Fathom (19 page)

I needed something to get through this.

First up was
Be Somebody
by The Kings of Leon.

Followed by
Lift Me Up
by Vast.

After that, there would be a medley of Paramore and Snow Patrol and The Killers.

Outside the window, life went on just like yesterday. Blue skies, white hot sun. The parking lot filled with gleaming Mercedes and Miatas and Mustangs began to empty.

Inside, Mrs. P was saying stuff like,
the healing properties of literature
and
she’s extremely gifted
and
the program at Berkeley starts in three weeks.

I nodded my head and faked a smile, but her words just overlapped one another and I noticed that she was nervous. Maybe even more nervous than I was. She dropped one of my poems on the floor—the one of my mom and my sister under the ocean, where they were skeletons holding hands—and Dad picked it up. He held it for a really long time, reading it. Even when they were tucked away inside a sonnet, my relatives refused to stay dead.

I started working on my playlist again.

I tossed in a couple of songs by The Foo Fighters and Yellowcard and Flyleaf.

Then they were both staring at me and silence numbed the room. I think I heard the echo of her last word, heard a change in the pitch of her voice. She must have asked me a question.

“What?” I asked.

“Would you like that? Would you like to attend the program at Berkeley this summer?” She blushed. I never realized that parent/teacher/student meetings could be rough on the teacher, but it sure looked like this one was.

“I dunno. Maybe.” What program? That was when I knew that I should have been paying attention, but I’d been focusing on survival here. “How long does it last?”

“Six weeks. You’d get college credit for it.”

I frowned. Leave Crescent Moon Bay for six weeks? Leave Dad and Gram and Sean?

“And for the last part of the program you would be teaching younger students.”

“Teaching them what?”

“How writing can help you deal with difficult situations.”

I paused. “So I’m not in trouble for what I wrote in my journal?”

Mrs. P laughed—a good laugh, my favorite kind—and she settled back in her chair. “No, Kira, you’re not in trouble. You’re my best student. I’ve never had anyone who can write as well as you do, and honestly, when I read through your latest journal, that was when I realized what a good fit this program might be for you. I know the professor who’s heading it up and I made some phone calls. You’re already pre-approved.” She glanced at Dad. “And she would qualify for a full scholarship.”

Dad looked at me. “Do you want to go?”

I took a deep breath, still not sure what this was all about. I didn’t really like the idea of leaving Dad for that long, but then again, the thought that I could study writing—my favorite subject—at Berkeley, well, that kind of took my breath away.

“Can I think about it for a few days?” I asked.

“Sure.” Mrs. P was smiling now. She started putting all my papers and my journal back into that thick file folder. “Just let me know by the end of next week, okay?”

I nodded. Then I stood up, swung my backpack over my shoulder and started rooting through it for my iPod. For a few minutes I thought maybe my life didn’t suck after all. Maybe it could actually be cool at times. I even thought about changing the title of my new playlist from “It’s All Over Now.” Potential titles included, “Wonders Never Cease” and “Things are Looking Up” and “Clear Skies Ahead.”

But I should have known better.

I should have named it “Tsunami On The Horizon” instead.

Kira:

Afternoon shadows stretched down the hallway. Somewhere a door opened to the outside world and I could smell the ocean, I could almost see it in my mind: waves growing taller and taller, sea foam lashing the shore, puddles of seaweed tangling around the rocks. Strains of Civil Twilight played on my iPod as I slipped one earbud in my left ear. We were done with our meeting and Dad was going to take me out for dinner. He just had to make a quick phone call first. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and walked a short distance away from me.

Then I spotted Sean, leaning against a bank of lockers.

“Hey.” I waved and smiled, headed toward him. He licked his lips and looked down at his shoes. There was an awkward silence when I got closer. “Look, I know it’s supposed to be a secret or something, but I can’t believe what a jerk the coach is being about what happened at the party—”

“I’m back on the team,” he said, grinning.

“No way! Really? That’s awesome.” I threw both my arms around his neck and gave him a hug. Last week this would have been completely normal for us, but everything was different now. We could both feel it. His hands settled on my waist instead of sliding around my back. And when I was this close to him, the smell of his skin was unbelievable. It was all I could do to resist nuzzling his neck, kissing that area right below his ear.

“Kira,” he said, his voice a low rumble against my chest.

I pulled away, stared up at him. “Look, I’m really sorry about Friday. About everything,” I said. “Really.”

“Everything?” he asked, a mysterious expression in his eyes.

“Yeah, I mean it’s my fault that you got kicked off the team. I just—I want us to be friends again.”

“You’re sure that’s what you want?”

I didn’t know what to say. I realized that he still had his hands on my waist and his eyes were darker than I’d ever seen.

He leaned even closer.

Just then—when we were leaning toward each other, maybe about to have our first official kiss in public, the one that might prove to God and the entire student body that we really were boyfriend and girlfriend—right then the second worst thing in my life happened.

Or maybe it was the first worst.

Just a few feet away, my dad winced in pain. I saw him grab his left arm, like it hurt more than it had ever hurt before. And then his knees buckled underneath him.

Fear, unbridled and fierce, surged through every fiber in my body.

My mouth opened to scream, but if I did, I never heard it.

Dad fell to the floor, his head cracked against the tile. And then, he didn’t move at all.

The whole world narrowed down to that small space where he lay. I couldn’t see the rest of the hallway or hear anything but my own heartbeat. Then I was running, although I don’t know how I got my legs to move. I was kneeling over him, crying, pounding my fists on his chest.

Dad, wake up, wake up, get up, get up now!

Sean was beside me, dialing something on Dad’s phone and then he was shouting. I could tell by how wide his mouth opened and the way the veins in his throat strained. Then Mr. L came out of nowhere. He pulled me away from Dad and I tried to fight him, tried to make him let me go. Sean grabbed me and held me, while Mr. L performed CPR on Dad. But he still wasn’t waking up. And Mr. L didn’t stop, not even when the paramedics got there. He was just as bad as me, they had to peel him off.

Then my dad was on a stretcher.

And strangers were taking him away.

Kira:

There’s no school manual that tells you what do when your dad has a heart attack. I cried and screamed, and it hurt so bad I thought my own heart was going to stop. Everything in the whole world faded away, time stood still, and suddenly I was riding in the back of the ambulance, Sean at my side. He held my hand until I just couldn’t stand it anymore. Then I dug a pen out of my knapsack and I started to write.

I had to get this poem out of me or I was going to die.

The words were building up faster than I could think—

You can’t leave me, the sky will fall and time will stop

The world will crash and everyone will turn to ash

I started writing on my hand, then I pulled up my sleeve and continued until the words circled my wrist. A spiral grew, black ink on white skin, my letters awkward because my hand wouldn’t stop shaking. And then the ambulance got really crowded because all of sudden my sister, my little six-year-old sister, was in there with us, crying, her vanilla musk perfume mingling with the stench of antiseptic. Every time her lips moved, my pen caught her words before someone else could hear them.

Is Daddy going to be okay, she asked,

her skin as white as mine.

Dark circles under her eyes, she looked dead.

For the first time ever, she looked like a ghost, ready to

Steal him and take him back with her.

We were at the hospital then, so I didn’t stand in anyone’s way. They whisked my dad to the ER and I tried to follow, but they wouldn’t let me. Even though he was all I had left in the world and right now my dead sister was trying to pull him into the Underworld. I couldn’t imagine one day without him. And I knew, with a pain in my gut that made me want to double over, that I hadn’t been paying enough attention to him.

All I had been thinking about lately was me.

We were in some waiting room now, trying to block out a TV that wouldn’t shut up. Gram was here and I instantly curled up next to her on a couch. My uncles and my cousins filtered in, one by one; all of them tried to talk to me, but it seemed like my ears were stuffed with cotton. By this time, all the doctors looked like monsters in a horror movie and I was convinced that if they pulled back their surgical masks, I’d see they were laughing at me.

I waited for hours, but it felt like years, while the doctors injected Dad’s heart with dye, trying to figure out what was wrong. Somebody said that they needed to unblock an artery, I think—but I don’t remember who—and they were planning to put a stent in place.

They were talking. I saw their mouths move. But none of it made sense.

And the whole time, none of us, not even the doctor, would say the “D” word.

Death.

Because Dad had to pull through. Really. He. Did.

So I curled up in a chair and some nurse brought me a blanket and all I could think about was the last time Dad hugged me and said that he loved me. But as hard as I tried, I couldn’t remember the last time I told him that I loved him.

All I knew for sure was that I hadn’t said it today.

Caleb:

Lynn and I sat on the beach, staring at the ocean. All day long I had been fighting the urge to plunge into the sea and forget about this world of humans. With every wave I could hear Mare’s voice, like a war drum, calling me back to Duncarrig. Would our home still be there when we returned? Would my father have all his battle gear already laid out?

“He’s not at peace,” Lynn said then, her voice cracking.

I glanced at her and saw the sallowness of her skin, the ever-present dark circles beneath her eyes. She had been writing Ethan’s name in the sand. With every wave, the word dissolved and then she wrote it again.

“Can you hear him?” I asked. Maybe her gift had been born after all, maybe she could speak with the dead.

She shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I feel it. Here.” She touched the center of her chest.

“We should have a funeral for him.”

“Can we do that? Without a body?”

I shrugged. “There are no Elders here to tell us that we can’t.”

“Should we tell the others?”

I nodded. Ethan deserved to be mourned by as many people as possible.

In less than an hour, when the sun was heading toward the horizon, we all gathered on the shore, each of us carrying some token that reminded us of Ethan. Even Riley agreed to participate, an act that surprised me at first. But then once we all stood, side by side, our arms heavy with Ethan’s final gifts, I could see that she truly understood loss. Her voice wavered when it was her turn to conjure a memory. Out of respect, Brianna—Riley’s familiar—watched our ceremony from the balcony up above.

We all grew quiet when it was Lynn’s turn to speak.

“You captured me with your fire, my beloved,” she said as she placed a burning torch upon the water. She stood with shoulders back, head raised, but her fingers trembled and a deep ache sounded in her words. “I will never forget you, my love. And I vow today that I will never take another man as my betrothed.”

She knelt at the water’s edge, let the ocean rise and engulf her in a swelling wave. Then it released her and she was alone, the way she would be for the rest of her life.

 I took my turn kneeling before the ocean next.

“May the gods grant you peace, brother, as you continue your journey on the other side of the water,” I said, my arms outstretched as if I could embrace him one last time. “May the clouds part to give you sun, may the ocean water be always sweet, and may you never forget those you have left behind.” I untied the amulet that hung around my neck—a present he had given me just before we set out on this journey, a symbol of my manhood. The waters rose above my head and I released the necklace. It felt as if ghostly fingers wrapped around it, tugged it out of my hand, but it must have been a bit of seaweed.

Patrick and Dylan came up behind me and helped me to my feet.

And then, high above me, I heard a sound. An outburst of weeping. Brianna stood on the balcony, talking to someone on the phone.

I could only make out one word in the midst of her tears.

Kira.

Kira:

Sean stayed with me. The sun touched the horizon and shadows grew longer, turning into plumes of darkness that gathered in corners and dim hallways. Almost everyone I knew was here, yet I felt unbearably alone. I couldn’t stand this waiting. Every time a doctor or nurse would pass by, I wanted to grab them and shake the words out of them...
your dad is fine, his surgery is over, everything turned out better than we expected.