The Calling

by Ashley Lynn Willis

  “Mandy said if I wanted to fix this…” He pointed the knife at himself, then back at Justin. ”We needed to have a heart to heart.” He set his silverware down before continuing. “Cecelia was an accident.”

  “No kidding. We were ten years apart in age.”

  His dad’s eyes narrowed.

  “Keepin’ quiet.” Justin got busy chewing.

  “Your mom and I wanted one kid, and that was it. Her, because she didn’t like bein’ pregnant, and me, because I wanted to get back to the sea. I felt dead when I wasn’t on a boat. But when you were born, I quit commercial fishin’. Your mom never believed in the Calling, and I wasn’t going to risk my son’s life.

  “But I told your mom that when you turned ten, I was headin’ back out. That was old enough for you to be able to care for yourself if the Calling happened while I was away. Then your mom got pregnant again, but I wasn’t about to spend another ten years on dry land.”

  “Did you ever think mom got pregnant on purpose because she thought another baby would keep you around?”

  His dad’s brow furrowed. “It crossed my mind a time or two.”

  “Yet, you left her anyway… for the sea.”

  “I know better than anyone that livin’ a selfish life leads to misery. I’m tryin’ to change.”

  “Good for you, Pops,” he said sarcastically.

  His dad shrugged. “Anyway, I was so shortsighted, I didn’t think about the consequences of leaving you in charge of Cecelia’s life. For Christ’s sake, you were ten years old. You might’ve been able to care for yourself, but Cecelia, too?”

  “A ten-year-old can dunk a baby in the ocean.”

  “Not with a mom as stubborn as yours. You get that from her, you know, the stubborn streak.”

  “I think it comes from both sides.”

  His dad pursed his lips. “Tsk, tsk.”

  “What’s the purpose of this little talk, Pops?”

  His dad fell quiet, staring toward the pool of juices gathering at the bottom of his plate. When he finally looked up, the sadness in his eyes made Justin chill down to his core, as if he were standing on an iceberg in the middle of the arctic. “Cecelia’s death was my fault. Your mom’s grief was my fault. Everything was my fault and, every time I looked at you, I was reminded of that. I sent you to live with your grandmother, and then your aunt, because I couldn’t live with the shame. I shouldn’t have done that to you. For the last two decades, I thought it was better for everyone if I disappeared, but it wasn’t better. For me, for you, or for your mother.”

  Justin leaned back in his chair and pressed his palms flat on the table. “You didn’t blame me?” All those years he’d seen the pain in his father’s eyes as disappointment. He’d thought his dad abandoned him for failing, for killing his daughter, for sending his wife into madness.

  But it’d been guilt that drove his father away.

  He should have been furious that Pops was just now telling him. Instead, he felt like Atlas, with the weight of the world being lifted off his shoulders. “You don’t blame me,” he said again, as if the words were an antidote to every insurmountable obstacle he’d ever encountered.

  “I ain’t never blamed you.”

  “But you ran away from me, just like Mandy’s doing now.”

  “Son, I’m going to give you a piece of advice because you’re a Seward, and we’re all the same. If you don’t go get that little blond back, you’re gonna spend the rest of your life pining after her. I can tell you that from experience.”

  Justin looked at Pops. His dad had never divorced his mother, never dated, never even thought of another woman that he knew of. He studied Mitch’s calloused hands, his strong nose, and his tanned, weathered skin. His dad slept alone every night, ate his meals quietly by himself. When he came home after a long day on the boat, no one cared how his day had fared. All he had was his job and the pleasure the ocean gave him. From the sadness in his face, it wasn’t enough.

  With a tinge of grief, Justin realized that the man sitting across from him was his future if he didn’t find a way to get Mandy back.

  Chapter 26

  Mandy woke with a start, sweat beading on her face and her gut twisting with nausea. She threw off the covers and jumped from the bed, then she froze. In the dark, she couldn’t tell which door was for the closet and which led to the hall. She clamped her hand over her mouth, and her eyes darted around, searching furiously for the trashcan. Except, she then remembered Lori’s guest bedroom didn’t have one. Darn, Lori!

  Her stomach lurched. Desperately, she fumbled for the light switch and flipped it on. Through half-closed eyes, she spotted the hall door, tore it open, and raced toward the bathroom. Just before she reached the toilet, she doubled over, a cramp wringing her stomach, and threw up on the white tile floor.

  Perfect. She was retching all over her best friend’s new apartment. What a way to say, “Thanks for having me!”

  She groaned as she grabbed a towel from the rack and mopped up her accident. At least her stomach had settled.

  Mandy straightened mid-thought as a pulse of energy emanated from her stomach, the tingling sensation dancing down to her pelvis then back up. She placed her hand over her bellybutton, thinking she’d be able to feel the vibration in her palm, but the energy stayed localized, no trace of it pulsating through her hand. For several seconds, the shuddering continued, and then, just like her wave of nausea, the energy disappeared.

  What the heck was that?

  She kneeled on the floor, trying to make sense of the nausea, the vibrations, and the woozy head. Altitude sickness. She had no other explanation, so she latched onto that one like a barnacle to a ship. Altitude sickness took acclimatizing to overcome. By the time they went skiing in two days, she’d be fine. Lori worked the next day, so she could spend the day resting if she still felt ill.

  Lori poked her head into the bathroom, her brow furrowed and her nose sniffing the air like a hound dog. “You don’t look so good.”

  “Got sick,” Mandy said, her voice a tired whisper.

  “I thought I smelled something bad. Are you going to be okay?”

  “I’m fine. Same thing happened earlier this week at Justin’s house. It came and went in minutes.”

  Lori looked down at the dirty towel in Mandy’s hands. Her lower lip curled up in disgust. “Just throw it in the bathtub. I’ll take care of it tomorrow.”

  Mandy chucked the towel and rested her cheek against the bathtub rim. “Sorry, Lori.”

  “I’m sorry you’re sick.” She cocked a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

  Mandy shook her head. “I still have an IUD.”

  “Those aren’t foolproof.”

  “They’re pretty close.” Mandy looked up at Lori’s worried expression. “You should go back to bed. I don’t want you taking care of preemies while you’re exhausted.”

  “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”

  “Positive.”

  Lori yawned and turned to leave. Right before she stepped out of the bathroom, she glanced over her shoulder. “Come get me if you need anything.”

  Mandy nodded, pushed herself off the floor, and headed to bed, too. No sooner had she cuddled under the flannel sheets, than a tingle traveled slowly up her spine to the tip of her head, then back down, the wave gently rolling over her until it reached her toes. With it came a burning in the back of her throat as if she were wandering a desert, sun beating down on her, with no water to quench her thirst.

  God, she felt parched.

  She sighed. Sleep wasn’t coming anytime soon. She threw off the covers again and planted her feet on the floor. At least she knew which door to choose without turning on the light. She padded to the kitchen and opened all the wrong cabinets before finally finding a glass.

  After drinking two cups of water, she was still as parched as a bleached bone. The dry Colorado air was doing strange things to her body. The problem had an easy fix, though. She�
��d buy Lori a humidifier, a gadget she wasn’t even sure they carried in Corpus with its year-round balmy weather.

  She filled her glass one last time and headed back to bed. So much for sleep. If the pulses didn’t keep her up all night, the peeing would.

  * * *

  Justin woke to an eerie feeling rocking his core. He thrust his arms out, as if cradling a baby, and moaned when he realized his arms held nothing but air.

  “Justin,” his dad’s voice whispered over his shoulder.

  He tried to shake off the last remnants of sleep, but fatigue weighed down his body like the ocean depths crushing him. Disoriented and confused, he rolled on his side and bundled the comforter in his arms. A pulse of energy traveled from the tip of his head down to his toes. Even his hair felt as if it were vibrating.

  The pulses tormenting him were racked with sorrow. So familiar, he thought in a half dream-like state. In his mind, he was transported to the Galveston beach where his sister and mother had passed. His mother lay motionless on the sand, waves washing her billowing white nightgown into plumes of cotton and lace. In her arms, she held Cecelia, a perfect sleeping cherub whose skin was gray with death.

  “Justin, wake up.”

  With a gasp, he bolted to a sitting position. His heart hammered, and sweat dripped down his face to sting his eyes.

  His dad hovered over him with his mouth turned down at the corners. “Son, it’s just me.”

  “Pops?”

  “You wanna come with me to the beach?” his dad asked.

  The Calling. It’s started. Another wave of energy coursed through his body, filling his mind with images he was desperate to burn from his brain. Tears prickled his eyes. Christ, was he going to cry in front of his dad? No way.

  He sucked in a deep breath, lay back down, and buried his head in his pillow. “I’m tired, Pops. I’ll get counted tomorrow.”

  Mitch patted his son’s shoulder. “I just thought you might want company.”

  Company was the last thing he wanted. “Tomorrow, Pops.”

  His dad stood by his side for another minute, then straightened and left Justin’s room, closing the door behind him. Justin let out a gasp as a tear snaked down his cheek. “He doesn’t blame me,” he whispered. But it didn’t matter, because he still blamed himself.

  * * *

  Early the next morning, Justin sat on the beach staring toward the water. A cool breeze ruffled his hair and chilled his skin. Wondering how Mandy could stand the cold Colorado winter, he huddled deeper in his jacket. She was a Southern girl, born and bred. Colorado wasn’t for her, but maybe she liked that about it, that it was so different from this flat, humid place. Maybe it helped her forget him.

  Another surge of energy came and went. The pulses were more a nuisance than anything else, but he knew that by midnight, they’d feel like a trowel ripping out his intestines. If he wanted to end them, all he had to do was stick his little toe in the water for a few seconds. The vibrations would leave him in peace.

  Except… he wouldn’t do it because he kept asking the same question over and over again. What if he didn’t answer the Calling? What if he let his god turn him to saltwater as he had Cecelia? It would be a painful but easy way to end the ache in his heart.

  He picked up a flat clamshell and threw it into the surf, a frothy wave gobbling it up. As he watched the seagulls trample across the shore, picking at fish in the receding tide, he thought of his father. The more he watched his dad, saw the sadness in his eyes, the difficulties he had in even the smallest gestures of affection, the more Justin wanted to avoid his father’s fate. But if Mandy had truly left him, and he had every reason to believe she had, then he wasn’t sure he could separate his path from his father’s.

  Justin stood and, without heeding the call of his god, he started back home.

  Chapter 27

  Justin opened the door to his house and was met by the acrid scent of burning meat. He glanced toward the ceiling where a hazy layer of smoke accumulated. “Dad?”

  “In here.”

  Since the day was sunny and warming up, he left the door open to air the place out and walked into the kitchen. Mitch glided around the stove to the sink with a spatula in one hand and a dishtowel in the other. On the stove, bacon sizzled and smoked, burning to a crisp.

  “Are you trying to catch my place on fire?” Justin asked.

  “Cheap bacon. That’s the last time I buy the house brand.”

  Justin fanned the air with his hands, trying to disperse the smoke. “You’d make a terrible housewife, Pops.”

  Mitch chuckled and motioned for Justin to take a seat. Instead, Justin buried his nose in the collar of his T-shirt and made his way to the oven fan. He flipped the switch, the whir of the motor drowning out the sound of his dad’s cooking.

  “Hope you’re hungry,” Mitch said.

  Justin sat at the kitchen table, resting his chin on his hand. “I’m not.”

  His dad ignored him, setting two over-easy eggs with blackened bacon in front of him. Mitch seemed to sniff the air, tilting his head back and twitching his nose. “I was told by your great grandfather that if you wait until the end of the Calling to be counted, you can dive into the water, open your eyes under the surface to reveal your soul, and Triton will take your spirit back to his kingdom, where you’ll become immortal.” Practically floating, he glided to the stove. “It’s his way of thanking his descendants for protecting him from Atë.”

  “It’s true,” Justin said.

  His dad raised a questioning eyebrow as he scooped the rest of the bacon out of the pan and onto his plate.

  “The night Cecelia died, an old woman entered the ocean off the pier,” Justin said. “She went under, but never came back up.”

  “Hmm, interesting. I’m gonna be an old codger by the next Calling. Maybe I’ll try it then.”

  “Good to know.” If he didn’t see Pops after the next roll call, he’d have an inkling as to what had happened.

  His dad flipped two eggs onto his plate, strolled to the table, and sat, some of the spring in his step gone. “Is that what you’re gonna do, son? Wait until the end and let Triton take you to his home?”

  Justin pushed the eggs around his plate. “You think I’m giving up?”

  “I can smell the beach on you, but the energy comin’ off you is as thick as mud. You didn’t go in.” Mitch slid his cell phone across the table. “Call her.”

  “She doesn’t want me to.”

  Mitch nudged the phone closer. “Do it anyway.”

  * * *

  Justin paced a rut in his room, his stomach flittering like a butterfly. It’s only a phone call. She won’t mind if you check to see how she’s doing. No matter how many times he said those words, they never stuck. What was he scared of? Rejection. That was stupid. She’d already left him.

  Things can’t get any worse. He took one final look at her number on his cell screen and pushed send. The phone rang. Once. Twice. Three times.

  “Hello.”

  At the sound of her voice, his breath hitched. Damn, he missed her. He swallowed hard, willing words through his tight throat. “I need to talk to you.”

  He heard the sound of the phone crashing to the floor, then a guttural moan followed by a retching noise. What the hell was going on?

  A few seconds later, the phone jostled, and Mandy’s heavy breathing carried down the line. “I’m sick.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’ve been throwing up since four this morning.” Her shuddered breaths turned into sobs, and she whimpered as if in pain.

  Justin closed his eyes, imagining he could reach through the cell and hold her to his chest, but he was helpless to ease her hurting, except with words. It’d have to do. He lowered his voice to a soothing pitch. “Everything’s going to be okay. Just tell me what’s happening.”

  She tried to speak between gasps for breaths, but her shaky breathing swallowed the words.

  Frustrated at the distance b
etween them, he began to pace again. “If you don’t calm down in the next five minutes, I’m buying the first plane ticket to Denver.”

  She stifled a sob. “I’m sick and tired and, every time I fall asleep, these stupid pulses wake me up.”

  He straightened and stopped pacing mid-step. “Pulses?”

  “Yeah.” A battered sob echoed down the line as if she were desperately trying to control her crying jag. “Like I’ve swallowed a cell phone, and the thing’s on vibrate.”

  “You’re throwing up?” His head swam from all the clues she was throwing at him.

  “I just said that.”

  “And you feel vibrations?” A pulse traveled down his body, tingling his skin as it passed his legs on the way down to his toes. Then, the vibration reversed, traveling toward his head. “Did you just feel a pulse?”

  “Yeah.”

  Oh, holy hell! He strangled the phone. “Are you really, really thirsty like you can’t get enough to drink?”

  “Yes.”

  He knocked his knuckles against his forehead. “This isn’t good.”

  “It’ll pass.” Her shaky breathing calmed. “My stomach’s already settling.”

  “It’s not going to pass.”

  “No, seriously.” Her voice sounded more alert, less panicked. “I’m already feeling much—”

  “You’re pregnant.”

  She snorted. “You sound like Lori.”

  “Lori’s a smart girl. You should listen to her.”

  “I have an IUD.”

  “Can they fail?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Well, guess what, Mandy? Yours failed.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Oh, yes, I do. The Calling started this morning and, unless we’re related, you’re pregnant.”

  She gasped, then went silent. He couldn’t even hear her breathe and, for a second, he wondered if she’d hung up. “Mandy?”

  “I’m pregnant.”