Heroine's Journey

by Sarah Kuhn

  “I know that,” I said, flopping onto my back. “I thought you wanted me to keep finding hope in stuff, though. That’s what I’m doing here: hoping.”

  My voice was peevish, but the one tiny shred of practicality I possessed recognized what she was trying to communicate to me and why she was doing it. She didn’t want me to be crushed, like I had been with Dad. Like I had been every time he’d left or missed a birthday or made me believe he possessed any kind of parenting skills whatsoever. That’s what having hope did sometimes: set you up for extra big disappointments.

  Evie flopped onto her side next to me. I didn’t look at her.

  “I do want you to hope,” she said. She slung an arm around my waist and leaned her head against my shoulder. “But I also don’t want you to be sad. Which I know is a mixed message. I’m sorry if this is coming out all wrong. I’m tired, and my eyelids feel like they have tiny weights attached to them. I love you.”

  “I love you too,” I muttered, sounding every inch the surly teenager who I kept trying to leave behind.

  We lay there for a moment in silence, her breathing soft in my ear.

  “Evie,” I said hesitantly. “Do you ever wonder what things would be like if Mom was still here? I mean. Not that I wish anything was different, necessarily, we seem to have done okay constructing a weird but really pretty entertaining life for ourselves. But . . .”

  But would I feel less like a piece of me is always missing?

  Would I feel less like I’m always searching for something I can never find?

  Would I understand who I am and actually feel . . . whole?

  “Of course I wonder about that,” she said.

  I rolled on my side to face her. Did she understand? Was she about to vocalize what I’d always been afraid to? But she just smiled affectionately and smoothed my hair off my face. “But I wouldn’t trade what we have now for anything.”

  I managed to smile back, but I still felt unsettled.

  “Let’s try one last thing,” I said, sitting up. “And then we’ll call it a night, I promise. It’s a very basic data collection technique Nate taught me. Like, when you’re not getting anything, and you want to look at things on the simplest possible level. Sometimes doing that actually produces the most informative results.”

  I’d unconsciously started mimicking Nate’s know-it-all, science-y tone while I’d been talking, and now Evie was smiling at me with amusement. I cleared my throat and held up one of Mom’s letters. “Go through the letters and make a note of words that seem to be appearing frequently—but not like ‘the’ and other stupid connector words. Count how many times each of these stand-out words appear. Then look at them and see if they tell you something.”

  “Sounds like one of those word puzzles we used to do when we were kids,” Evie said. “I’m game. New spreadsheets for these, I assume?”

  “Yes,” I said, pleased that I didn’t have to instruct her on this point. “Here, you use the iPad. I’ll use my phone.”

  I tapped in a new spreadsheet doc on my phone and picked up my stack of letters with renewed vigor. Then I started to read again, looking for words that appeared a lot.

  Decoupage

  Ice cream

  Love

  I tapped them in dutifully, my brain hooking eagerly into the task. I was so absorbed in searching through the letters, I nearly fell off the bed when my phone let out a loud ding!, indicating I had a new text.

  “Oops!” I exclaimed. “Sorry.” But Evie was wrapped up in her own word search and didn’t even look at me. I swiped over from my spreadsheet to my texts and found a new message from Sam.

  Are you trying to distract me?

  I flushed, remembering the photo I’d sent him earlier.

  Are you looking to be distracted? I responded.

  The three little dots appeared immediately, indicating he was writing back. I cast a surreptitious look at Evie, but she was still engrossed in studying the letters. I tried to appear casual as I looked at the phone screen and hoped my face wasn’t too red. I didn’t really want to explain what was going on with Sam and—okay, I’ll admit it—giving whatever we were doing a slightly illicit cast somehow made it even more fun.

  I was just at my parents’ for dinner/tech support, so yes, he wrote back.

  I smiled. Sam was his parents’ not-so-secret favorite, and that meant they occasionally smothered him. He was the baby of the family, the one who’d stayed behind while his siblings went out into the world. And that also made him the one who took care of his parents and made sure their various electronics were in working order. Even though his siblings were off doing more traditional, Asian-approved occupations, Sam’s parents loved him the most—which grated on his siblings and gave them further cause to treat him like shit.

  You’re welcome, I wrote back.

  His reply text appeared almost immediately. Think it’s only fair that I distract you right back.

  Wait . . . what?

  The screen flashed: dot, dot, dot. I leaned in close and nearly banged my nose against my phone. And then a photo appeared. Sam. Lying on his bed, grinning his best beaucoup fromage grin. Totally naked.

  Okay, okay—so he’d cropped things at the exact right spot (or exact wrong spot, depending on how you wanted to look at it) to keep the photo from being X-rated. But I could certainly still see enough. All of that broad, beautiful chest. Those ridiculous abs, with their lickable ripples of muscle. And that spot where things narrowed into a perfect vee, leading into . . . well. That was where he’d cropped it. I held the phone closer to my face and scrutinized it extra hard just to be sure.

  “Bea?” Evie’s voice jolted into my thoughts, and I yelped and nearly dropped the phone. “I’m done,” she said, holding up the iPad. “Are you?”

  “Um, one second,” I said, my voice coming out all squeaky.

  I pretended to consult one of the letters again, then turned back to my screen, making sure it was facing completely away from her.

  Did you just sext me? I wrote back. Are we sexting now? No way was I letting him know how much that photo had affected me.

  You started it, he wrote back. And we’re too far away for the real thing.

  Dot, dot, dot.

  I pulled the phone closer to my face.

  But we can change that. Tomorrow.

  Jesus Christ. At this rate, I’d need to visit my showerhead again before bed.

  I swiped back to my spreadsheet. I’d leave him hanging on that note. That would really drive him crazy.

  “I think I’m ready,” I said briskly. “What did you find?”

  Evie tapped on the iPad screen, her brow furrowing. “Lots of mentions of things to do with crafting. Travel.”

  “Regrets,” I said, tapping on my own spreadsheet. “As in, she didn’t want to have any before she died.”

  “Yes,” Evie said. “And . . . huh. That’s interesting.”

  “What?”

  “There’s a name that keeps coming up. I mean, besides yours, mine, and Dad’s,” she said, frowning.

  “Hmm.” I scrolled through. “Yeah, on mine, too.”

  “And . . . actually. Wow. This name is the fifth most mentioned word in my stack of letters.”

  “And there are multiple references in what appears to be the last letter she wrote before she died.”

  “Which is not necessarily totally suspicious, but . . . huh. This way of cataloging does put things in perspective,” Evie said. “Wait, are we talking about the same name? Is it—”

  I landed on the name in yet another letter, just as she was about to say it out loud. And so we said it together: “Kathy Kooper.”

  TRANSCRIPT

  Interview with Janine Jacobsen

  Conducted by: Dr. Kai Alana

  This interview is part of an investigative study of the recent n
ear-drownings in Makena Beach State Park. Ms. Jacobsen is the second individual to report an incident of this kind. She was rescued by the interviewer, Dr. Alana, while Dr. Alana was out for her usual morning walk.

  DR. KAI ALANA: Can you tell me what happened?

  JANINE JACOBSEN: Do I have to? I’ve already told this story like forty-seven times.

  KA: I understand it might be difficult to revisit—

  JJ: Who said anything about difficult? I don’t find it difficult. I just hate repeating myself.

  KA: I understand completely. Just, please, it would be a great help to me. I’m trying to understand why this happened, why you went out into the surf when you can’t swim—

  JJ: Who said I can’t swim?

  KA: . . . you did. Was that incorrect? Can you swim?

  JJ: No.

  KA: Maybe start at the beginning. What were you doing that morning?

  JJ: Well, my whole family’s on vacation here in Maui. I’m the youngest of five adult siblings, and we rotate who gets to pick the vacation spot, but somehow the rotation never lands on me.

  KA: So Maui wasn’t your choice.

  JJ: Too many lizards. Too much sun.

  KA: Where would you go?

  JJ: It doesn’t matter, does it? The rotation will never land on me.

  KA: But if it did?

  JJ: I’d go to Burlingame, California.

  KA: Oh, what an interesting choice! That’s near the Bay Area, no? You know, I did my graduate degree there. So many wonderful places to eat—

  JJ: Burlingame, California is the home of the Burlingame Museum of Pez Memorabilia.

  KA: Oh . . . how . . . that’s so interesting . . .

  JJ: I really love Pez.

  KA: Well . . . who doesn’t! Okay, so you’re here with your family. What led you to the beach?

  JJ: I was trying to get away from my family.

  KA: And what do you remember before you ended up in the water?

  JJ: Not much. It’s like one minute I was on the shore, the next I was calling for help. But I guess you could say . . . while I was on the shore, I felt like something was . . . calling me. Telling me if I just got in the water, well . . . I’d be happy. It was like this force was pressing down on me, all heavy, pulling me toward the water. And I hate the water. Almost as much as I hate sun and lizards. But this force, it, like . . . convinced me. That if I just went into the water, I’d get that feeling I get whenever I think of Burlingame, California.

  KA: And the Pez Museum?

  JJ: And the Pez Museum.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “SO KATHY KOOPER visited Mom a bunch in the hospital—which Evie vaguely remembers, but obviously she was kind of preoccupied with other things. And which isn’t necessarily suspicious since Kathy and Mom were close and all, but since Kathy is mentioned so much in Mom’s last letter, I mean, it’s possible she was the last person to see Mom alive, so obviously I need to talk to her again. To see if she can shed some light on the circumstances around Mom’s death. So Evie, Aveda, and I are going to adventure to the East Bay this afternoon to talk to her. Finally, a superheroic task worthy of their beloved Heroic Trio! And hopefully this will help us free Mom from the Otherworld once and for all!”

  I finished my latest bout of motormouthing and struck a pose in front of the Cozy Mysteries section of It’s Lit. Pancake stared back at me with his one eye, unimpressed. Then he flopped on the ground and started chewing enthusiastically on his foot.

  “You are a terrible audience, Pancake,” I said, deflating. “You’re supposed to give me the doggie equivalent of ‘Yasssss, get it, girl!’”

  “Yasssss! Get it, girl!” Leah yelped, running up to me. “Sorry, Bebe, I had to deal with a scone emergency in the café. But it’s under control now. Pancake, paws do not go in your mouth.” She scooped the pup into her arms, making tsk-ing sounds.

  “Look at you,” I said admiringly. “Dealing with scone emergencies and your mom’s lizard-herding emergencies and book-selling emergencies all in one go. Is there anything you can’t do?”

  “I’m a real wonder woman,” Leah said, moving behind the counter and setting Pancake on his special pillow. “And I love that you’re wearing your costume again.” She nodded at my ensemble.

  “Got it back from the dry cleaner,” I said, preening. “And just in time for me to go on a real mission type thing.” I struck another pose, then winced as some unattended bit of shrapnel on the floor poked my foot—I’d once again donned my hole-y purple ankle boots. The original hole just kept getting bigger and had been joined by an additional hole closer to the toe area. But I’d discovered they were the only shoes I owned that really went with my costume, so I’d resigned myself to sucking it up until I could get them fixed or replaced.

  “Awesome blossom,” Leah said, opening her laptop and tapping away. “In the meantime, check out the flyer I designed for the Art Jam. Think it will get your little artist-poet friend out?”

  “Ooh, I love it,” I said, draping myself over the counter to look at her screen. “This would totes get me in here if I was a disaffected teen ostracized by my peers and channeling all my feelings into outsider art.”

  “Let’s hope it does exactly that!” Leah said, tapping on her keyboard with flourish.

  Someone cleared their throat, and our heads snapped up in unison. We’d been so engrossed in admiring Leah’s flyer, we hadn’t noticed when Nicole sauntered up to the counter.

  “Hey,” she said, regarding us with her usual disdain.

  “Charlotte’s working the café side,” Leah said, cocking an eyebrow. “She can see to all your coffee refill needs.”

  “Um, no, it’s not that,” Nicole said, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. “Bea, what is this . . . outfit?” Her nose wrinkled ever so slightly as she looked me up and down.

  “None of your business,” I said. “But if you really want to know, you can read all about my new adventures on Buzz by the Bay—Maisy Kane’s blog?”

  I hadn’t checked Maisy’s blog in a couple days, but I was guessing she’d posted some breathless, gossipy bit about me officially joining the team. And yeah, it maybe wasn’t going to present me in the most flattering light, but Nemesis Nicole sure wasn’t getting mentioned in Buzz by the Bay at all, so. I won.

  “I read Maisy’s blog every day,” Nicole said, raising an eyebrow. “Today’s posts were mostly in-depth reviews of the comic books starring Evie and Aveda and some galleries documenting how you can get ‘fashion inspo’ from their latest outfits. Nothing about you.”

  Huh. Really? Maisy had been so excited the other day about fully exploring my problem-child state of being. Maybe she was taking her time, doing a more extensive write-up?

  “You probably missed it,” I said.

  “Anyway.” Nicole rolled her eyes at me. “I, was, uh, looking for some book recommendations.”

  “What, so you can pull them off the shelves, drag them over to the café, drip coffee on their beautiful pages, and then leave them out for me to put back?” I tried to match her disdain with my own. “I don’t think so.”

  “I don’t drip coffee on them,” she said, her expression ratcheting up from disdainful to haughty. “I’m very careful.”

  “Not my main point, but okay,” I said.

  “Listen,” she said, looking down her nose at us. “I’m a customer, and I’m asking you to do your job. Don’t you think it’s in your best interests to do it?”

  Our eyes met and we stared each other down. I sure as hell wasn’t answering that question, and she sure as hell wasn’t repeating it, so whoever said something next lost this little competition.

  Ugh. I didn’t want to deal with Nicole today. I just didn’t. I was feeling confident in my official superhero costume, I was excited about going on a real mission and hopefully getting some meaningful clues about ho
w to help Mom, and I got a tingle whenever I thought about the delicious little game of sext Sam and I had been playing last night. Also, I’d spent the morning poring over the transcripts Nate had given me from his friend, Kai, and sent her a few notes. She’d responded right away, thanking me for my “unique insights.” And right before I’d left for work, I’d gotten supernaturally and magically scanned by Nate and Scott, who had concluded I was definitely not possessed (which I already knew, but whatever). Things were good. So why was I letting Nicole ruin it?

  I intensified my stare and projected a single thought in her direction:

  I will go now. And leave you guys alone for the rest of the day.

  I saw it hit. Saw her look momentarily confused. Then her eyes took on that blank, glazed look, like Edna’s and Bernard’s had the day before.

  “I can rec some books if you like,” Leah said, looking up from her computer. “Are you looking for something historical and murder-y or do you generally prefer, like, sexy vampires, or—”

  “I will go now,” Nicole said, looking like her mind was about a million miles away. “And leave you guys alone for the rest of the day.”

  Then she turned and headed toward the door.

  “Uh, did you get your purse?” Leah called after her, her brow furrowing.

  I need to get my purse, I thought at Nicole.

  “I need to get my purse,” she said out loud, abruptly shifting course to the café.

  And leave Charlotte a really big tip for my endless refills, I couldn’t resist adding.

  “And leave Charlotte a really big tip for my endless refills,” she said, nodding to herself.

  “Wow,” Leah said, frowning at Nicole’s retreating form. “That was bizarre. Almost like she . . .” She turned to me, her frown deepening. “Bebe. Did you mind-mojo her? So she would go away?!”

  “Maybe, kind of, sort of?” I said, examining my nails. “Okay, yes. I did this thing yesterday where I think I actually implanted a specific thought in someone’s brain. I’ve never been able to do that before. Or maybe I just never tried? Anyway. It was way cool.”