Rogue Wave

by Isabel Jolie

  “Whatever. Look, the only reason I’m saying anything is that I know from Poppy that Luna was pretty hurt.”

  I flinched.

  “Poppy and I don’t talk a lot about you guys, but it’s come up.”

  “I didn’t even know you and Poppy were in touch.”

  “We text.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Shut it. Look, my point is, I think I get why you cut her off. Knowing you, you have it in your head you can’t date her now that you’ve adopted a kid.”

  “She’s young.”

  “If you’re not into her, fine by me, man. My point is adopting a kid doesn’t mean you have to live like a monk. I mean, I know single parents sometimes feel like not dating is part of putting the kid first, but in your case, you’ve adopted a girl who has seen a lot. She’s not a young child. I think she can handle seeing a healthy adult relationship. It might even be good for her.”

  “She’s only thirteen.” If her birth records were correct, she was barely thirteen.

  “You and I both know she’s mature for her age.” I glared at him, hating the truth, not him, and he put his hands up in the air. “Look, I don’t know shit. But it seems to me, making yourself miserable will not help Jasmine in any way. She’s a part of your life now, so in my opinion, you need to focus on living a full, healthy life. Because she’s part of it. Sequestering yourself from the world might be something you get off on doing, but it’s not healthy. You need to force yourself to open up to others, date and such, so you create a healthy environment for her. Your personal life doesn’t end when you become a parent.”

  “You’ve been thinking a lot about this.”

  “Some. I had nothing to read last night, so I picked up some stuff the agency sent you. It got me thinking. I get why you brought her back here. I know Gregg disagrees, but I agree with you that a tutor for this first part will be an easier transition than entering middle school without knowing the language. Especially entering a very white middle school.” His eyebrows rose with the word white. Yeah, the Connecticut private school we went to, and the one my brother planned to send his kids to, qualified as extremely white. Didn’t mean the students wouldn’t accept her, but her skin would be one more difference. Regardless, when I met with them, the school encouraged me to take this route as they weren’t set up to take on a foreign student like her.

  I had nothing else to say, so I unpacked the dishwasher, effectively terminating our conversation. Gabe didn’t get the hint.

  “The tutor you hired. She’s pretty hot.”

  “Hmm.” I hired Cali for her educational experience, sight unseen. Plus, her willingness to come out to the island, as opposed to me having to bring Jasmine to the mainland daily, was a big win. In all the time I’d spent with Cali, I hadn’t thought of her as anything other than my adopted daughter’s educator.

  “It sucks Poppy isn’t here. I’d been hoping to spend some time with her. Unlike you, I don’t like to be lonely, if you know what I mean,” he droned on. “But you know, she’s not the only young hottie on the island. Maybe I’ll reach out to Luna, see what she’s doing tonight.”

  A slick plate slipped out of my hand and shattered on the tile floor.

  He laughed. Mother fucker.

  Chapter 28

  Luna

  * * *

  Any interest in joining Jasmine and me for dinner tonight? She’d like to meet you.

  The text taunted me for hours before I responded. Three days had passed since I dropped off my mature, I’m-an-adult-and-above-all-of-this gift for Jasmine.

  Dinner wasn’t what had me hesitating. It was more of whether I was willing to move forward as if nothing had happened between us. I debated showing him how I felt by responding with a snappy “no” and proceeding to give him the cold shoulder, a sure sign I wasn’t really okay with how he treated me. But something about that felt juvenile, and I worried playing that game would prove his fears about my youth correct.

  So, I put on my big girl panties, as they say, and went to dinner with a cherry pie from the market tucked beside me on the seat and a bottle of wine. I spent at least twenty minutes perusing the cabernet selection, debating if bringing wine meant I expected more than a friendly dinner. I concluded that almost all adults brought wine to dinner, and even if they didn’t, I needed the fortification.

  Through the screen door, I could see into the kitchen. Tate sat at the bar, working on his laptop. I knocked lightly, and he smiled that slow grin. My insides plummeted and swirled. He pushed the screen door open, holding it wide for me to enter.

  “Hi.” I held up my dinner contributions. “For you.”

  “You didn’t need to do that.” He lifted the items from my arms and placed them on the counter. “Thanks for coming.”

  “Where’s Gabe?”

  “Back in New York. He only came down for the day. He needed my signature on some documents. Easy to do when you have your pilot’s license.”

  “Must be nice.” I leaned back on the counter and stared down at his white socks. “Oh. I should take off my shoes.”

  “Nah. No worries. We track sand in all the time. You’re probably better off keeping your shoes on so you’re not stepping in it.” We. I looked around for Jasmine, but there was no sign of her.

  He wore an off-white cotton sweater and faded blue jeans. Bare feet would have made him model worthy, but in February, thick socks made sense. His new hair cut, short and trim, leant him an older, mature vibe. The small fire in the den filled the living area with a woodsy campfire aroma.

  “I didn’t realize that fireplace worked.”

  “I had someone clean out the chimney. It’s one of those convertible chimneys that could be used for gas, but I had it set up as wood burning.” He shoved his hands into his back pockets, and an awkward silence fell between us.

  My cheeks burned. I had nothing to say. A familiar pull, an invisible connection between us, flowed. I rubbed the center of my chest and scolded myself. He doesn’t feel it. It’s in your head. I stepped closer to the fire, feigning the need for warmth. Then I remembered my purpose. “Where’s Jasmine?”

  “Oh, she’s upstairs. Let me call her down.” He climbed a few steps and shouted, “Jasmine. Come on down.” Faintly from up above, a door clicked.

  “She took the third floor as her room,” he offered as he gazed up the stairs.

  “That’s a great space.” The third floor offered panoramic, unfettered views of the ocean. The ceiling matched the roofline and created alcoves. When I’d been helping him renovate, we’d put in window seats in the alcoves and built-in bookshelves below them. It made an ideal girl’s bedroom, and it had an attached full bathroom.

  “Yeah, maybe you can help her decorate it? I put a mattress and bed frame up there, thinking she could pick out what she likes. But every time I show her something, she shakes her head and says, ‘No, thank you.’”

  Just then, a tall shadow filled the space behind Tate. He turned and smiled at her. “There you are. This is my friend, Luna. Luna, this is Jasmine.”

  I held out my arm, and her gaze fell to my outstretched hand. She placed her slender ebony fingers in mine. My skin appeared ghostly, almost luminescent, next to her raven color. High cheekbones gave her a regal appearance. Her short hairstyle, trimmed close to her scalp, offset her mahogany irises beautifully. Like her adopted father, she wore a cotton long sleeve sweater, jeans and socks, only her socks were multi-colored and looked to be handmade. Her toes wiggled, raising the yellow and red threads.

  “You like the socks? Alice made them for her. Did you know she knits socks? That woman can do anything.”

  Jasmine stood tall, shoulders back. I had no idea how much she understood of our spoken words, but something told me she could read any situation, and as her gaze flitted back and forth between Tate and me, she might sense more than I wanted.

  “I love the socks,” I offered.

  Jasmine licked her lips then spoke. “You.” She swallowed then lick
ed her lips again. “Do. You. Know. Alice.” She spoke with perfect pronunciation and her head bobbed slightly with each uttered word.

  “I do.” I smiled the same smile I used when a child at the center exhibited shyness. Remembering how frustrated I got when I’d visited a friend in Mexico City and her family spoke at lightning speed in Spanish, I pointedly slowed my words. “Alice is a good friend. I love her.” I placed my hand over my heart with the word love, and she beamed, flashing white upper teeth that were mostly straight, other than one incisor that tilted at an angle.

  “Here, you two sit down.” Tate had already set out three places at the kitchen table. I followed the two of them, waiting for a cue for which seat to take.

  Jasmine stood two feet from the table. Her poise struck me as both remarkable, and a sign she wasn’t yet comfortable in her new home.

  “Which seat do you normally—?” Confusion flashed, and I started over. “You. Sit.”

  Tate brought a platter of crackers, cheese, and grapes over to the table.

  “Jasmine sits here. I sit here. You can sit here.” He placed himself between us at the rectangular table, with himself sitting at the head.

  There were so many questions I wanted to ask Jasmine, but I didn’t want to put her on the spot. I’d been in a similar position, where I was learning a language, and knew how frustrating it could feel, trying to decipher every word and feeling like a conversation was nothing more than a verbal test of skill.

  Something told me Tate felt similarly, as he spoke more slowly when talking to her, and took care not to put her in the spotlight. But he spoke more fluidly than I did, and she seemed to understand him.

  I thought back on some initial phrases you learned when studying a language and put some of those to use. “How old are you?”

  “Thirteen.”

  I already knew the answer and smiled at her enthusiasm. She could pass for eighteen. If I’d met her on campus, I would have assumed she was a freshman, or maybe even a sophomore.

  “Do you like it here?” I meant in America, but the moment I said it, I knew Tate interpreted the question differently.

  “Yes.”

  Tate spoke up. “She’s doing great. She meets with her tutor Monday through Friday. And Alice has taken her under her wing. She spends time with Alice every weekend and some evenings.” With his head turned to me, and in a rapid side comment, he added, “I half expect her to come home chanting.”

  I traced my fingers over the charm Alice gave me. Jasmine’s gaze followed my movement, and she smiled.

  “Alice. Is. From. Africa. Like. Me.”

  I remembered what Alice once told me, and I repeated it. “Alice has roots in three countries. Cuba. The United States. And Somalia.” Jasmine beamed. “You are both from Somalia. What a small world, huh?”

  Confusion flashed, and I knew I’d spoken too quickly. I tried to think of an easier way to convey the small world concept and gave up.

  “Nice,” I said and then realized I’d said it like I was talking to a deaf child.

  For dinner, Tate had roasted a vegetable mix and tossed a fresh salad. Within minutes, we finished the meal, offering tight smiles to each other. I got up to serve the pie.

  I watched as Jasmine tentatively dipped the prongs of her fork into the pink filling. She placed the tiniest amount on her tongue and tapped it against the top of her mouth. She seemed to like it somewhat and ate about half of her slice. Something told me she was far too polite, or too grateful, to turn down any food, even if she found it horrible.

  After dinner, Jasmine and I got up to clear the dishes, and Tate shooed us out. “Go upstairs and check out her bedroom. Maybe you’ll get some ideas for furniture or decorations?”

  She led the way up to her freshly painted room. The crisp white we painted the whole place in had worked to brighten the space and create a calming guest room. But now that a young girl would live in the room, the plain white struck me as far too barren for a teenager’s room.

  Books were placed on the bookshelves in perfect alignment, tallest to shortest. On one shelf, notebooks filled the shelf in tidy stacks. Clothes folded in neat piles on the floor lined one wall. I knew without checking her closet would hold an orderly line of shoes and hanging clothes.

  “I can bring over my laptop, and we can go over some ideas for bedspreads, or art for the walls, maybe some posters or frame some photos. Get you a dresser for your clothes.”

  Her eyes crinkled around the corners. I’d talked too fast. I also suspected my word choice might be beyond her current English level. It would be easier to show her pictures.

  “Nice room. We can make it pretty,” I said.

  She looked around the room, then at me. “The. Room. Is. Beauty. Full.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “I. Study. You. Be. With.” She hesitated, then added, “Father.”

  She stood, poised, while discreetly massaging the right side of her jaw. She cast a wishful glance to the bookshelf.

  I got it. Sure, most other thirteen-year-olds would climb on the bed and grab an electronic device of choice and act like I’d already left the room. Jasmine wasn’t like that…yet. But she’d get there.

  “Would you like to come to the research center one day this week? I’ll show you shells? Fish? Turtles?” She smiled and nodded, but I didn’t feel confident she knew what I’d said. It didn’t matter. I’d see her again.

  When I joined Tate downstairs, he was wiping down the counters.

  “Her room turned out nice.” The last time I’d seen it, it had been a shell of white walls and built-ins.

  “She needs furniture. I think my idea to get what she likes wasn’t a good one.”

  “I think she’ll like anything you get her right now. She seems so eager to please. If you want, I’ll show her a dresser and bedspread, maybe a bedside table and lamp? I can line up several options. Get her to point at what she likes best? I don’t think she’d ever ask for anything. If I were to guess, she’s probably overwhelmed with all she has now.”

  “Yes, the adoption agency warned about that. Said to not overwhelm her with gifts.”

  “I think you’re doing a good job.”

  He wrung out the cloth and hung it over the side of the kitchen sink. He exhaled, and his shoulders rounded. “Thanks. I don’t know what I’m doing. It’s good to hear you don’t think I’m bungling it too badly.”

  I laughed. “Well, let’s be real. I know nothing about it. But she seems happy. She’s healthy. Focused and determined. Those are all good things, right? And she referred to you as father.”

  “She did?” he asked, incredulous.

  “Yeah.” I didn’t get the sense she felt he was her father yet, but using the word was an undeniable start. “She was massaging her jaw, though. Do you think she might need a dentist?”

  “Oh. No. She’s been thoroughly examined by all the doctors, including a dentist. She’s healthy. They said to expect her jaw muscles may be sore as she uses different muscles…you know, learning an unfamiliar language.”

  “Interesting. Do you give her Advil or something?”

  “I haven’t yet, but if she needs it…” He paused, leaving his incomplete thought hanging, and rested his palms on the counter. “Want to go for a walk?”

  “Sure.”

  He walked over to the stairs and shouted up the stairwell. “Jasmine, we’re going out for a walk.”

  He stood three steps up, waited, glancing between me and the top of the stairs. After a beat, Jasmine answered with her own yell. “Okay. I. Read. Then. Go to. Sleep.”

  “Good night,” he shouted.

  Then she called, “Good. Night.”

  I smiled at the scene, and his gaze washed over me. “What?”

  “I think you two are making excellent progress toward being a family. I like the new hair cut.” I had liked his hair longer and wavy, but he looked just as attractive. The trim cut wiped out the sun’s highlights, leaving only dark strands. He reached into th
e hall closet and pulled out a long winter coat.

  “Thanks. Here. It’s cold out on the beach. But it’s a clear night.”

  All bundled up, we made our way down the wooden boardwalk, our hands buried deep in our coat pockets. The stars lit the night sky, a million brilliant pinpricks over an enigmatic sea. In the distance, lights from the oil rigger off the coast danced. One ship traversed the coast with a spotlight combing the shore.

  “You think they’re fishing?” I asked.

  He stopped and studied it. “In February? Here? I don’t think so, but…they’re close. Maybe it’s just a yacht traveling down to warmer waters.”

  “Judging from the marina, it seems there are many of those. Still, February’s a bit off season.” I scrunched my nose, trying to remember when yachts from far away showed up in the marinas at home. It seemed like they were there year-round.

  “Those yachts are the kind that hire someone to make the trip. Wouldn’t expect the owners to head out in undesirable conditions.”

  “That’s true. Spring breaks are around the corner. Someone might move their yacht down to the Keys so they can enjoy it in the upcoming season.”

  “It’s kind of nice thinking about what a ship is doing out there, right? I used to do that all the time when we’d see lights. Of course, in the South China Sea, you’re also looking for signs it might be pirates or…” He trailed off.

  We walked silently and passed several dark, oceanfront homes, before I gathered up my courage.

  “Tate, when you were away, did you ever think of me?”

  He found a place to sit on an enormous piece of driftwood beached near the dunes. I joined him on the log, placing a couple of feet between us, and waited, hoping he would give me answers.

  “Every single night when I looked at the moon.”

  “Yeah, I suppose my name sort of does that to people.”

  “And every single day.”