Beyond the Rising Tide (15 page)

Something flickers in the depths of his eyes, the way a candle quivers in a gust of wind right before it’s extinguished. “So, if you were happy with him, what’s keeping you apart?”

When I don’t respond, he slowly gets back to work. Then he says softly, “You can tell me, Avery.”

The way he says my name is caressing and warm, the way you say something that means a lot to you. The way Dad says
Guittard
, or the way Sophie says
German boys
, or the way Tyler says
Billabong
. It makes me feel exposed, vulnerable. Because it makes me want to open up to him. But with that vulnerability comes a weight. The heaviness of everything I’m carrying inside that’s aching to be freed. It’s too much to bear when I’m as tired as I am, so I turn around and slide down the cabinet until I’m sitting on the floor. “My feet are tired.”

Kai sits beside me, resting his forearms on his knees and turning to look at me. “So what exactly happened with you two?”

My mind retraces the past few months, all the conversations Tyler and I have had, the words we’ve said and haven’t said, all stemming from one incident, one day. And then I’m thrown back to that afternoon, back into the ocean and the cold, roiling waves. I feel them around me, tossing me this way and that, pounding over my head like a stampede of wild horses. I feel the salt stinging my eyes and see the abyss below me in the moment I dove under to find the boy. I saw him there, motionless and suspended in the deep, just out of reach.

Just out of reach.

My face feels hot, and I can’t breathe. But I keep my panic cloaked beneath my skin. A violent earthquake rattles my insides, but I tense my muscles, holding it in, restraining it, refusing to let it show. I dig my nails into my arm, anchoring them there, anchoring me into stillness, and I focus all my attention on the present physical pain in my arm.

Kai’s hand reaches for mine. His touch stills my insides, draws out the tremors as though they’re water and he’s a sponge.

“Why do you do that?” he asks gently as he removes my hand from where my fingernails have left crescent indents in my skin.

My lungs expand, filling with air. “You say that like I do it all the time.” I force a smile, trying to make light of it.

He rubs a thumb over the indents on my arm and then looks at me, his brow creased with worry. “You did it at dinner last night too.”

I shrug. “I guess it’s a bad habit I picked up a few months back.”

“But why?”

With a weary sigh and a small voice, I say, “I guess it distracts me from the things I don’t want to feel.”

Kai looks heartsick, and he turns his face away, as though it hurts too much to look at me.

“I used to do other things to distract me,” I say. “I’d go out and do something crazy, like rock climbing without a harness, or free-diving alone at night, or surfing big waves. It made it easy to shut out the things I didn’t want to think about because I had to focus on surviving. But … I can’t bring myself to do those things anymore.”

“Maybe your newfound caution isn’t such a bad thing,” he says without looking at me. “Though, you seem to have gone to the opposite end of the spectrum.” He pauses. “Why the change?”

Maybe I should just let it out. Say the words, release the pressure that swells and rattles my insides anytime my memories are stirred. If I let them out, maybe I can be free of them, of the torment they cause.

“Last winter,” I say quietly, “something happened.” I want to tell him everything, to heave these memories out of me. But they won’t come, because I can’t seem to translate them into words. So I settle for the vague. “Something that was very traumatic, and it threw me into a sort of depression. And then … it was like all the fears and hurt I’d repressed for years came crushing down on me. I didn’t have the strength to push back anymore. It paralyzed me to the point that I didn’t even want to leave my house. And I guess Tyler got tired of dealing with me. He says he still loves me and wants to be with me, just not when I’m like this. He wants me to be the girl I was, but every time I try, I fail.” I release a shaky breath. “It’s hopeless.”

The air conditioner turns on overhead, blowing cool air down on us. It feels good on my skin and carries an airy fusion of fruit and chocolate.

He finally turns to look at me, his eyes holding the same tenderness I glimpsed earlier. But this time, it stays. “Nothing is hopeless.” He holds my gaze, cradles it, lulls it into a serene place I never want to leave. “I can help you get him back.”

Looking into Kai’s eyes, I’m not sure I even want Tyler back. But then Kai blinks and refocuses on the cabinet doors in front of us, and I remember that he sees me only as a friend. “How?” I ask.

Kai slides his feet out, straightening his legs, and picks at a fleck of chocolate on his apron. “Let me hang around. He’ll get a taste of what it would be like to really lose you.”

I have to admit that Tyler has been acting differently since Kai showed up, but I’m not sure I like what Kai is suggesting. “I don’t know. I don’t like playing games.”

He meets my eyes again. “This isn’t a game. It’s serious business. And your happiness depends on it.”

Kai is right. It’s what I’ve wanted ever since Tyler broke up with me, for him to realize that I’m much more to him than a partner in adventure. “You’d do that for me?”

He gives me a look that says,
Of course, dummy
. “Let’s wrap things up here and go to that party. I’ll make sure that tonight, he feels the loss of you.”

t’s closing in on midnight as we drive along a winding road toward Dillan’s house, the headlights of Avery’s car illuminating the endless tunnel of trees ahead of us. She’s at the wheel, her eyes focused on the road, so I’m free to sit in the shadow of the passenger seat and observe her. She’s brushed blue with the light of the dashboard, and her hair is a wavy curtain draped over her shoulder, hiding most of her face. The way she’s sitting—her back ramrod straight and her hands gripping eleven and one—reminds me of the way my mom used to drive in snowstorms. Tense and fearful, just waiting for the bald tires to let go of the road. But the roads tonight are dry, and I’m sure Avery’s anxiety has nothing to do with the weather.

She opened up to me tonight, not as much as I would have liked, but more than I expected. Enough to confirm my suspicion that it’s me, and my death, that’s keeping her apart from the boy she loves. I’m convinced more than ever that I can fix this. That I can restore the life she had before.

Her phone chirps. She grabs it from the console and glances at the screen. “Crap. I forgot to text my dad.” She hands me her phone. “Would you text him back? Just say I’m going to a party with Paige and I’ll be home by two.”

I do as she instructs and then return her phone to the console. “Don’t you have a curfew?”

She shrugs. “I used to, before my parents separated. But now … I don’t know. My dad has never really laid down an official curfew. He’s fine as long as he knows where Sophie and I are.”

“And your mom?”

Avery tucks her hair behind her ear, pulling back the curtain to reveal the rest of her profile. “She’s just glad to have one daughter speaking to her. She’d probably let me hitchhike across the country as long as I called her twice a week.” Her hands slide down the steering wheel to a more relaxed position, and her back curves, settling into her seat. “What about you? What do your parents think about you spending the summer across the country?”

Why does it always have to come back to me? Of course I can’t keep her in the dark about everything—if I want her to open up to me, I need to open up a bit to her. But how can I tell her the truth? Do I really want her to know that the last time I talked to my dad it was through a glass partition and he was wearing an orange jumpsuit? And that the last time I saw my mom she was wearing her only Sunday dress and lying in an open coffin? I’m trying to buoy Avery up, not weigh her down with all my baggage, so I simply say, “They give me a lot of space.”

My thoughts drift to my mom, and I wonder for the millionth time why I haven’t seen her on the other side. After I died, I looked for her. I called to her, but she never came. I asked about her, but no one could tell me where she was. I hope that she’s in Elysium, happy and at peace. I can’t think of the alternative, of her being in the Briar. Though with the memories I have of her, of her threadbare clothes, her callused hands, and the fear that was constantly in her eyes, it’s easier to picture her in the Briar than the pillowy heavens of Elysium. I’ve never seen Elysium, but I’ve watched spirits walk through the entrance—a shimmering, vibrant waterfall that’s probably only a hint of the beauty that lies beyond.

Avery takes a right turn into a beachside neighborhood situated on a bluff. It’s similar to her Dad’s—Spanish-style homes with manicured yards and big windows. Beyond the edge of the bluff, the black ocean stretches out, endless and foreboding.

We pull up to a unique two-story house that’s practically made of glass, and with all the lights on, it glows like a beacon on the otherwise dark and sleeping street. There’s no parking, so Avery drives down the street until we find an open spot on the curb. She parks and kills the engine, then looks in the rearview mirror and rakes a hand through her hair.

“You look great,” I assure her.

She lifts a piece of her hair to her nose, inhales, and tosses it aside. “I smell like work.”

I reach over and nab a lock of her hair. It’s soft and satiny, like morning glory petals. I put it under my nose and slowly inhale. She smells like cotton candy. I lower her hair but keep it between my fingertips. “At least you don’t work in a seafood cannery.”

“Good point.” She smiles, then takes a deep breath and yanks the keys out of the ignition. “Okay—let’s go.” She glances at my hand, which is still holding a lock of her hair. I reluctantly release it.

We walk up the street to the beacon house, and on the front door there’s a “Come In!!!” sign scrawled with red marker on a pizza box lid. I hear the thump of music and the fluctuating hum of conversation on the other side of the door, plus what sounds like someone massacring a Weezer song with a microphone. Just as I reach for the doorknob, the door opens and a handful of girls spill onto the porch between Avery and me. One of the girls is Paige, Avery’s best friend. When she sees Avery, she squeals and pulls her into a hug. “You’re here!”

“Are you leaving?” Avery asks.

“No—but Mattie and Fiona are.” She waves to the departing girls. “See ya tomorrow!” They wave back, and when they see me, their smiling faces turn curious. Paige finally notices me too and raises a questioning eyebrow at Avery.

We’re introduced, though after haunting Avery for the last six months, I don’t really need introductions to her friends.

Paige gives Avery a look that says,
We need to talk
, and Avery mouths the word “Later.”

“Tyler’s still here,” Paige says in a hushed tone, grabbing Avery’s wrist. “But before you come in … I’m warning you …”

“Gem’s here, isn’t she?” Avery asks.

Paige answers with an apologetic look, and Avery’s shoulders sink a notch. “I don’t think he was expecting you to come. None of us were. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Come on.” Paige tugs on Avery’s wrist, but Avery digs in her heels.

“Just … give me a minute,” Avery says, her voice tired.

Paige looks at her for a long moment, and I can tell she’s hurting for her friend. “Okay,” she says, letting go of Avery’s wrist. “I’ll be inside.” She goes back in, leaving the door cracked open.

Avery looks up at me with eyes that are desperate for reassurance. “Remind me what I’m doing here—especially when Gem is already in there with Tyler.”

“Hey, don’t worry about Gem. I saw her try to hug Tyler last night, and he totally shot her down.”

Her eyes brighten. “Really?”

I nod. “Whatever’s going on between them, it’s not what you think. So forget about her. You’re here for Tyler. You want him back, right?”

She seems to think hard for a few seconds, then nods. “And how exactly am I getting him back again?”

I have the urge to reach over and rub out the little crease between her brows. Instead I say, “Just be yourself.”