by Janel Kolby
They’ve slowed now. Right behind. Walking as slow as me. The pier’s edge ahead—where we all first met. The beginning is the end, and the end is the beginning. Except King’s not here.
Their family of shoes stops as I keep walking.
And then I see it.
My boot—
Flipped on its side, tongue wide open. Laces spilled out in a tangle.
No one’s taken it. No one would. Useless without its pair—how Dad tells me. We belong in pairs.
I kneel down to it. Touch the leather toe. Expect it to breathe. And there is breathing . . . behind me.
I put down my book, take the boot in my hands, and slip in my foot with the torn stocking. Pull the strings tight. Tighter. I remember what Mom taught me. Form a bunny hole. The bunny runs around the hole. Squeezes through.
Escapes.
Their footsteps come to me.
I bow my head, and my hair covers my face.
A hand touches my head, and my locket burns my heart. I know that hand is a woman’s. Some things I remember. Some things I don’t need my dad to tell me.
“We were wondering where you went,” she says. “We just sat down to dinner. Would you like to join us? Do you like fish and chips?”
“Fish ’n’ chips.” I look up. Fish ’n’ chips from King.
“She’s talking!” Doryn says.
“She’s repeating,” Carter says, but his eyes hold interest.
Doryn squats beside me. “Fish and chips. And my favorite—clam chowder. Do you want some?”
Yes, my stomach says.
“Okay?” Doryn asks.
Yes. I want to eat.
The mom’s hand moves from my head to my shoulder. To my arm. She pulls, and I go with her.
Food that doesn’t come in a bag tastes different. Here, on a plate, I see all the fish ’n’ chips at one time. Bags tease. Sometimes they hide a piece, and when you find it, you get a gift. Sometimes you think you have more, but you don’t, and nothing can keep away the hollow in your stomach.
Food on a plate is simple. It says, Eat me or don’t. You decide.
Okay, I will, I say, and I pick up a french fry.
I dip it in a cup that someone personally squeezed some ketchup in, and I swirl the fry. Dip, dip. I take my time. Even though my stomach grumbles.
The wind blows my hair from my face so I can eat.
And then I taste the salt. The sweet ketchup. The crisp, then hot, soft center. The ketchup leaves its prints on my fingers. I lick.
How about some fish? the plate says.
I pick up a medium piece and tear it in three bits. I dip one in tartar—the right amount to save some for each and every piece. And then I let it melt in my mouth.
A bowl of hot chowder waits for me. So warm in my hands. I tilt it to my lips.
A giggle stops me. Doryn, next to me. He’s eating his chowder with a spoon. They’re all eating with spoons. Wasteful when you can sip from a cup. Carter and their mom are trying extra hard not to look, but Doryn smiles. A nice smile.
I set my bowl down and touch the handle of the silver spoon. Mom stirred sugar into her coffee with a silver spoon. I remember that. Can’t do that with your finger unless you want to hurt yourself. That wasn’t her intent.
Her spoon always made a sound—clink-clink-clink.
Clink.
Doryn spoons up his last bite.
I like looking at him. He’s what a real kid should look like. He’s miniature everything—blond like his family, but with a front tooth missing and a soft pink scar across the bottom of his chin. I wonder how he got it—climbing a tree, riding a bike, roller-skating, or pretending to be a plane. Running for the fun of it. I wonder if it hurt when he fell. I wonder if it was worth it.
He and Carter have changed their clothes. The salt is drying in mine, and it scratches.
I don’t like looking at the mom. But hard not to. She has a trinity of moles on her forehead. I want to connect them with my ketchup into a triangle. I read about the Bermuda. I liked to think Mom swam there, got lost, and would find her way out.
Carter sneaks a peek at me—his eyes try to occupy mine. I know what he’s thinking. I saved you.
I’m not yours, I tell him.
Carter wipes his mouth with a cloth napkin, sure to leave a cream smear on all that white.
Forks lift, knives cut. All around me—as if it’s normal to eat outside with a fork and knife.
As if knives are only used for eating.
I wonder what King’s knife looks like—for I’d rather think of that than what King might look like. As I’m here in a chair with food in my mouth. I know he fought. It’s the only reason he’d leave me.
My stomach’s had enough.
I fold my hands on my lap, on top my book.
“The sun will be setting soon,” the mom says.
And then it will be too dark to find home. I used to like the dark, but now I don’t want to look at the corners around me. What might be watching.
Is that King?
A black skullcap peeks out from across the street.
I stand, and my water cup knocks over. My book falls to the ground. Everyone else jumps up.
Where did he go?
People cross in and out every which way, and he’s gone.
Couldn’t have been King. He woulda stayed and let me see. He’d take me back. We’d go back together.
I keep standing.
“What is it?” the mom says.
Doryn wipes the water with a napkin.
I’m so clumsy. Shouldn’t be at a table. I take my napkin and try to help. “So sorry.”
They all turn to me with big eyes. As if they heard my hamster—the one waiting for me—speak. No one expects creatures to have a voice. But they do.
Doryn whispers, “She talks English.”
Of course I do.
Ice burns my hand when I pick it up off the tablecloth, but I let it burn. The only frozen water I’ve had is snow, with my face and hands cold. I set the ice on my hot tongue, and it melts easy. I try to find the flavor. Minerals, earth, season. King makes fun when I do it. But all water tastes different. I read once how we’re mostly water, and I think when something’s so much a part of you, it’s hard for some to see a difference. But I can. This water’s not from here.
Doryn picks my book off the ground. “Where’s your other shoe?” he asks.
Gone. An accident. Or not an accident.
I bite the ice, which is almost melted now. Nearly gone.
I step out some more and look for King. My clothes move stiff against me.
“I need to get my laundry.”
“What?” The mom comes over to me. “Your laundry?”
She must be tired of me. I bite the ice again and nod. If I can get to my laundry, I’m sure I can get home.
“I can call a cab for you. What’s the laundromat called?”
“Coin Laundr. The y is missing.”
“Coin Laundry.” She rubs her palms over her mom hips. “Do you know where it is? Do you have an address?”
Addresses again. I want to draw her a map with the library and good Hank’s Hot Dogs & Chili and the laundry and the Jungle.
Instead, I point. I know it’s in that direction.
She takes a phone from her purse and does some things to it. She has a phone. She squints her eyes and looks deep into the crystal ball part. “There are seventy-eight coin laundries in Seattle.”
That’s not so many.
She sighs. Too many. She’s putting her phone away.
“It’s by Hank’s,” I say. “Hank’s Hot Dogs & Chili.”
I wish the boys would stop staring at me. YES, I CAN SPEAK.
She frowns and does more things to her phone. Her head shakes. “I can’t find a Hank’s Hot Dogs & Chili.”
“Used to be fish ’n’ chips.” I should tell her about the library, but I can’t go there if they know about the book. I can tell her the place, though. “Beacon Hill. The la
undry’s in Beacon Hill.”
She presses more buttons. “Now I’m getting eighty-three. Isn’t Beacon Hill part of Seattle? It should be less than seventy-eight.”
I’m sure there’s only one with a y missing.
I pull up my sleeve. “Will you call this number?”
She pulls back. “On your arm? Oh. Well. Okay.” She dials. “Why do you have a number on your arm?”
I don’t think she needs an answer.
“It’s ringing,” she says.
We wait.
“Hi,” she says. “Matisse? My name is Kerry and I’m here with . . .” She looks to me.
I shouldn’t say my name.
She wrinkles her forehead, and her moles move closer together. “With . . . someone special. A young girl in a sweatshirt and leggings . . . one boot. I believe she needs some help. Will you please call me back?”
“Call back?” I ask Doryn.
“Voice mail. No one’s there.”
She finishes the call and puts her phone back in her purse. “Well, I left a message. I’m sure your friend will call back when she gets it.”
Doryn hands me the book, and I take it. “What grade are you in?” he says. “Is it the same as Carter?”
Grade? I’m not sure what he means. “A,” I say. I’ve heard it’s the best. Wait, no, that’s not right.
The mom stares. “Where do you live?” she asks.
And I wonder what she knows. What the library told Police.
The book is checked out to no one. The book is with me.
“Look.” Doryn points.
The sky is dressed in pink and gold lights that fleck out over the ocean.
“West,” I say. “The sun rises in the east. Sets in the west.” That’s what the books said, but they never said it looked like this. All I saw were trees. I thought our tent meant west, and King’s tent meant east. Now I remember. I’ve seen this sky before. But it might not remember me.
The mom steps closer. “Do you believe in angels?”
I look at her trinity forehead. “Ghosts.”
She smiles. “Me, too. I’m sure your friend will be calling. In the meantime, do you have somewhere to stay—”
I shouldn’t say it, but I do.
“Rain. My name is Rain.”
16
“WE CAN TRY YOUR friend again in the morning,” Kerry says as the big one, Carter, comes out of the bathroom. He’s in a white tank top and pajama bottoms with cartoons. He folds his tanned, muscled arms casually and sits on the couch. His bed for the night.
How’d I get here?
My bed is as tall as in The Princess and the Pea. I’m going to need a ladder.
The walls have thin red stripes, peeled from a candy cane, on top of thick cream.
Carpet. I remember that one. My feet sink and leave footprints with their pressing. Takes a vacuum to wipe them.
Lots of drawers to hold lots of stuff.
A TV blares. I remember that, too. Doryn turned it to the loonies. Pictures with noise. The cat swings a hammer at a mouse. I should tell him the story about the tobacco man and the rat. But Doryn laughs, and I want him to keep laughing.
Doryn and the mom go to the bathroom to brush their teeth.
They’re from California, Sacre-men-toe, sacred toes of men. Just visiting. They step lightly. The vacuum will take their marks away.
Why am I here?
She said we’d figure things out in the morning. We. Would there be a we if she’d found King? Or Jessiebel? Probably not.
In the morning, we’ll talk. I’ll tell her about me and the Winterfolk. She gave me a pink toothbrush cuz I didn’t have one. She seems like the type of person who’d know what to do.
Carter adjusts on the couch as if it’s uncomfortable. Three cushions’ and six pillows’ worth of uncomfortable. I wonder what his real bed is like. Ten pillows, maybe. His tank top hugs the muscles that saved me.
I keep my eyes on the TV.
She led me into this building. We went into a box called an elevator to lift us off the ground, and then she unlocked this room. Doryn and his mom will take one bed, and I’m going to sleep on the other. I think she knows I don’t sleep on a bed like this.
Doryn and the mom come out of the bathroom at the same time, both in pajamas. How does that happen? The mom carries a white robe.
She smiles. “The bathroom’s all yours. You can take a shower if you’d like.” She hands me the robe. “You can sleep in this.”
It feels like a towel.
Doryn smiles, then sticks his eyes to the TV. He makes his way to the bed and climbs.
Carter fluffs a pillow and lays down his head. Locks of blond cover the green silk pillowcase. He smiles at me, too, and I smile back. I’d sleep on the couch, but they didn’t ask me.
I go to the bathroom and close the door. It’s bigger than the one at the laundry. The counter’s made of polished rock with polished silver handles at the sink. Has both a bathtub and a shower. But not better than my present from this morning. Nothing could be. I touch a piece of pink soap carved into a rose. I pick it up to smell, and sneeze.
I set the robe on the counter and turn on the shower without leaving a fingerprint. I’m expert at that.
The water is too cold. I turn it toward the red to get warmer and let it run so the noise gives me privacy. Then I remember to lock the door.
The toilet is too nice for me to do what I need to do, but that’s what it’s for, so I do it and try not to use too much of the paper. I press the handle and my waste disappears along with the smell. But I know it’s not really gone. Just moved somewhere not so nice as here.
I take off Dad’s sweatshirt, which smells of the sea. Then my tank, which sticks to me. My boot. And everything else. My locket stays.
The top half of me looks back in the mirror. Twice now I’ve seen myself like this. My skin is pinker than this morning, and glitters like my mermaid. The numbers on my arm are dark and thick. Permanent. If I had a phone, I could try Matisse again.
I rinse my underwear in the sink, hang it on a rack by some towels to dry.
The pocket is soggy. Full of sand. I smile when I find King’s quarter. I get to the baggie. I pull out the baggie.
NO.
NO, NO, NO, NO, NO.
The baggie is empty.
Nearly empty.
A gap in the top closure. Water inside. A gummy white powder in the corners.
No.
I turn my pouch inside out. It wasn’t sand I felt. Sand would be brown or tan. Not white, and not this fine.
I sniff the water.
Salt.
From when I fell in the ocean.
King grabbed at my pouch. He wanted to take claim of it, but I wouldn’t let him. The bag must’ve opened.
I check the bathroom door to make sure it’s locked, then throw my sweatshirt in the sink and check it again. Yes, it’s locked. And the shower’s still running.
My face in the mirror is red. I wipe my forehead. So hot.
I check the water in the shower. Hot. I turn it colder.
I go back to my sweatshirt and drain the water out of the baggie—pick at the remaining white grains in my pocket and put them in the baggie. Maybe they’ll dry.
I drop my face in my hands.
I can’t tell King. I know what would happen. He’ll kill Cook. He really will this time. Or maybe King—
Two knocks on the door.
“Are you okay?” Kerry asks.
I wipe my nose. “Yes. I’ll be just a minute.”
She can’t find out.
I put the baggie under the faucet and rinse. The white powder floats to the surface of the bag and surfs down a wave through the drain. I wipe my forehead again. Fill the bag up with water. Every bit of it. And squeeze.
When the bag looks as worthless as it now is, I ball it up and throw it in the trash. I take everything else out of my pocket and rinse them good, then the pocket itself. Last, I clean the sink.
I han
g my sweatshirt to dry and jump in the cold shower to wash the ocean off my body. But not my hair. I need it in my hair for another day.
The stars shine from the window near my bed, but they’re not as bright as when I see them from home, and I need them bright to make me better—make tomorrow better.
I’m careful not to wish.
I’ve been neglecting them.
I take care of the stars, and they take care of me.
The sleep breathing from the bed next to me is louder than Dad’s. Doryn snores. Will Dad be watching out for the stars? Will he be looking for me? He was going to teach me the beads, but maybe he won’t anymore. Not after this.
I wonder if King’s looking.
My stomach is round and quiet from all the food, but my feet twitch and throb under the covers.
Carter breathes heavier than the rest of them, but he could wake any minute.
I pretend to sleep.
The mattress is soft.
King, you have no idea how soft. No idea what you were selling.
My body wants to sleep on this cloud, and I should let it. I’m so tired.
I should let it.
I don’t need to make a wish to sleep.
The stars fade under my eyelids.
In this palace, there’s not a single pea under my mattress.
17
MY BODY SLAMS AGAINST the ground. I gasp. A fish with no water, I open my eyes. Carpet against my cheek. And then I remember.
Carter stands over me in the dark, his hair too yellow to be that of a ghost. He whispers, “You fell. Like a rock.”
I roll onto my back. The other bed hidden from me.
“Don’t worry, you didn’t wake my mom.” He leans closer. “Who doesn’t know how to eat with utensils or sleep in a bed, and why don’t you talk much? Maybe you are a mermaid.” He smiles. A nice smile. “You’re kind of a beautiful curiosity.”
I prop to my elbows.
He glances down from my neck.
I look where my robe’s come loose and sit up to pull it across me. I want to get back to bed, but he holds his hands out for me to stay and I know they have the power to make me.
He slowly kneels, keeping his eyes heavy over mine.
His mouth opens. “I saved you,” it says.
I scoot back.
But then his mouth is over mine. Covering. Wet. Smothering. Mint.