Black Waters (Book 1 in the Songstress Trilogy)

by Maija Barnett

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  The boy crouched, hidden behind the dunes, his dark eyes wide in shock. He watched the girl stumble down the beach, her long hair frozen in a tangled mass. He knew her; she was in his trig class at school. Everybody knew her, though she didn’t have any friends. A couple of months ago she’d asked him for a pencil. She probably didn’t remember, but he certainly did. He could even remembered the exact words she’d used, though the thought of that day still made him break out in a sweat. She was so beautiful he’d barely been able to breathe, and he’d been so busy repressing the urge to gasp for air that he hadn’t had the nerve to say a single word. He’d just handed her the pencil and stared down at his desk, his face burning over his unwilling silence.

  But what was she really? He just couldn’t believe. And whom, he wondered, could he tell? He watched her until she was a dark smudge on the beach, then he took a deep breath and turned to go.

  2. The Birthday Present

  When Abby stumbled through the front door, she found Matilda sobbing on the couch. “How could she do this?” Matilda moaned, her voice raw from too many tears. Jake hovered next to their mother, his thick lips set in a measured frown as he gently rubbed Matilda’s back, calming her as best he could. They both looked up when they heard the door, but it was Matilda who rushed to her daughter’s side, grabbing her roughly by the shoulders, as if she were afraid Abby might vanish again.

  “Abby, what happened? Where have you been?”

  Abby tried to speak, but she didn’t know what to say. Her mother’s nails dug into her skin; eyes unblinking as a shark’s. Can you trust her? thought Abby. She didn’t know. Matilda was terrible at staying calm, and Abby was certain her mother couldn’t handle the truth.

  “I…” Abby stumbled, not sure what to say. Don’t tell, warned a voice inside her head. If you do, she’ll never let you out of her sight.

  “I wanted to see the sun rise from the water.” Abby made her voice as even as she could, but even so, it still sounded like a lie.

  “You wanted to what?” asked Matilda in disbelief. “Abby, I thought something happened to you. I thought… you know exactly what I thought!” Abby glanced over at Jake. He was shaking his head like he wasn’t buying a word.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, staring down at her feet so as to avoid looking into Matilda’s eyes. Don’t let her see or she’ll be able to tell, thought Abby. She always says you’re an open book.

  Matilda flattened her lips into a line then walked deliberately back to the sofa. She sat down and glared at her hands, staring so intently at her tasteful peach nail polish that she looked like she was trying to change its color with her mind. When she finally managed to glance up at Abby, her eyes were as hard as two small stones.

  “I can hardly stand to look at you! I stayed up late baking a cake. Chocolate raspberry— your favorite. We wrapped your presents; it was supposed to be a surprise. But you… you weren’t even here. And then I thought…you know exactly what I thought! Just go away! Go to your room.”

  Abby’s throat hitched and she turned to her brother, his eyes wide and blue just like their dad’s. She hated the feeling churning in her stomach, hated the guilt seething there.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, trying hard not to cry. Then she turned and hurried up the stairs to her room. She closed her door as softly as she could, and once it was shut, she closed her eyes too.

  But what she saw behind them made her body go numb. It was her face, the face of the girl in the water. The corpse, with her golden halo of hair swirling high above her head. And that mark on her neck. What had it been?

  There was a knock at the door, “Abby, can I come in?” Jake’s voice made her want to hide, but she found herself calling out that he could. What good would it do to stop the inevitable? She’d have to face them sooner or later. Might as well do it now.

  Jake was closer to Matilda than Abby was. Much closer. Though it hadn’t always been that way. Abby could remember lying on the beach, listening to her mother’s voice slide through a song while she braided Abby’s hair. But that was before the change. Before her mother had dropped the name “mom” and insisted on being referred to as Matilda instead. Now it was like they were virtual strangers who just happened to live under the same roof. Not true, thought Abby, crunching down on her lip. A terrible habit, but one she couldn’t seem to break. This time it hurt; she’d forgotten about this morning. Ease up, she thought, or you’ll bleed again.

  Oh please, prayed Abby as Jake opened the door. Just this once, let him be on my side. She held her breath as her brother walked in. Again Abby was struck by how much he looked like their father—same round face, same heavy frame. Like Dad before he’d gotten sick, before the cancer had eaten him away.

  “You okay kid?” Jake always called her that, even though they were only two years apart. “You really gave us a scare, you know.” He sat down on her bed, and stared at her, waiting for her to respond.

  “Is she okay?” Abby asked, sitting next to her brother. Her still damp hair swung over her shoulder and gently grazed the back of his arm.

  “She will be,” he said. “But she was really scared. She was convinced you’d been eaten by a shark. Jesus Ab, what were you thinking? You know she can’t take that kind of stress.”

  “I know,” Abby whispered, shame flooding her chest. Her vision blurred, but she managed to hold in her tears. It’s not like she wanted it to be like this. She was sixteen for Christ’s sake. Almost an adult. And here she was playing the baby all over again. Crying over everything that’d gone wrong.

  “Jake,” said Abby, wishing she could curl up in a ball, or maybe just turn into somebody else. “Why does it have to be this way?”

  “It just is,” he said, and he ruffled her hair. It was exactly the same gesture Dad used to do when she was a little girl. She closed her eyes and remembered his face. His gentle eyes, easy smile.

  “He said he’d always be here. He promised,” she croaked, her throat suddenly closing up.

  “I know,” said Jake, turning away.

  “I miss him,” said Abby, putting her face in her hands. I need him, is what she meant to say. Because Matilda can’t handle what I am. The only one who accepted was Dad.

  “Listen,” said Jake, his voice suddenly firm. He lifted her chin, so her eyes met his. “You can’t do this to her anymore. This constant fear of something happening to you. It’s beating her down, tearing her apart. She loves you. She just wants you to be safe.”

  “Does she?” said Abby. Only once it came out, she immediately wished she could take it back.

  “Oh don’t give me that!” Jake leaped off the bed. “Where were you anyway? What really happened?” He was standing above her, glowering now, his large, meaty body commanding and strong. Abby knew how the opposing football team felt when they faced this angry, immovable wall. She had no idea what to say.

  “The truth,” said Jake.

  There was a knock at the door and Matilda peeked in. Even with bloodshot eyes and matted hair, she was still beautiful. Her body was tall and willow thin, her skin luminescent as the moon. Like me, thought Abby, eyeing her mother’s dark brows, her cascading jet of chestnut hair. But how, wondered Abby, not for the first time, could two people who look so much alike be so incapable of understanding each other?

  “Abby,” said Matilda, stepping into the room. For a moment Abby thought Matilda might reach out and touch her, but she just stood there, arms pressed to her sides. There was a sadness that surrounded Matilda, inhabited the very air she breathed. Abby wished she could take that sadness away, throw it into the salty waters, drown it beneath the rising waves.

  “I’m sorry,” said Abby. Matilda didn’t respond. She just pulled something out of her apron pocket and held it out for Abby to see. It was a small box wrapped in shiny gold paper, about the size of the sort that holds a ring.

  “What is it?” asked Abby. Matilda shrugged. Then she dropped the box onto Abby�
�s bed. Abby reached for the thing and held it in her hands. It was heavier than she expected it to be, and there was something else strange about it too. With the box resting in her open palm, she could feel the ocean’s pulse on her skin, the roar of the waves in her ears.

  Abby blinked hard and put the box on her bed. Had the others heard? She didn’t think so. There was a note attached to the golden wrapping. It was really just a folded piece of paper clumsily stuck to the box with tape. Careful not to pick up the box again, Abby leaned over and ripped off the note. But when she saw who it was from, she froze. It was a message from her dad.

  Matilda stiffened when she saw the writing. Then she cleared her throat and took a step back. “Your father left this for you,” she said, her voice the temperature of arctic ice. “He asked me to give it to you on the morning of your sixteenth birthday. No sooner, no later. It was my final promise, so I’m honoring it. For him. I don’t know what’s inside.”

  “Oh,” said Abby keeping her eyes on the box. This wasn’t about forgiveness, that was clear. And if it was about love, well, it didn’t include her.

  The box looked even heavier now, like it had somehow gained weight while it sat on her quilt. It was as if it had inhaled a dark cloud of secrets, promises of things to come.

  “Aren’t you going to open it?” Matilda asked. Abby knew she should, knew her mother ached to know what was inside. But for some reason, she wanted to keep it to herself, to hold this final piece of her father close. She wanted some privacy, but she couldn’t say so. Kicking her mother out of her room right now didn’t seem like the best way to go.

  Luckily, Jake read Abby’s mind. And this time, he was on her side. “Matilda lets go. Let’s give Abby some time. We should fix breakfast, like we planned.” He took Matilda’s hand and led her toward the door. In an unusual moment, she did as he asked.

  Matilda’s eyes stayed on Abby as she walked out of the room. Abby wished she could say something to let her mother in, but the old scars held her back. Abby let her leave without a word.