Where I Found You

by Heidi R. Kling

  A wave crashed over a log in the shallows. The log bobbed around, twisting with the motion of it, but it didn’t sink. It stayed afloat. I scanned the top of the frothy water, hoping to point out the floating humps to Deni, but the sea turtles were gone.

  “Saya akan rinda anda,” I said. I will miss you.

  His eyes filled with tears, and I could barely stand it.

  I wanted to tell him that you can meet someone and they can change your life forever, even if you have only known them for a short while, that when you leave, you’re a different person than before you met them…and I understood that because of Deni.

  I wanted to tell him that, all of that, but I knew he couldn’t say it back.

  “Saya akan rinda anda,” he whispered. “I will miss you, too, Sienna. Terima kasih, for everything.”

  “I thought that’s only what tourists say?” I dared to look into his eyes, teasing him, gently.

  “It’s what you say. I will always use it. I will always love it.”

  I will always love you.

  He touched my hand to his forehead and then he touched his own heart.

  We held hands like we would never let go.

  We held hands until the log floated all the way out to sea.

  I sat alone at the Aceh airport, grasping Deni’s unread note in my hand.

  I felt so utterly alone that I unzipped my backpack and searched for Spider’s shell.

  I made myself a deal: if it was broken, if it was shattered, my life was officially over.

  But it wasn’t. It was perfect.

  I put it back and opened up my journal. Took out my postcard from Mom. I had already re-read it at least twenty times when I heard my name and looked up.

  Running through the airport toward me, face flushed, eyes wild, was Dad. “Sienna Hope Jones!” he yelled out, his hug nearly crushing me. He was crying, I was crying. Well, I was already crying, then I was crying even harder. I must have looked so weird standing there bawling, Deni’s note in one hand, Mom’s postcard in the other, my open journal in a heap on the ground.

  “Are you okay?” he demanded.

  I got the feeling if I said no, I’d be in even bigger trouble. “No. Yes. I don’t know.”

  “You aren’t hurt? Sick?” he said, checking me over. “Nothing’s broken?”

  Do hearts count? “I’m okay, Dad.”

  He rubbed his forehead. “I would have come sooner, but there was a huge storm, my plane was delayed… It was a nightmare. I just kept imagining the worst. Don’t you ever leave me again without my permission, do you understand me?”

  When I nodded, he hugged me again. Then he dug into his pocket and handed me a tissue. “When Nada gave me the note you left on your old bunk, everything came back. Your mom’s crash. You’re just like her, you know. I should have known you’d come alone.”

  I plunked back onto my seat. “You think I’m like Mom?”

  “You’ve always been like her. You’ve just been subdued for so long, I stopped worrying as much. I let down my guard, and this happens.” He gestured off into the terminal, like he was explaining it to someone other than me. He grabbed my hands and stared me down. “Sweetie. I can’t lose you both.”

  Then he glanced down at my lap. At the two sea turtles. At the glassy blue ocean.

  His face froze with recognition. “What is that?”

  I handed the postcard to him.

  My heart pounded as her read it, his eyes as glassy as the sea in the picture.

  “When did you get this?” he breathed.

  “After you came home.”

  “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

  I shrugged. “I guess I wanted to have something special just from her.”

  His fingertip ran down her writing like he was seeing her again.

  I felt terrible. Terrible for scaring him and terrible for keeping the card a secret. Terrible for re-opening all the hurt.

  But I had to ask him the question that had been weighing on me for so long.

  “I want you to tell me what happened to Mom.”

  He kept staring at the card.

  “I was at the Indian Ocean, Dad.”

  “Yes,” he said quietly.

  I took a deep breath. “I don’t understand why you let her go that day. Didn’t you know it was dangerous? It was raining? Why didn’t you stop her?”

  “I tried.”

  “What do you mean you tried?” That was news to me.

  “Honey, I haven’t wanted to share this with you, because I was afraid you’d blame her. And you shouldn’t. That’s the last thing I want.”

  “Just tell me. What happened?” When he made no move to answer, I grabbed his wrist. “Please, Dad. I can handle it.”

  He took a deep breath. “There was a storm that day in Thailand, and it was getting worse. The roofs were flipping off the makeshift huts, the supplies were getting wet and ruined. It was a mess. Then we received this SOS call over the radio. Your mom answered the call. There was a school with a collapsed roof, kids were hurt. She insisted we go help them. The pilot of the small plane refused. He said in the storm there was no way. It would be too dangerous. I told her we’d wait out the storm. We’d go after it passed. She said the kids couldn’t wait.” He turned away and stared at the postcard again.

  “Dad. What happened?”

  “Well, what I don’t talk about is that we got in an argument—she could be very stubborn. I insisted she stay; she said she was going. That she had to go. I didn’t believe her. She was headstrong, but logical. I didn’t think she’d risk it. I was busy helping the villagers when I heard the engine. I ran after the plane but it was too late. She took off into the storm. I should’ve stopped her but I didn’t. I live with that regret every day since.”

  We were quiet for a while.

  “How did she convince the pilot to go?” I asked finally.

  “She was working toward her pilot’s license. She just took off.”

  “Mom was flying the plane?”

  “Yes.” Dad rubbed his face. “She was convinced she could help those kids. She was a good student pilot, but anyone in a storm like that…”

  I didn’t want to hate Mom. She only wanted to help. Still, like before, I couldn’t help the burning anger welling in my chest. That was too risky. She risked too much.

  “That’s why,” Dad said, his voice breaking, “the only thing we could assume is that she went down on one of the many islands or in the sea. She was too inexperienced. The storm was too rough.” He ran a hand over my hair. “Are you okay?”

  I swallowed. “Yeah, I am. I’d rather know the truth. And I promise you’re not going to lose me. I had to help Deni. Good things happened for him because I came. Really. But I won’t do it again. If I want to do something like that again, I’ll make sure it’s okay with you. I swear.”

  I was not going to end up like Mom.

  He studied me, then he let out a long, low sigh. “I’m so glad to hear that. Speaking of Deni, where is he? Because he’s due for a nice long chat.”

  I filled Dad in on all of it. On the mass graves and Azmi and Siti. On Amelia and then the story of Rema.

  He listened mouth agape, slowly shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”

  “So he’s home,” I said. “Deni’s finally home.”

  And I was about to face a home without Deni.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  We met back up with Vera and Tom in Yogyakarta. Dad made me explain to the pesantren owner what had happened with Deni. Made me apologize for sneaking off. I was sorry. He could never know how sorry.

  I gave Elli most of the stuff from my suitcase, promised to write, promised to send her more markers. I said goodbye to Nada and the girls from the teen group. Talk-talk was at an all-time high. I didn’t care, though.

  Mostly I was just numb.

  All in all, Dad said, the family system was a successful trial, that they helped the kids learn how to better deal with their PTSD symptoms, that no
thanks to me, we might be invited back another time. But like all these projects, it was baby steps. There was no cure-all in two weeks. Two weeks was not going to take away that much pain.

  But at least it was a start.

  I could barely stand being there without Deni. He was everywhere I looked. When we finally boarded our plane for home, I breathed—just a little—for the first time since Aceh.

  “Do you wanna watch something?” Tom said, handing me his headphones after the Fasten Seat Belt sign went off. “Indonesian game shows. Could be fun.”

  Dad and Vera were sitting together, watching the same movie, laughing at the same jokes. For once it didn’t make me totally ill. At least one of us was happy.

  “Maybe later,” I told Tom.

  I excused myself to use the bathroom where I finally opened Deni’s letter.

  For my Rambut Kuning

  You came to me shining like the sun, you changed my life. Everything you are is light when all I knew before was dark. When I touch you I want to hold on forever. You are beautiful as jeumpa flower the girls sing about. As pure. As sweet. You are wild. You are brave. There is a song in Aceh it means: You are me and I am you. You are my wife. You are my life. Wait for me in America. I will work hard. I will find you.

  -Deni

  He wrote the letter before he knew about Rema.

  When he thought I was the girl he was going to marry.

  Tears I couldn’t stop fell on his words, smearing the ink, until I had to hold the paper away from my eyes to keep from ruining it.

  Oh, Deni. How do I forget you?

  I woke up to the flight attendant’s voice. “We’ve started our descent into San Francisco International Airport. Please make sure your seat belts are fastened and your tray tables are in their full upright and locked position. Thank you for flying Air Ethelia.”

  It was funny how little I cared about the landing. Or the multiple transatlantic flights at all.

  My seat belt was on, and I just figured we’d land okay.

  You will always land in one piece. Deni had told me when we were in the airport waiting for our flight to Aceh.

  The whole flight I’d been replaying Deni’s words in my head. If Deni could survive all that he lost, couldn’t I? I hoped he was right. That I would always land in one piece. Right now, without the hope of our future together, and the valley-sized hole in my heart, it felt useless to even try.

  The clouds outside my window were turning cotton candy pink again. It was sunset in California. On the way to Indo, the colors were leading me somewhere, to the street kids, to the orphans. To Elli.

  To Amelia, Azmi and Siti. To Dad and Mom.

  To Deni.

  I held my warm palm against the ice-cold window.

  The Orange Popsicle Haze was now lighting my way back home.

  Oma and Bev were waiting for us at the airport with a handmade sign that read Team Hope and Teen Runaway Sienna Jones.

  “Very funny, guys,” I said, buried in a group hug until Bev shrugged me off.

  “Wait wait wait. Do you have any infectious diseases?”

  “I was exposed to the bird flu,” I deadpanned.

  “Seriously?”

  I shrugged. “I was around lots of caged birds. And they don’t want to put them to sleep there, even the sick ones. They’re pets, especially the doves.” I remembered Deni’s story about his mom and her pet songbirds.

  I couldn’t believe I was back in California.

  Oma laughed and hugged me again while Bev examined me for foaming of the mouth or oozing sores.

  “Bev, I’m kidding. I don’t have bird flu. But it’s true about the birds.”

  “Well, you’re lucky. I was about to put you in quarantine!” She nailed me playfully with her sharp elbow. “And if you’re wondering where my brother is, he gave up waiting for you and went surfing in Mexico.”

  I thought about the irony of him chasing waves while my friends in Aceh ran from them.

  They asked about the flight, the food, our adventure. I told them if we were in Indo, we’d be having this conversation over spicy hot tea.

  “Ready to go, kiddo?” Dad asked me. “We could stop for pizza on the way home.”

  “No, thanks,” I said. There was only one place I wanted to be, and I needed to go there alone.

  I grabbed Mom’s old long board and headed down to the sea.

  It wasn’t easy at first—stepping into the water, wading out, remembering—but I pushed myself and paddled out.

  The sun was setting, and for the first time in forever I wasn’t scared—not of sharks lurking beneath the waves, not of an epic wipeout, not even of death. Not that I wanted to die. I absolutely did not want to die. It was different than that.

  I wanted to be brave.

  After several banged-up tries, I stood up on my board, catching my first wave in years. It was scary as hell, but still I did it. And then I wiped out.

  Epically.

  Disoriented by the hit, I spun under the sea. Swimming the wrong direction at first, my hands grasped sand instead of sky, and I panicked.

  No.

  If you panic, you’ll drown. Just go the other way. Turn around.

  My heart racing, I kicked off the bottom of the ocean and swam to the surface. Sputtering, I gasped for breath, half-laughing, half-crying with relief that I was alive. I looked around for my board, and there it was, floating ten yards away. I swam toward it, pulled my body back on to the scratchy surface, and hung on tight with both arms, like it was a person I loved, my left cheek in the cold water.

  And there he was, with me again.

  Deni.

  “I miss you,” I said out loud. “I love you. I’ll always remember.”

  He didn’t answer me. Of course he didn’t. How could he? He was on the other side of the world with Rema, and I was alone.

  There was no one but the gulls squawking above me.

  I’d miss Deni every day for the rest of my life. I’d miss my mom forever. I got that now.

  Without pain there’d be no life. That was part of the process. I’d never have fully lived without having met Deni, Elli, the Aceh kids, the relief workers—it was all part of this same flow. If they hadn’t given up after all they faced, how could I?

  I wouldn’t.

  Not today, and not ever. That would be my promise to him, to not only remember but to live, to move on, to enjoy this life, whatever was waiting for me here.

  “Goodbye,” I whispered into the sunset. “And thank you.”

  Sucking in a cool breeze breath, I hauled myself to my feet, and standing solidly on my board with the Orange Popsicle Haze behind me, I sailed toward the shore.

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  Acknowledgments

  Many thanks to Penguin for publishing the original version of Sea. To Heather Howland and her wonderful crew at Entangled for reimagining this special edition and its sequel, Where the Sea Takes Me. I never stopped thinking about these characters and wondering what they’ve been up to (yes, writers are weird like that!). To all my readers and reviewers who asked for a sequel—now we’ll all know.

  My kids were babies when I first published Sea, and now, like this new book, they are seven years older. My husband’s human rights program at Stanford is thriving, doing crucial work focusing on crimes against women and children, around the world, and I can’t help but think about the passing of time. The new ending to Where I Found You is what I’d originally wanted for Sienna when I wrote Sea in 2007. Aceh is even more conservative, doling out harsh punishments for things we consider in Western culture to be no big deal (a woman in shorts, a non-married couple kissing). I made a few updates to reflect that attitude.

  Today, we need the Denis of the world more than ever. And like Deni and Sea, we must continue to hope. Terima kasih for reading, and check out book two, Where
the Sea Takes Me. You don’t want to miss what happens next…

  About the Author

  Heidi R. Kling writes novels about contemporary teen girls set in fantastic situations. She’s the author of the acclaimed novel Sea, bestselling fantasy series Spellspinners of Melas County, and more. A native Californian, she currently lives with her husband, two children, and scruffy Sailor pup in Palo Alto, California, where she also teaches self-esteem building classes for kids. She earned her MFA in Creative Writing from The New School in NYC. Visit Heidi @ http://heidirkling.com or on social media. She loves to chat with her readers!

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