by Maribel Fox
“On a job,” I say, a half-truth he doesn’t need to know the details of.
He grunts.
“Looking for artifacts in the bay,” I add.
That makes his shoulders stiffen.
“I know I used to collect all kinds of random stuff down on the beach, thought it would be worth looking through it to see if there’s anything useful. If you’ve still got that junk, I mean.”
“Course I still have it,” he says, sounding offended before leaving the kitchen area. There aren’t really many defined rooms in the light house. It’s mostly an open living plan with a closed-off section for the bathroom. Curtains make the bedrooms, and I’m kind of surprised to see that there’s still one up in the section of the space I called mine. Dad heads over that way, and when he pulls back the curtain, I catch a glimpse of basically everything from the first sixteen years of my life. It’s all been shoved back there, put in boxes and bags, forgotten. Out of sight, out of mind.
There’s some grunting and huffing, and then the kettle starts whistling while he’s bent over with his back turned, so I deal with making tea for both of us without thinking about it.
I’ve always been a coffee gal, but Dad’s more into tea. Maybe it doesn’t fit with the stereotype, but who does?
“Here,” he says, dropping a wooden box on the counter next to the two steaming mugs. I drizzle some honey in mine, stirring it well, a million memories pouring in at the sight of that beat-up wooden box. My treasure chest.
There’s a lump in my throat, and I can vividly remember my mom telling me to put something I was excited about in the treasure chest. I can hear her voice. Is it a real memory? Who knows. It’s kind of a nice one, though.
“Thanks,” I say, nudging the other mug toward him when he doesn’t immediately reach for it.
“That all?” he asks, obviously holding a lot back.
I know the feeling.
I shrug. “I’m not in a hurry,” I say, offering an olive branch while I flip the lid of the wooden box, heart in my throat.
It’s a lot of what I’d expect from a kid’s treasure chest. There are some shells, a couple of pieces of costume jewelry, a bouncy ball, a little jade figurine of a whale — all kinds of things that found their way to the beach here. And there’s a ton of rocks. Rocks of all shapes and sizes, most of them completely unremarkable.
“Anything?” Dad asks, slurping his tea. “Can’t imagine there’s anything interesting out there.”
There’s another shard of the sparkly blue rock, but it’s not significantly bigger than any of the other pieces we’ve found. I must just remember it that way because I was smaller.
The rock isn’t what catches my eye this time, though. There are some pieces of metal with odd markings. They’re not the typical gold and silver markings I’m able to readily identify, but I’m hoping a Google search or two will help with that.
Even if it’s nothing, eliminating it as something is a step.
“Well, you’ve never spent a ton of time out there,” I mutter, turning the metal pieces over in my hand.
“Plenty enough to know it’s not safe,” he says.
“Maybe for a kid, but I’m an adult and—”
“You think those men on the ships at the bottom of the bay were children?”
It’s really hard not to roll my eyes. Leave it to the lighthouse keeper to bring up deadly shipwrecks.
“When was the last shipwreck in this bay, Dad? A couple hundred years ago?”
“Thanks to the lighthouse!”
“Of course.”
“You know I’ve always been trying to look out for you, do what’s best for you—”
“What you think is best for me. That’s a big difference. Crucial.”
To my utter shock, he goes quiet for a moment, eyes cast down, his thick white mustache covering most of his frown.
“Your mother…” he starts, stopping himself before he goes any further.
I hold my breath, hoping he’ll continue. He never talks about her, never even mentions her. Where’s he going with this?
“What about her?” I ask, hating the hopefulness in my own voice.
Dad clams up completely, drinking his tea, then glancing up to the upper level.
“Hope you find what you’re looking for,” he says.
“Yeah, thanks,” I grumble, snatching up my treasure chest. He’s already heading up the stairs, and frankly I’m glad for the whole thing to be over with. Part of me figured he’d be happy to see me, he’d want to catch up, to hear about what I’ve been doing, but it’s almost worse that he doesn’t seem to care.
Some reconciliation.
8
Henri
“You can do it, you thick-skulled… Non, that’s not fair,” I sigh, wishing I could slump down in defeat. Dramatic flounces are so difficult when you’re incorporeal.
“How are you supposed to understand them when even I don’t?”
I watch helplessly as the man called Miles examines the stone once more, squinting at it, scrutinizing it for something he can’t place his finger on. He can sense that there’s something more to it, but no matter how I will it, he cannot solve the riddle. The clues are spread too far, the mystery too opaque.
A wave rolls under his dinghy, and the floor rises up to my knees, locking me in place for a split moment. Mon Dieu, I loathe this in-between existence.
The stones are the key to fixing mon petit problème, but it seems that no one will ever figure it all out. If I knew the answers, I could at least tell the girl — not that I imagine anyone would believe her, but she will grow eventually, and what is another twenty years after four hundred?
“Don’t give up,” I say, watching Miles set the blue rock down in front of him, turning his head to the side. This is the closest anyone’s come to discovering the stones — they’re spread far apart, the depths are murky, some have been buried by drifts and debris, and then there’s the other… The broken one.
This is the closest I’ve come to figuring anything out, and it’s all because of this dinghy and the woman.
The woman… I don’t know what to think about her. She’s here searching, clearly looking for something, but as far as I can tell, she doesn’t know what. I’m hoping it’s my stones, but hopes are slim.
Hopes are always slim for a ghost.
It seems that Miles is getting no further and I tire of the boat’s bottom swallowing my lower half with every wave — of which there are many with this wretched weather. Never has it been so bleak, and I can’t help but feel it reflects my mood. My waning hope.
I’d never had much to begin with but finding someone who could speak to me had ignited a small spark.
Learning that someone is naïve was a blow. It isn’t her fault, I suppose, but it’s not helpful.
Still, she is someone to talk to, and pleasant enough as far as children go. Strange, but pleasant.
Making my way back to the beach is a difficult slog, navigating around the scattered and buried stones. I’m able to move through water with relative ease… unless there are large waves. The currents push and pull me just enough to be a nuisance. I don’t have muscles to tire out, and there’s no breath to gasp for. It’s simply inconvenient, which is somehow worst of all.
Finally, I reach the shore, sand enveloping my feet. Despite most everything not interacting with me — walls, doors, chairs — for some reason, it seems I’m always sinking.
On the beach, I search for Nora in all the usual places, but she’s nowhere to be found. It’s the first time in days — possibly longer, time means little to someone in my state — that she’s been absent.
It’s unfortunate, because I can’t go looking for her. I can’t leave the beach without her. With her, I can leave, but I have to stay very close to her and that lucky rock of hers. Not always ideal, but it’s finally gotten me away from the shore, I’ve been able to see some of the town, learn about the people. It’s something to pass the time, and I have plen
ty of that.
Without Nora here, I’ve nothing to do but wait. Miles is getting nowhere, and I don’t care to wade back out to his dinghy to confirm it. Instead, I perch on a boulder, staring out at the dark bay. It’s certainly not les Caraïbes with its impossibly clear waters, a breath-taking blue-green that only God himself could have created. There are no palm trees, no white sands. But there are no British pigs, either. No syphilitic whores abandoning their illegitimate babes in the filthy streets of Tortuga.
I can live with the poor weather is what I’m saying.
Or… not live. Exist?
Not that I have any choice. I am bound to this place. Ever since the accident…
Non. Accident is hardly right. Miracle seems more apt, but miracles are only good, no? This is far from good.
My punishment for stealing, I’m sure, but what else is a pirate to do but steal? And no matter the consequences, I can hardly regret stealing such a fine vessel. All I can regret is not foreseeing how terribly wrong it would all go.
On the distant horizon, there’s a lone brave fishing boat, trying to make the day’s catch before the weather is completely hazardous. Fools. Do they not realize how lucky they are to have a vessel of their own? What I wouldn’t give to be Captain yet again. To have the wheel in my hands, the waves at my mercy. Not sinking through the deck of a dinghy or wading against currents that can never truly wash me away.
I regret not having more time with that gorgeous ship, they never deserved her.
Perhaps I didn’t either, considering the violent end she met.
All these years stranded on this bit of coastline, and I’m more sentimental about the fate of a ship than myself.
Je suis désolé, mon cher. You deserved better.
9
Miles
It’s the first nice day we’ve had in ages, and I’m not wasting a second of it. Callie’s not due to show up for her scuba lesson for another hour or so, but I’m already in the water, swimming around the protected inlet where I anchor my houseboat.
There’s not a better spot of coastline in Lupine Bay. I made sure of it. This inlet is small enough to prevent big boats or animals from crowding their way in, and the shape of the land means that the worst of the waves are broken long before they get anywhere near my boat. Huge evergreens grow right up to the water, casting long shadows most hours of the day. That might bother most people, since the water never really warms up, but it suits me just fine.
The water is calm enough today that I can see my knees kicking under the surface. It’s never clear enough to see all the way to my feet — this is as good as it gets. Knowing that just means I appreciate it more.
There’s nothing quite like swimming in a place like this, when you’ve got it all to yourself, just you and the water. Nothing feels as natural to me, and it’s easy to lose track of time.
I don’t think I’ve been out here that long when I hear Callie coming up the path, but maybe she’s early since the weather’s so nice.
Don’t be ridiculous. It wouldn’t matter if we had impossibly perfect conditions out here, I don’t think Callie’s ever going to be eager to get out on the water. She’s never going to look forward to it the way I do.
I pop above the surface once I hear the steps on the dock, but it’s not Callie.
It’s not Callie at all.
“Howdy neighbor!” Kush waves, beaming, his hair blindingly golden in the unfettered sun. I have to squint up at him, shoving wet hair out of my face before I shield my eyes.
He’s not alone. There’s another guy with him that I don’t recognize.
“What’s up?” I ask, trying not to be too suspicious. Kush is a surfer, so he doesn’t have much cause to be in my wave-free inlet, but there’s no law against saying hi to a neighbor.
“Well, you know tourist season is coming up pretty fast here, and I’ve kinda been designated the activities coordinator? I dunno if that’s the right term for it, but anyway that doesn’t matter—”
“Aren’t you cold?” the stranger asks me suddenly.
I guess I am out here in swim trunks and the water’s hardly above freezing, but…
“Not really,” I say with a shrug.
“What, are you cold?” Kush asks the other guy with a scoff. “Oh, shit. Miles, this is Maal, Maal, Miles. Maal is kinda new in town.”
“You come for a dip?” I finally ask, feeling awkward in the water with them towering over me up on the dock.
Kush snorts. “Uh, I don’t have my wetsuit with me. I’ll pass.”
Maal shrugs. “Why not?” he says, starting to strip down, dipping his foot in the water before plunging in.
Kush kind of shakes his head but turns his attention back to me. “Anyway, I was wondering if you’d have any interest in leading some deep-sea fishing expeditions for the tourists? We could advertise it at the B&B, maybe work out some kind of package deal?”
I swim around absently thinking it over. I already offer scuba lessons for the tourists, but if I’m honest with myself, the Oregon coast isn’t exactly a hotspot for scuba diving. None of the flashy coral reefs and warm tropical waters. I’ve led a few fishing trips before with mixed results, but it seems stupid to turn him down outright.
“Think about it,” he says, sensing my hesitation to commit.
“Yeah, I will.”
“Okay, I admit, I’m definitely cold,” Maal announces, his arms wrapped around his torso.
I try not to laugh, starting to wade over to him. The cold water can be enough of a shock that his muscles could tense up, he might struggle to make it back to shore without help, so it’s best to be nearby.
The closer I get to him, the colder the water seems. Which is weird. I don’t normally notice the cold at all, but it’s impossible not to notice the drastic shift… is that ice?
The water’s cold, but it’s not that cold. What the…
“Shit, I just remembered I told Micah we’d— We gotta go,” Kush says suddenly, and in one swift move he grabs Maal’s hand and yanks the guy out of the water, shoving his pile of clothes at him.
“Let me know what you decide!” Kush calls over his shoulder with a final wave before disappearing around the winding beach path.
For a minute, I frown at them — or at least the spot they disappeared from. I don’t know if it’s just me, or if that was legitimately weird. I’m not great at knowing when I’m the weird one or when others are, but I’m pretty sure this was on them.
That’s enough to quiet my curiosity. As long as it wasn’t something weird I did, I’m not going to worry about it. I don’t have time to anyway, because Callie shows up in that same spot I’m frowning at before I’ve even looked away. She’s wearing a white and blue windbreaker with denim shorts that are an entirely respectable length, not that that stops me from ogling the pale curve of her calves, wishing they were shorter even though it’s not nearly warm enough for that. Her hair’s pulled up in a messy bun on top of her head, and she looks ready to get down to business.
It’s the wake-up call I need to stop staring.
“Getting started without me?” she teases, crossing the gangway to my houseboat. I swim over and haul myself up on the deck just in time to see her discard the windbreaker, just a thin camisole top underneath.
“It’s a really nice day. Couldn’t help myself.”
She looks up at the sky like she’s noticing the weather for the first time, then shrugs. It’s the first sign of blue we’ve had in the sky in over a month, and all she’s got is a shrug?
“Where’s the tank?” she asks after she’s changed into the wetsuit I laid out for her.
“Figured we’d take a step back to basics today.”
Her forehead creases, and I can sense the bubbling tide rising. I know I’ve gotta head it off.
“It’s calm and clear for a change, and you’re still not comfortable out there. It’s the perfect time to work on relaxing and letting go.”
She huffs.
“
You’re joking, right? What does relaxing have to do with diving?”
“You want me to pull up graphs about oxygen usage when you’re stressed? You want that tank to last you, you need to work on you first.”
Callie huffs and rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t argue. I knew science would get through to her.
“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood,” she mutters, a hint of a tease in her voice.
Now that she mentions it, she does seem to have an extra bounce in her step.
“Oh? Who should I thank?”
“You’re an asshole, you know that?”
“I’ve heard it before, I think, yeah.”
Callie rolls her eyes, but she’s holding back a smile. She really is in a good mood.
“Anything you wanna share with the class?” I ask, lowering myself down the ladder back into the water.
She snorts. “You’ll think I’m crazy.”
I just arch a brow, perched at the bottom of the ladder to help her ease in.
She stops just above the surface, takes a deep breath, then lets me help lower her in.
“I went to visit my dad,” she says.
That’s… not what I was expecting.
“And that put you in a good mood?” I ask, skeptical. Callie and her dad always butted heads. Ever since her mom left, he was so worried about something happening to her that he kept her on a tight leash. I never knew for sure what happened between the two of them since Callie and I weren’t talking when she left town, but since she’s never come back until now, I have to assume it wasn’t great. Her going off to college at sixteen couldn’t have been in the old man’s plans.
To my surprise, Callie giggles.
“Weirdly, yeah.”
“It went well then?” Asking might be pushing it. We’re not exactly friends anymore, and she could remember that at any minute, but I have a chance to pretend we’re close like we used to be, for just a bit, and I’m going to take it.