Beyond the Rising Tide (41 page)

There’s water in my throat. My mouth. My lungs. I roll to my side and heave it out, coughing and gasping until my airways are cleared. Then I lie there, breathing in and out, in and out. I don’t open my eyes, because I’m not ready to leave my dream. But it’s too late. The dream and Kai and the tranquil sea are gone, replaced with the gritty, cold sand that’s grating against my cheek.

The air smells of brine, and I hear the pulsing of nearby waves. My head is throbbing, trapped in a thick haze, and my chest feels like someone’s been using me as a punching bag.

My clothes are soaked, and I shiver. I need to change. Get warm. But where are my dry clothes?

Oh yeah—in my tent. I walked down to this beach last night. Went swimming in the dark. But I don’t remember getting out of the water. So how did I get back on the beach? I blink blearily, trying to open my eyes. For a minute, my vision is as muddled as my head. The shore is cloaked in a fine morning mist, like clouds sleeping in on the beach. I’m in the cavern, the sifting sound of the surf echoing in the hollow space like a soothing whisper.

The subtle glow in the sky tells me dawn is near. I draw in a deep breath, filling my lungs with oxygen. It seems to clear some of the mental haze, and my gears start to turn. Or maybe I’m drifting back into dreamland. Because new images are spilling into my head that can’t possibly be real. A silver lake, as still as the ocean I just dreamed of. A wristband inlaid with opal-like stone as brilliant as fire. Like the one Kai wore.

Kai. At the thought of him, pain rips through me, as real and raw as the morning he vanished in my arms. As though the wound of losing him has been slashed open again. And then for the quickest moment, I see an image of him on this beach, kneeling in the sand over a body.
My body
. I see my own hand reaching out to touch his, the stone of the wristband ablaze with light.

My hand goes to my wrist, where I can almost feel the weight of the wristband still there. And then I’m having trouble breathing again. Because it dawns on me that the things I’m seeing aren’t dreams or illusions. They’re memories of what just happened. And slowly, my fragmented memories link together to form a whole picture.

I was dead. Kai dragged me out of the water. And on a hopeful whim, I tried to sacrifice my chance at life to restore his.

I sit up, my eyes wildly sweeping the beach for him. Behind me, lying in the sand with eyes closed, I find him.

The mist hangs over him like a blanket, softens him like frosted glass. I slowly drink in the sight of him, as though he’s the only water in a desolate, drought-ridden land. From his bare feet, to his tattered black shorts, to his rising and falling chest, to his shoulders, and then his face. Peaceful. At rest.

He’s close enough to touch, but I can’t move. And my own breath is lodged in my throat like a stone.

In the gray wash of predawn, he is everything but gray. He is light and color and life. Tousled wisps of tawny-gold hair frame and soften the hard angles of his face. His skin is flushed, his cheeks ruddy. There’s more texture, more lines around his mouth and eyes. Stubble on his jaw. He’s never looked more alive, more real, more beautiful.

Some quiet, detached part of me understands what all this means. The rest of me is screaming,
Delusion! Dream! Psychosis!
Because everything I’m seeing would mean that Kai is—no. He can’t be.

But there’s a small white scar on the top of his hand that wasn’t there before. And beneath the frayed hem of his black shorts, his knees are callused. There are veins bulging in his hands. Purple veins. Veins full of blood.

He’s turning blurry, so I blink to clear my vision. And then he stirs. His lips part as he draws in a deep breath. And then his eyes flutter open. For a few breaths, he gazes at the ceiling of the cavern, as though he still has one foot in a dream and he’s reluctant to leave whatever he’s seeing there.

In his eyes, I can almost imagine what he’s seeing. A vineyard in the early morning light, broad green leaves spotted with dew. His sisters’ faces, lighting up with smiles when they see him for the first time in months. A stage at his feet and an audience stretched out before him, a guitar in his hands.

A white beach, pale as ash in the morning sun. And me, in his arms.

His hand reaches out and finds me, his warm fingers curling around my wrist.

he air tastes salty on my tongue. The sand is cold on my back. But Avery’s wrist is still warm, and her pulse is racing faster and stronger than ever. I breathe her name on a sigh of relief, then turn to look at her. Her hair is wet, strung around her shoulders and arms like ribbons on a gift. She’s sitting close, looking down at me, trembling as though she’s about to collapse. So I tug her to me. She falls into my arms easily, like a house of cards in a gust of wind. I gather her up, cradling her to my chest.

“I was afraid I was too late.” My voice is hoarse and rusty, as though I haven’t used it in months. “What were you thinking? I can’t believe you almost threw away your chance to—” I trail off, because I notice that my ring finger is bare. Charles’s ring is gone.

Avery lifts her head, and her eyes are wide. She finds my hand with hers, then guides it to my chest, where she spreads my fingers over my sternum. “Shhh. Hold still,” she whispers.

We both go still. And then I feel it. Beneath my skin, behind my breastbone, a strong, rhythmic thumping. Like a bass drum, pounding out the beat to a song that has only just begun. I stare at Avery, speechless, as my heart thuds faster and harder. In her eyes, I see the answer to the question I’m too afraid to ask.

“You’re alive,” she whispers, her eyes welling up.

It takes five steady heartbeats for the words to register in my mind, and then the truth burns through me like a fuse to dynamite, and ignites.

I suck in a sharp breath. It takes a minute to remember how to exhale, and then all the air whooshes out of my lungs with the word, “How?”

She shakes her head, unable to answer any more than I can. She’s biting her lip, but it does nothing to keep the tears from spilling down her cheeks.

I pull her into my arms again, too shocked to do or say anything else. My heart and lungs are throwing a raucous party inside my rib cage, and I breathe in Avery’s scent deeply, trying to calm myself. She smells like salt and sunbaked skin, feels like sunshine. When I say her name again, my voice splits. Fractures into pieces. And then so do I. We’re both crying. Her hands are in my hair, on my shoulders, my face. She’s shaking. Or maybe it’s me. Or both of us. All I know in this moment is that I’m alive. And she’s alive. And the possibilities of
us
are racing through my mind in a rapid-fire stream.

She burrows deeper into my embrace, and we stay that way for a long time, listening to the sound of the incoming tide. The ocean is sighing. It’s the sound of relinquishment, of release. Of surrendering my body so that I could have it again. For how long, I don’t know. But it doesn’t matter anymore. Because I know that life is life, whether in this realm or the next. It’s like the sea, fluid and always in motion. It brings us ashore, then sweeps us back out to where we came from. And sometimes, the seas surrender, and part, and bring us back again.

One year later

thin morning mist hangs over Isadora’s vineyard, veiling everything in a cloud of gold light. As I make my way down a row of vines, I feel the moisture in the air clinging to my arms. Clusters of ripe fruit hang from the vines, practically begging to be plucked and eaten. What a difference Kai has made here. Not just for the plants, but for Isadora. He’s gotten so close to her that I’ve occasionally wondered this summer if he’d actually be able to leave her to move to LA with me. But last month he finally found a new vineyard manager to take his place, someone he feels will take good care of the vineyard and of Isadora.

At the end of the row, Kai’s cottage comes into view. I pass through the swinging wooden gate and stroll through the lavender field, inhaling deeply the sharp and sweet scent of the purple blossoms. The smell always reminds me of Kai, and of the first time I walked through this field to find him playing his guitar in the cottage. My heart is a little heavy knowing that it will be a long time before we come back here. But I’m also excited for the road ahead—the marine biology program at UCLA for me, and the serious pursuit of a musical career for Kai. I can’t wait to see how it all turns out. And at the same time, I want to slow the days down so I can savor each moment with him.

On Kai’s porch, I tap on his door, but don’t wait for him to answer before letting myself in. The cottage is quiet and dim, the curtains still drawn, and the scent of the herbs growing in the window permeates the room.

“Kai?” I call softly.

He doesn’t answer, so I stroll across the small living room to his bedroom door. It’s cracked open, and I cautiously duck my head in, not wanting to wake him if he’s still asleep. He’s lying on his back, one hand resting above his head, the other on his stomach. Sunlight spills from the window onto him and his ivory blankets, turning them radiant. His eyes are closed, his dark lashes shadowing his cheekbones, and his chest rises and falls in a slow rhythm.

He should have been up a couple hours ago, but the sheet music, pencils, and guitar scattered on the floor tell me he was up late again writing music. At the thought, the corner of my mouth lifts. There are few things I enjoy more than watching Kai write music. Sometimes when he’s working on a new song, I’ll curl up on his couch and become absorbed in the sound of him humming and wrestling chords into just the right place and rhythm. And he’s never more attractive to me than in the moment that he finally gets it the way he wants, his eyes burning with intensity, his hair flopping across his forehead as his head bobs in satisfaction.

On the floor at the foot of his bed, his suitcase is open and full of haphazardly folded clothes. At least he’s already packed. Either way, I should probably wake him so we can get on the road. I slide through the doorway, then gingerly cross the room to his bedside. My hand reaches for his shoulder, but I stop before touching him. It wouldn’t alter our travel schedule too much if I spent just a couple more minutes drinking in the delicious sight of a sleeping Kai.