Where I Found You

by Heidi R. Kling

  Carefully, I tucked the card back into my old journal and splashed cold water on my face. I stared at myself in the mirror, the counter cool marble on my palms. The glass was clear. But five years later, I still didn’t look like me.

  Chapter Two

  My bedroom felt wrong in that walking-out-of-a-matinee-movie way when the pinging started.

  Ting.

  Bing.

  Ting bing.

  Sighing, I got up off my bed and pushed aside my window curtain.

  Spider?

  Bev’s twin brother and my long-lost other best friend stood under my window, just like he did when we were twelve and didn’t have a care in the world.

  I blinked to make sure my eyes weren’t teasing.

  He waved up to me, his sandy blond hair still wet from the sea. I cracked open my window, and a cool, foggy breeze rushed in.

  “Are you throwing rocks at my window?” I asked.

  “Shells. I heard you locked yourself in your bedroom.”

  “Really? Who told you that?”

  “Bev.”

  Of course she did. After I gave her the rundown earlier, their whole family probably knew.

  “Figured if you’re in solitary, it wasn’t a good time for me to knock on your door, but you might let me harass you from down here.” He grinned confidently. Everyone was always happy to see Spider, and he knew it. He had that easy way about him that guys who’d never had anything bad happen to them seemed to possess.

  Lucky him. Lucky Spider. If he could bottle it up, I’d ask for that for my birthday.

  I frowned. “Why aren’t you in Yosemite with your family?”

  “Big wave weekend. Competition at the break.”

  The waves on our part of the coast were so huge, the neighboring town hosted an international surfing competition.

  Fearless Spider was that good?

  “You’re competing?”

  “I wish. Trying to get qualified. No small task. Want to come down and try the girls’ wave?

  He was joking, right? I hadn’t surfed since…before.

  As if he could read my spiraling emotions—of course he could, he’d always been able to read me—he stood up straighter and cleared his throat. “So I found something of yours the other day. And since it’s your birthday, I figured it was the perfect time to give it to you.”

  He remembered my birthday? I hadn’t talked to Spider one-on-one in forever. Whenever I saw him, it was in passing at his and Bev’s house, or at the beach surrounded by his posse of surfer bros and female groupies. It had been years since he acknowledged me at school when we walked past each other in the halls, and now he showed up at my house all nonchalant remembering my birthday?

  “Really? What is it?” I asked.

  “Not telling. You’ll have to come over and find out. It’s in my closet, waiting for you.”

  I felt my face flush imagining being in Spider’s house, in Spider’s room, alone with him after all this time. After what happened the last time.

  Not going there.

  Apparently, neither was he. We just stared at each other until I couldn’t take it anymore.

  “So, um, Bev probably told you about my birthday ‘surprise.’”

  Spider nodded.

  I nibbled on the rough skin next to my index fingernail. “I don’t fly.”

  “I know,” he said without missing a beat. Of course he knew. He was there when it all went away. Sienna doesn’t fly anymore. Sienna doesn’t surf anymore. Sienna doesn’t do anything anymore.

  Sienna just doesn’t.

  “But if things were…different, it would be kind of cool helping the tsunami survivors and all that,” he said encouragingly.

  Wait a second. I eyed him. “Did my dad ask you to talk me into going?”

  Spider frowned. “No. Why would you think that?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just… I’m kinda surprised to see you.”

  Spider shifted back and forth from one foot to the other on the sidewalk, the same sidewalk we used to skate race when we were kids. Once white and smooth, the concrete was now chipped and cracked, bits of scraggly grass growing between the spaces.

  I felt a lot like that sidewalk.

  “Look,” he called up, running a hand through his hair. “I better jam. Just wanted to stop by and wish you a happy birthday. Come over when you’ve bailed yourself out of your self-imposed isolation cell.”

  And now we were back to the distance I’d gotten used to. “Okay.”

  He looked up at me again, like he might want to say something else, but instead shrugged. “See ya,” he said, with a little wave.

  “Spider?”

  He stopped. “Yeah, Sea?”

  I flinched at the sound of my old nickname, and it totally threw me off. I had wanted to ask if he’d come because he wanted to be friends again and if so, why? After all this time, why now? But that sounded lame. We weren’t little kids anymore, and instead of being the skinny hyper kid I used to hang out with, Spider was one of the hottest guys on the cove, his body filling out his chin-to-toe wet suit in all the right places, his lean surfer body now over six feet tall.

  I blinked, watching him.

  He was All That and I wasn’t anymore.

  I wasn’t Sea anymore.

  “It’s Sienna now,” I corrected him. “Not Sea.”

  “Oh, right.” He sounded disappointed. “I forgot.”

  Shrugging, I stared past him, down the long street of our neighborhood, toward the sliver of silver-blue sea in the distance.

  If there were ever a tsunami here, it would hit Spider’s house first.

  I imagined the tall windows shattering into razors of glass. Spider, Bev, and their perfect tennis-playing parents running from the giant wave as the water thrashed over their expensive furniture, flooding their polished wooden floors and overflowing their granite countertops.

  Spider wouldn’t be so happy-go-lucky if that happened.

  I looked back at his uncomfortable face and felt horrible. What was wrong with me?

  “See ya, then, Sienna.”

  “See ya, Spider.”

  I watched Spider walk away until he disappeared up his driveway ten houses down.

  Closing my eyes, I took another deep breath of salty air and let it tingle down my throat. Even after all the grief it had given me, the ocean still smelled good.

  The ocean still smelled like home.

  Dad was reading a thick book about child soldiers when I glanced into the den later that evening. The African boy on the cover was staring straight ahead, his eyes angry but empty somehow. He looked about ten years old and was bare-chested, pointing a gun toward a broad blue sky. The gun was obviously not a toy. A dim fluorescent light bent over Dad’s book, illuminating the unsettled look on his face.

  Dad’s office smelled like stale coffee and the lavender from Oma’s garden, dried and hanging on the wall. The scent still reminded me of Mom, and I wondered why Dad kept it in here, when it seemed like most of the time he didn’t want to be reminded, or talk about her, anyway. About what happened.

  “Oma said you wanted to talk,” I said, standing in the doorway.

  My birthday was several days ago, and we’d pretty much been avoiding each other since.

  Worked for me, but apparently it wasn’t working for Dad.

  Jazz music blasted from two old speakers on opposite ends of the mahogany desk where Dad sat. When I was little, he used to spin me around and around in that worn black office chair. Now I didn’t come in here much. We all had our corners in this house. The den was Dad’s.

  “Hey, kiddo. I need to talk to you about the trip.”

  My insides twisted into a sticky web. “That looks like light reading,” I said, trying to stall him.

  “The book isn’t light reading. That’s the point,” he said defensively, his face half shadowed in the light. “Ugly things are happening in the world, and if I can, I’m going to do something to help. If I can’t help stop i
t, I’ll do something to help heal the wounds. That’s what Team Hope was…is…all about.”

  “Team Hope? That’s what you’re calling your group now?”

  “Yes. We changed it…in honor of your mom.”

  I didn’t know what to say. His international work was the reason she was gone.

  And now she was being replaced by Vera.

  My stomach seized, and I spun around to storm away. “Whatever.”

  “Sienna, please stop.”

  I clenched my teeth and slowly turned back around. The circles under his eyes were darker than usual, but this time I didn’t feel bad. I was tired, too. We were all tired.

  He moved toward me, setting his hand on my shoulder, in his robo-Dad way. But I shrugged it off.

  “Listen, I know you’re still mad and I want to apologize. I thought if I surprised you with the ticket you might not be as averse to coming along. Okay, that’s a lie.” He chuckled a little, making me want to scream. “I knew you’d say no, and I really wanted you to say yes.”

  I didn’t answer. He was supposed to know better than to act like this. He was supposed to be an expert. My eyes stung with frustration.

  “I’m sorry, honey. Being a dad of a teenage girl doesn’t come with instructions,” he said.

  Neither does being a daughter of a widowed psychiatrist, I wanted to snap back, but instead I said the worst thing I could think of. “How could you even think of bringing her in place of Mom?” My words cracked like a whip. As soon as they were out, I wanted to suck them back in. Wanted to take back the last five years.

  Dad just stared at me.

  He scratched his beard, avoiding my eyes. “That’s not…” he started to say, but let his words trail off. “Wait. Just wait.”

  As I stood in the doorway fuming, Dad reached under his desk and held up a DVD. “I have a proposition for you.”

  The cover of the box was a faded photograph of three little girls standing in front of a massive gray wave. “What is it?”

  “A documentary shot at the orphanage we’ll be volunteering at. Look, I know you’re angry, but I want this trip to be your choice. I’m not going to force you to go. Watch this DVD and decide for yourself.”

  No way would it be that easy. “What’s the catch?”

  Dad’s face relaxed. “No catch. I’m sincerely sorry for how I acted.” He raked his fingers through his thinning hair. “How this all seems. I’ve been a mess, and I can’t apologize enough. You’re seventeen years old now, so I might as well be honest with you.” He sighed. “I hate my practice. I hate listening to wealthy Americans complain. No, that sounds wrong. I get that we all have our problems, but some people have it so much worse off. I feel…stuck. If I’m stuck, I can’t help my patients. I can’t even bring myself to fix the stairs. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

  I gaped at him. Dad hated his job? Resented it even? I thought he loved helping people.

  “The house is a wreck. It’s falling apart. And as dear as she is, your grandmother drives me crazy. I feel…lost.” He sighed again. “Do you know what I mean?”

  I knew exactly what he meant.

  His voice picked up, as if he sensed that I understood. “I need to feel useful again, kiddo. I need to help people with real problems who could really use my help. This trip is something I must do. And I want you to come along. Just think about it? Please?”

  When I squinted, the broken pieces of Dad’s face blurred, and he looked like the dad who taught me to surf, to ride my bike. He looked like the man I used to believe could fix anything.

  “I’ll think about it,” I said.

  Chapter Three

  The suspense was killing me, so eventually I gave in and headed to Spider’s house.

  His eyes lit up when he opened the door. “Hey, there you are. Wasn’t sure you’d come.”

  “Yeah, well, I do like gifts.”

  I followed him upstairs. His room still smelled like crusty salt water and pizza, but now there was something different, a spicy scent, likely Ax body spray, that made it less like a kid cave and more like a sex haven. I paused in the doorway.

  Surf posters covered the walls like ocean-themed wallpaper, and I could barely see the floor, it was so covered in clothes. Maybe that’s why we used to get along so well—we both enjoyed lounging around in our own chaos.

  A surf movie played on his flat-screen TV. Spider’s luxurious lifestyle.

  He plopped onto the floor and dangled a half-empty bag of chips in front of me. “Want some?” Even his voice was different now.

  “I’ll pass.”

  Spider shrugged and stuffed a few chips in his mouth, seemingly oblivious to the fact that I was a girl at all. A girl who hadn’t been in his room in half a decade. So…

  When are you going to show me the thing you found for me?

  Like he could read my mind, he rolled up the empty bag, shot it easily into the basketball hoop beside his door, and watched it swoosh into the trashcan underneath.

  “Nice shot.”

  “Some things never change,” he said. “Did you decide about Indo yet?”

  I could have told him about the DVD.

  How I watched half of it. That I didn’t finish it. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I couldn’t. It was too scary hearing the kids’ stories mixed in with news camera footage of the massive wave rushing through villages, destroying everything in its wake. The screams as the people ran and swam and struggled for safety. How one little girl, with a white flower in her hair, hid from the camera’s questions the whole time. She wouldn’t speak at all, like she was hiding from her own story. The whole time I watched, I couldn’t stop thinking: maybe she’d speak to me.

  “Can we talk about something else?” I asked Spider.

  I noticed the summer freckles sprinkled across his nose when he asked, “Come on, you don’t want to go to Indo even a little bit? Because I remember, we used to… Well, you used to always say you wanted to travel with your parents one day.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Do you swear my dad isn’t bribing you to convince me to go? I mean, I know Bev would never succumb to that kind of pressure, but you,” I said, “are an entirely different story.”

  “Swear,” he said, holding up his pinky—our old ritual. “And I take offense at the suggestion.”

  I stared at his tanned hand. I saw him with the girls on the cove, at the bonfires, his arm loosely slung around some girl’s shoulder, sharing a big wool blanket. Touching Spider wasn’t something I did anymore. They did. But since I had no other option, I lamely pinky-sweared with him before quickly letting go. He had other girls to tangle with.

  He cocked an eyebrow and dropped his hand. “Weak,” he said, laughing off my lack of enthusiasm. “Hang on and I’ll get what you came for.” He reached under his bed and pulled out a kid-size backpack. “Remember when we were eight, your parents were leaving for Vietnam and we thought we’d stow away in your dad’s truck? Well, I found yours. Your pack.”

  “No way!” I held up the Scooby-Doo pack. “Sea” was written on top in bright pink cursive. “I can’t believe you still have this!”

  “They almost missed their plane when they found us hiding in the back,” he said. “Your dad was so pissed, but your mom just laughed.”

  His words stuck to the air like flypaper. I tried to swallow them away, but my throat was a desert. “Yeah, I remember,” I managed.

  “I know it’s not that old Jeep you’re drooling over, but maybe it’s something better. Maybe it’s a time machine.”

  I carefully unzipped the top. The inside was still stuffed with the little kid clothes I’d packed all those years ago. I pressed my nose into it. Yep. It even smelled like that time. Youth. Happiness. The time when wishing on dandelion fluff was all I needed.

  “This is the best gift I got,” I said and hugged it to my chest. “Thank you, Spider.”

  “It’s a sign, Sea,” Spider said, his voice low, cautious. “This time you really get to go.�
�

  Was it a sign?

  I didn’t believe in signs, not anymore. I stared at the bag but didn’t dare look at Spider, who was so close I could feel his breath on my cheek. “If I decide to go, I have to get a bunch of shots. They have serious diseases over there, you know. I might die.”

  “You sound like Bev,” he laughed. “You won’t die. If you come back with something, we’ll just put you back in your bubble so you don’t contaminate the rest of us.”

  I smiled and played with the backpack’s worn zipper. “Would you visit me in the bubble?”

  “Of course,” Spider said. “Someone has to bring you Popsicles.”

  I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “In that case, it might be worth going. I think bubble house life would appeal to me.”

  He slung an arm around me and tickled my side like he used to. It felt weird to laugh like this. Weird, but good. I barely recognized the sound of my own laughter.

  Finding the backpack was fate, he’d said.

  Maybe it was. In more ways than one.

  I wasn’t ready for the other way. For him.

  But I was ready for Indonesia.

  “You’re right. I should go.”

  He toyed with a strand of my hair, twisting it around his finger, tugging it, letting it unspool. “Are you sure?”

  “I think…” I swallowed. “I think it’s the right thing to do.”

  He glanced at my lips. With his arm around me, the backpack was the only thing between us, and I was suddenly very aware of how little space it created.

  Yep. Totally not ready.

  I pulled away, remembering the last time we were this close as clear as if it were yesterday. His curious eyes and the taste of his cherry-Popsicle lips.

  And then the horrible thing that happened after.

  I wasn’t sure about a lot of things, but I was sure about this:

  I couldn’t kiss Spider again.

  I grabbed the backpack, blurted out another quick thanks, and tore out of his room the same way I had that sweet and terrible day.

  Maybe an ocean between us wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

  Chapter Four

  “So you’re actually going through with this?” Bev asked. “Wow. I’m proud of you, sister.”