened out once we get back home, if you could please just cut us a break this time.”
Officer Chase shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
I tried not to panic completely. “What can we do, then?” I asked, on the edge of tears. This couldn’t be happening.
His partner pressed his thin lips together and furrowed his brow like he pitied me. “Well, the first thing you can do, Miss . . .”—he peered over Chase’s shoulder at my license—“Lindsey, is accept responsibility for your actions. Says right here you’re almost eighteen—”
“Oh, come on,” Rusty said, stepping in front of me. “If you’re gonna be a dick and take the car, we don’t need a speech, too.”
“Easy there, cowboy. Somebody needs to tell it like it is.” The old snake of an officer snapped his eyes back to me. “The second thing you can do, sweetheart, Honor, is to show some respect for your brother’s memory by taking care of his things and getting this car up to date.”
“All right, that’s enough,” Chase said, glaring at his partner. “Let’s go call it in.”
My heart pounded in my chest as they walked back across the parking lot to the patrol car. I’d never hated anyone so much in my life as I hated that police officer right then. I wanted to scream.
“That guy’s an asshole,” Rusty said, putting his hand on my shoulder. “We’ll get it figured out. It’ll be okay.”
“No, Rusty, it won’t!” I snapped. “It’s not gonna be okay, because you parked us overnight right in front of a sign that says no overnight parking!” I twisted away from him and shook my head. “And then you mouthed off to that guy, so now he’s gonna take Finn’s car.” I was crying now, angry tea
rs that slid fast and hot down my cheeks.
Rusty’s jaw tightened, and he took a step toward me, his voice low. “You need to calm down right now. This is not my fault.”
“Yes it is,” I spit back at him. “They wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t parked here. If you’d actually read the sign.” I looked up at it, deciding to ignore the fact that I hadn’t either. He’d been the one driving. Across the parking lot, the two officers stood on the far side of their car, looking like they were having an argument too.
“Yeah, Honor? What about the registration? Finn’s been gone over a year now. You didn’t think to check up on that?”
“Now you’re agreeing with that guy? I need to be more responsible?” I shook my head and laughed at the absurdity of it. “You’re one to talk, Rusty. You went off to the college Finn was supposed to go to and became even more of a drunk than you were in high school. You got a chance that he missed out on, and you blew it.” I didn’t have to look at him to know I’d hurt him. I turned my back instead and stared across the highway at the gray fog that hid the ocean. “Why don’t you just leave? Leave like he did. It was no problem for him, so it shouldn’t be one for you.”
Rusty’s voice was thick with anger. “Is that what you really think? That he just left you?”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t know what to think.
When Rusty spoke next, his voice came out flat. “Wow, Honor,” he said from behind me. “There’s a whole lot you don’t see.” He stepped around in front of me so I had to face him. “Maybe that cop is right, you know? Maybe it’s time for you to grow up and hear the truth, which is that you have no idea how to take care of yourself because Finn looked out for you your whole damn life.”