The Ocean Inside

by Janna McMahan

  “Nicely done, Ainslie,” she said. “Very nice.” And then she too fell to laughing.

  And they were all laughing. The people at the other table were hesitantly staring at them, as if wondering what their table might do next. They gathered their things and the father motioned for the check. The Sullivans continued to laugh while the other people shuffled for the door. The father threw a few bills on the table and followed them out. Even after the other family was gone, everybody at their table snickered and wiped tears. Ainslie’s side began to cramp from laughter and it felt so good, so good.

  On the way home their father drove slowly along Atlantic Avenue and Ainslie read all the signs marking each house. She loved that the homes on Pawleys had names even though they weren’t grand like ranches out West or horse farms in Kentucky. Idle Awhile, Lost Weekend, The Sandcastle, Safe Harbor. Ainslie used to know all the people who lived in these houses, but not anymore. Many of the gravel drives had a different SUV each weekend of the summer. When school started back, the strange vehicles stopped coming and it was just natives again. In Ainslie’s opinion, this was the best time to be on the beach. Sloan said it was lonely in the fall, but Ainslie liked the chill of the water and the blue-gray haze that tinted the land and sky. Maybe by fall things would be better and she would be allowed out on the beach again.

  Ainslie closed her eyes and rested her head against the cold window of her mother’s car. Tired. She was so tired of all the things she had to do and all the things she wasn’t allowed to do anymore. Her doctor had recommended low-stress events like attending church, but that was a joke. Low stress? What that doctor didn’t know was that church people could really get in your face. She hated to be stuck in the congregation traffic jam after the service. She felt as if she were swimming in a sea of butts and knees. Somebody always popped their big head right into your personal space and then you’d have to act all happy to see some stranger, somebody who only ever talked to your parents before. Ainslie had gone to church twice in her wheelchair. The second Sunday, she had asked her mother to head for the elevator as soon as the service was over so she could avoid the crush. Everything just took so much more effort with the wheelchair.

  And then there were the kids who stared at you, like that stupid little boy tonight. Sometimes it just didn’t seem worth it to leave the house. But that, her mother said, was exactly what the doctor didn’t want them to do. Just stay home and hide. But she had shown that little boy. Maybe she had let her good manners slip, but her mother wouldn’t punish her. She never got punished anymore. Besides, Sloan and her father had laughed until the people at the other table got in a hurry to pay their bill. The little boy had whimpered all the way out the door. Well, that was just too bad. Maybe he would think again before he gawked at somebody else.

  Home appeared at the end of the road and Ainslie squinted to read their sign in the distance. Painted Lady, it read in the same script as her grandfather’s card business. Maybe the doctor didn’t want her hanging out at home, but that had always been her favorite place, so why shouldn’t she want to be here? All the doctors, everybody really, was just so full of advice when really, if everybody would just leave her alone, she’d be happier. Ainslie had her own list, mostly things she didn’t want to do. Going back to the hospital was definitely at the top of her list of things to avoid. But her parents wanted to drag her back to the hospital for another scan, an MRI. Ainslie was trying to psyche herself up for it, but just the thought of that hospital smell, the cold machines and skimpy green hospital gowns, was enough to make her sick to her stomach.

  At home, Ainslie slowly climbed the stairs, brushing off her mother’s hand at her elbow. Sloan zipped by her, taking the steps two at a time.

  Ainslie knocked softly and pushed open Sloan’s door when she said come in. Sloan was seated at her vanity applying makeup.

  “You’re not supposed to come in here.”

  “I’ve been playing with Mr. Crabs every day when Mommy’s not looking and I haven’t died yet.”

  Sloan applied mascara.

  “Well, if you get sick, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “Wanna watch a movie with me?”

  “I told you. I’m going out with Cal tonight.”

  Ainslie picked up her sister’s lip gloss and smoothed the tube across her lips.

  “I don’t want to have that MRI test.”

  “Well, you don’t have a choice. You pretty much have to have that test, so figure out how to use it.”

  “Use it?”

  “Sure. Tell them you won’t get the test unless they give you something you really want. What’s something you really want? Something they wouldn’t ever get you.”

  “A dog.”

  “I want a dog too. So let’s guilt-trip the parental units into getting us a dog. Why don’t you want to have that test?”

  “Because it’s like a big white cave and it’s real loud and scary.”

  “So tell them that. Tell them it’s like totally scary and stuff. Cry if you have to. Then when you’ve got them all guilty, tell them you’d do it for a dog.”

  “A real live dog. No more stuffed animals.”

  “Sounds like a plan to me.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Emancipation

  “So that’s the deal.” Cal was assured of the plan. “All you do is drive my Jimmy. We drop the rental car at that truck stop off 95 near Florence and we’re done.”

  “What’s in the car?”

  “You don’t need to know. See, that’s the beauty of the plan. The less you know, the better. You make a thousand dollars. I make four thousand dollars. We’re both happy and we drive home.”

  “So I just drive your car from Miami to Florence and then you drive back home?”

  “Yeah. Easy.”

  “How long a drive is it?”

  “It’ll take us all weekend. We’ll leave Friday and drive through the night. Lie on the beach on Saturday. Pick up the car late Saturday night and drive through to Florence. We’ll be back home by late Sunday afternoon with money in our pockets.”

  Sloan considered his offer. Money in her pocket was something Sloan desperately needed. But people didn’t pay that kind of money just to transport a car. It was the something in the car that carried the high price of transportation.

  Sloan lowered herself down onto the picnic blanket beside Cal. The stone walls of Atalaya grew around them, crumbly and gray. Palms scratched in the ocean breeze. An old oak cast patterns of shade against their bodies.

  “Cal, you’re not telling me the whole story. Who asked you to do this?”

  He was on his back with his eyes closed. His arms cradled his head. “You don’t have to know every single thing. It’s just a road trip and I need your help.”

  He rolled over and stared into her eyes. “Look, you need the money, right? Well, I need the money, too. It’s too easy to pass up. A weekend road trip. That’s all I’m asking. Two days. Can’t you give me two days?”

  “It’s kind of scary is all.”

  “Kind of exciting, you mean?”

  “No. I mean I don’t like doing things and not knowing why. I know this has to do with something illegal.”

  “Look, I can’t tell you anything. I want to leave on Friday. You’re not going to let me down, are you?”

  “What will I tell my parents?”

  “Tell them you’re going camping in the mountains. That way you can say there isn’t any cell phone reception.”

  “Why would that matter?”

  “Trust me. I’ll take care of you. I’ll take care of everything. It’ll be fun. I just really need you to do this for me.” He pulled her close. His lips brushed hers as he whispered, “Come on, Sloan. This is a sweet deal. Like free money.”

  But, she thought, nothing is free.

  Still, she could use the cash for the deposit for school. Of course, the tuition was eighteen thousand dollars and it had to be paid by July. She was hoping things would change with her f
amily, that the insurance company would pay, that her college fund would have enough for them to squeak by. She’d thought about calling her grandfather in Jersey to ask for help, but her mother had said no, to be patient and her father would take care of everything. That’s what her mother always contended in front of the girls, that their father was strong and in control, that he would solve their problems. But behind her parents’ bedroom door Sloan heard the tone of her mother’s remarks. And she’d seen her father’s reaction over the past few months as he pulled away from them, into himself, spending more time at The Pub and on the beach running, always running.

  Sloan had kept silent to Cal about her parents’ financial situation, partly from embarrassment and partly, she knew, because she didn’t want him to see her flaws. Sloan felt that each day Cal chose to be with her was somehow a gift. She was never as happy as she was with him. Still, something in her made her cautious. It was his swagger, his self-assurance, his ability to manipulate people that Sloan both admired and fell victim to in short order. She hated it and yet was completely unable to stop herself. It was with difficulty that she said, “I don’t know, Cal. I’ll have to think about it.”

  “Trust me.” He grinned at her. “It’ll be fun.”

  At home, the lights were on for her and she always felt comforted to know her parents thought of her in this small way. Sloan let Cal kiss her, his hands strong in her hair, pulling her toward him in that masculine way that made her forget her name. Their lips moved together, smooth and swollen. She pushed him away.

  “I have to go in. It’s late.”

  “God, you’re a good kisser.”

  “I’ve really got to go in.”

  “Hey, wait. What about what we talked about?”

  “I told you I’d think about it.”

  He let the SUV idle as she ascended the stairs. Her phone vibrated in her pocket and she snapped it open.

  The text message envelope was blinking.

  U got a grt ass

  She waved to him from the front door, and he backed the Jimmy out to the gravel road and took off. She watched his vehicle move away down Atlantic and she felt light as a feather. Energy radiated from her in waves.

  She softly clicked open the door and slipped inside the foyer. The television mumbled low. The call of hunger came to her and she remembered fried chicken a lady from a church had brought earlier in the day.

  In the den, she stopped short. Her parents were asleep on the sofa, her mother’s head against her father’s shoulder. Empty wine glasses with pennies of dark red pooled in the bottom. Things seemed different, and then Sloan realized why. They seemed normal. Normal was something she hadn’t seen in so long between her parents. Her father twitched and jerked as he was inclined to do when asleep. In the morning, the harsh reality of life would etch their faces, but at least for now, they had peace.

  Sloan made her way toward the sympathy food, but in the dining room she was stopped again, this time by looming piles of papers. Very slowly, she walked around the table, leaning over to read. On a pad, her father had written medical expenses. The bottom line made Sloan catch her breath.

  Suddenly, she understood. She had a general idea of how much money her father made, and if the insurance didn’t come through, her parents would be paying Ainslie’s medical bills for the rest of their lives. This was what adults called stark reality. Her father wasn’t bluffing when he said she might have to choose a cheaper college. The truth was, she would be lucky if she got to go to any school.

  And what about Ainslie? Would doctors just stop seeing her if her parents didn’t pay? Would they end up being a charity case? Would Ainslie have to go to that hospital for children in Tennessee her father had researched?

  Sloan didn’t feel hungry anymore. She climbed the stairs and saw Ainslie’s light on. She stopped with her hand on the railing and considered her sister. Sometimes she wished so strongly for Ainslie to get better that she ached physically, a hollow pull in her chest that a writer would describe as despair but which she viewed as an oddly sucking adrenaline rush.

  “Hey, Ains, what are you still doing up?”

  “I can’t sleep. Sometimes I can’t. Mommy doesn’t know.”

  “Okay.”

  “Tell me a story. The one about the dolphin in Charleston.”

  Sloan climbed into bed beside her sister. They pressed their bodies together. “Okay.” They settled back against the pillows and Ainslie tucked her hands beneath her chin and pulled in to her sister.

  “So once there was this woman in Charleston who came back to her house after Hurricane Hugo and her house was, like, totally destroyed, like moved off the foundation and stuff. She had a hard time getting the front door open and she pushed and pushed and when she finally did get the door open she heard this sound. At first she didn’t know what it was, so she followed the sound and then she’s like, oh my God. There was a dolphin thrashing around in three feet of water in the living room.”

  Ainslie wiggled with delight. “So then the neighbors come and get the dolphin.”

  “That’s right. It took about ten people to get a tarp around the dolphin. He was heavy and it took a long time for those people to drag and carry him back out to the ocean. But the people did it right away, before they worried about their smashed houses or anything else. They all went down to the beach and they dragged that dolphin back out into deep water.”

  “So then he’s confused.”

  “Right. The people were all upset because he was disoriented and they didn’t know how to help him.”

  “And then…”

  “And then he sort of perked up. He snapped to. He went out a ways and just sat there like he was thinking about which way was the best way to go. They said everybody just stood there silent waiting to see what he would do.”

  “Then he swam off.”

  “Then he swam off. And they were all happy.”

  “I bet that dolphin’s still alive. You know, dolphins live to be, like, thirty years old. That’s why they get so attached to their pods.”

  “I bet he’s still out there, too.”

  “He could be one of my dolphins.”

  “And he could be one of your dolphins. Hey, how are your dolphins?”

  “They’re good. They come to see me.”

  “No way. Do you wave to them?”

  “No. But they know I’m here. Hey, did you hear Grandma’s story about that guy playing golf who had cancer and he was going to die and he got hit by lightning and it fried the cancer?”

  “I heard that. And now that guy has lived, like, ten years or something without any cancer.”

  “That’s cool.”

  “That’s supercool.”

  CHAPTER 22

  Charity

  Emmett strained as he hoisted Ainslie’s wheelchair onto the boardwalk. His daughter’s situation had given him a newfound respect for the guidelines set down by the Americans with Disabilities Act. He used to grumble about the guidelines, but now every place he went, accessibility was the first thing he noticed. Life in a wheelchair would be a challenge; thank goodness that wasn’t his daughter’s future.

  Emmett pushed her down the lumpy, bumpy pier toward The Bait Shop. She sang, “Ahhhhhhh,” and her voice vibrated. Sometimes they brought their fishing poles, but today was just a candy run. Emmett was instructed to get as many calories into Ainslie as possible, and he thought a trip to The Bait Shop’s old candy counter would do the trick.

  The door opened outward, which always presented a problem for wheelchairs, but Ainslie wouldn’t need it much longer. She walked around the house on her own. It was only when they were manipulating unfamiliar territory that the doctor wanted Ainslie to still be chaired around, as she called it.

  The candy aisle at The Bait Shop was a thing of beauty. Boston Baked Beans, Pixy Stix, and bubble gum hard as a rock until about the fifth chew, when it became a sugar explosion. Emmett remembered the childhood rush of pleasure he used to get from candy. He hand
ed Ainslie a bag and said, “I’ll fill one for your sister.”

  At the counter, Emmett paid for their heavy cache of refined sugar. The doorbell jingled and a young voice said, “Hey, Ainslie.”

  “Hey, LaShonda.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Nothing much.”

  “When you getting out of that wheelchair?”

  “I’m out now. It’s just a precaution.”

  “Oh,” LaShonda said. “Well, right on then.” She took a Coke from the cooler and grabbed a bag of boiled peanuts before stepping into line behind Emmett.

  “Oh, we’re finished,” Emmett said and stepped aside so she could check out, but he continued his conversation with Bert, the shop owner.

  “Look here, girl, you’re on this jar,” LaShonda said. “Did you know that?”

  “No.” Ainslie strained to look up on the counter, so LaShonda handed Ainslie the glass pickle jar with her name and photo on the front.

  Emmett was silent as he waited for Ainslie’s reaction. The child stared at herself. Not one of her most becoming photos, but still a cute one. She glanced up to her father, confused, and then returned to the jar with a look of sorrow so profound he was immediately moved to explain, but how he couldn’t fathom.

  “It’s like you’re homecoming queen,” LaShonda chirped. “And I’m going to be one of the first people to vote for you. I’m sure you’ll win.” With that the girl plunked all her change into the jar where it chinked past a couple of dollar bills to join a thin layer of coins at the bottom.

  There was a sea change then, a shift in his daughter Emmett recognized, a decision to always accept the slightest nudge in a positive direction. It was one of the reasons he loved her so.

  Emmett took the jar and read the small print before Ainslie had the chance. It was a sincere, if inaccurate account of what was happening to his family. The jar said Ainslie needed an operation but their family had no insurance. Well, in effect, the part about the insurance was true at the moment, although the spinal operation was behind them. The jar seemed like a cruel joke, such an impotent act that made him feel all the more impotent in the face of the looming invoices for Ainslie’s operation, another round of chemo, more physical therapy.