Underneath (15 page)

It made me cry. And it made me wonder: does THAT happen to Mom, too? Or something like it? Is it genetic? If it is genetic, how, WHY does it happen?

I don't think I'll ever understand. I'm not sure I'll even pass undergrad biology.

fourteen

Hot tears are running down my face before I've even pulled out of the parking lot and onto the main road. I can't face my parents right now. I don't even want to face myself. I've been so stupid, so naive.

Instead of going back across town, I get on the freeway and drive.

The road winds between rocky dark hills covered with the lights of tract houses, and all four lanes are busy with holiday traffic, but I can hardly focus on any of it. I can't stop thinking about the party, with all those eager, hungry faces staring at me; about Mikaela's anger; about how I'm back where I started, alone and friendless.

After about twenty minutes I get to the cutoff for Pacific Coast Highway. I drive for another mile or two, then I pull my car onto a short dead-end street with bungalows on either side, get out and lock the doors, and climb past the guardrail that separates the road from the sand. A chilly, salty breeze cuts through my sweater, but it feels good.

Cold sand filters into my shoes as I walk. I drop down into a crouch, my breathing ragged, and hunch over, listening to the sound of the waves and trying to understand.

The half-moon is bright. I see the silhouette of a couple walking along the sand, close to the water. A dog runs after them, dashing in and out of the waves. I look down, waiting until they go past, and then stare back out at the ocean.

The reflection of the moon breaks along the water's choppy surface. It's what my heart feels like—scattered in a million confused pieces.

Mikaela shouldn't have told Cody. That's what makes me angriest. But Cody's the one to blame for blabbing to a bunch of strangers. He must not know me very well if he thinks I would
want
people to know about this. And me—I should have been more honest from the beginning, or I shouldn't have said anything at all.

My phone vibrates. It's probably my mom, wondering where I am. I ease myself into a seated position and dig my fingers into the cold, damp sand, feeling the grit work its way under my fingernails, trying to delay the inevitable.

I should never have told Mikaela. There's only one person in the world who might, just might have understood what's happening to me. One person I'll never be able to talk to again. My jaw muscles tighten; my fingers dig more painfully into the sand. I'm convinced that Shiri went through what I'm going through now. And she might have been able to help me or comfort me, but instead she left me alone on this earth, alone with nothing but this—this curse of a “power.”

Stupid. I'm angry at someone who's dead. There's something mean about it, too; something petty and small. Guilt takes over, and I wrap my arms around my knees, feeling completely miserable.

We'll always have yesterday … and today, and tomorrow
, her note said. Whatever that means. The truth is, I was left with an awful lot more than that. This … aloneness, this horrible knowledge, is something I never would have asked for.

Something occurs to me then. What if she somehow did “leave” me this ability? The first time it happened was the day she died. What if her death triggered it somehow?

I can't imagine how that could even be possible, scientifically speaking. But somehow, something did happen. Even Shiri thought it could be genetic; she said in her journal that her mom was always unusually sensitive to the emotions around her. If Auntie Mina could underhear, there's no way she'd ever have married Uncle Randall, but if her sensitivity is related somehow … it's a theory, anyway. Nothing else even comes close to making sense.

After a while, I finally relax a little. Periodic snatches of laughter reach me on the breeze, wafting by from someone's patio and interrupting the quiet rustling of the waves. The moon is bright, and the cold of the sand seeps through my thin skirt, making my butt numb. An occasional car roars by on the highway.

My phone vibrates again. I pull it out of my purse to check. Another call from my mom, even though it's only nine thirty. I start to get a horrible feeling that she might have heard something from Antonia about the party, so I reluctantly haul myself up and walk back to the car.

I drive home with the radio off, and soon my angry circling thoughts return. I can't believe Mikaela thinks I'd be self-absorbed enough to assume I'm the only one with problems. I know she's got family issues and doesn't get along with her dad. And I know she trusted me, confided in me. But I don't know why she's so threatened by the idea that I might like Cody when they've been friends for so much longer; why she's so angry at me for not saying anything about it. I
did
confide in her—I told her the biggest secret I've ever had in my entire life. Whether I like Cody or not is nothing compared to that. I told her about my underhearing—and look what happened.

I try to relax my clenched muscles, and I take purposeful, deep breaths in and out as I signal for the freeway exit and merge onto Citrus Valley Boulevard. I can't stay furious like this. My mom says that anger builds up inside you if you let it and it can cause all kinds of health problems. My stomach hurts, so I think she's probably right.

Breathe in. Breathe out. I turn the corner onto my street. In. Out. In. Out. Almost home. I pull into the driveway.

Then my mother's voice shatters the silence in my head.

—you can't go there you can't don't please Al please listen! please come back—

Overwhelmed with an urgency I'm not sure is even mine, I slam on the brakes, kill the engine, and run for the front door.

By the time I've rushed inside, my parents are already halfway down the hall leading to the garage. My mom has hold of my dad's arm, tugging at it, and they're talking over each other in frantic, urgent voices—my mother hushed as if someone might overhear, my dad uncharacteristically loud.

“Just let me do this,” my dad says, almost in a shout, trying to pull away. “Mina needs me right now.”

“You
can't
go over there!” Mom's voice is desperate. My dad's face is red with anger. Obviously Mom told him about what happened to Auntie Mina, her arguments with Uncle Randall. Or maybe she didn't. Maybe something else happened, something awful. I shiver, and goose bumps raise the little hairs along my arms.

Dad says in a ragged voice, “All I know is, Randall cannot keep doing this.” I've never heard him sound like this before.

“Please, just wait until tomorrow,” my mom says, her face drawn and tired. She tries to pry the car keys out of my dad's hand, unsuccessfully. “I don't want you trying to talk to that man until you cool off a little.”

“There's no cooling off about this. I have to do something.” He yanks his hand back out of my mom's reach and takes another step toward the garage. “He could be hurting her again right now. God, I tried to tell her from the beginning what a mistake it was to marry him.”

I quickly move past them and lean against the door to the garage, my arms crossed so I don't tremble, until they notice me standing there. My mom gives me this complicated look of apology and anxiety and frustration.

“Sunny,” she says. “I tried to call you. I was worried. You were supposed to call when you left the party. Instead hours go by, and what do I hear from you? Nothing.”

My mouth opens, then closes again. I can't even force out a perfunctory excuse because I'm still focused on my dad, his thunderous expression, his uncharacteristic anger. It scares me. It makes him look like a stranger.

“Dad,” I finally force out, my voice raw. “Don't go over there. Please. We'll figure something out. We'll help Auntie Mina.” I reach one hand back and block the doorknob, as if that will help. Tears are spilling down my cheeks. “Just tell me what happened.”

He sighs heavily and leans against the wall, letting his keys drop to the ground. “Sunny, I don't know … I'm not sure we should involve you in this.”

“I'm already involved!” Suddenly I'm exhausted, too ex-hausted to stand, and I sink to the floor. I look down at my crossed legs. “I know she called. I know about him ‘grabbing' her.”

“Oh, really?” Dad looks down at me, frowning. “Funny; I only heard about that tonight, myself. Why? Because your mother talked to Mina again today, and she said Randall hurt her
again
.” He straightens up, starts pacing the hallway. “He twisted her wrist and threatened to cut off her access to their bank accounts. And you know why? Because she told him she wants them to spend some time apart to work things out. It is not a healthy environment for her in that house, I'm telling you.”

“Al, listen,” my mom begins, in her calmest, most soo-thing everything's-going-to-be-just-fine tone. “I'm sorry. I should have told you right away the first time she called. But Mina said it would blow over.” Her voice is pained now. “Honest to God, I believed her. She made me promise not to say anything.”

“Oh, is that right.” Dad's voice is bitter, and I cringe. “But you still told Sunny? You told her and not me? No guys allowed?” He looks at Mom steadily.

“I guessed about the phone call,” I blurt out. “Mom didn't tell me.”

“That's a pretty uncanny guess.” Dad glares at me.

“It's true! I … ” I hesitate for a moment, then realize I have something to say. Something important. I stand up again. “That Sunday, when we were over at their house for dinner, I helped Auntie Mina clean up. When we were in the kitchen … ” I swallow, hard, past a lump in my throat. “I saw a bruise on her shoulder. She said it was an accident, but … ”

“Oh, God—” Mom chokes off whatever she was going to say. My dad stands up straight again, his face dark with rage, and clenches his fists at his side as if he's trying not to hit something. I shrink back, despite myself.

He'd never hurt anyone. I don't
think
he would. Maybe he's planning to make an exception for Uncle Randall.

“Deb.” Now he sounds deadly calm, despite the expression on his face, his tense body language. “You're right. If I go over there now, I might make things worse. Or I might just kill him outright,” he adds in a not-very-quiet undertone. “But—”

“Dad!” Now I'm yanking his arm as he starts to walk purposefully back toward the kitchen.

“I'm not going anywhere, Sun.
But
,” he says, shaking me off, “I am going to pick up that phone and call my sister.”

Mom follows us into the kitchen and sits at the table, massaging her temples. “Fine. But if Randall picks up, you are
not
going to yell at him, you are
not
going to threaten him! Please promise me you're just going to talk for now.”

Dad stops. He sighs, then nods.

I don't say anything, but I pull up a chair next to my mom and press the heels of my hands into my forehead. Since the moment I ran through the front door, nothing has seemed quite real. Just when I was getting used to everything that's changed, my life feels strange and unfamiliar again. Even our kitchen, with the same green-striped curtains and boring beige countertops we've had since I was a kid, seems like someone else's kitchen. I hunch over, picking at a shoelace. Then my new shoes remind me of Mikaela and I don't want to think anymore.

I snap back into focus at the soft beep of the phone's “talk” button. My dad is holding the cordless, pacing back and forth as he waits for someone to pick up on the other end. I lace my fingers together and twist them tightly until my knuckles pop.

“Mina,” my dad finally says, his whole voice a sigh of relief. My hands instinctively relax. “You're okay?” It's a question, not a statement. Mom and I sit there waiting. I hold my breath and sit as quietly as I can, though there's no way I can hear what Auntie Mina is saying on the other end.

“Okay, well, we were worried about you.” My dad's voice barely hides his tension.

“Why? You know why!” He sounds incredulous now. “You called Debby again. And Sunny said—” He breaks off after my mom shoots him a warning glare. There's silence on our end for a moment. I don't know if Mina is talking to him or if they're both just sitting there saying nothing.

“But, today when you talked to—okay,” he finally says, quietly. “Well … ” He seems at a loss, lost, his eyes sad now instead of angry. “Just—if anything else happens—if you—we're here, Mina.” I look away, stare at the patterns of texture on the ceiling, confused. It seems like Auntie Mina is blowing him off, telling him nothing's going on. But we all know that isn't true.

“Are you sure there's nothing we can do? Do you want me to come get you? You can stay here until … as long as you want.”

There's another long pause.

“Okay. Oh … Okay. Call if you need to. Yep. Bye.”

“Oh, honey—” Mom jumps in as soon as Dad hangs up. “There's something very wrong here. It doesn't take a genius or a psychic to know it.” I fidget. Tears pool in the corners of my eyes. “I think Randall must know she said something to me,” Mom continues. “I'm so sorry I didn't tell you the first time she called.”

“He'd better not hurt her again or he'll have me to answer to,” Dad says, as if he's an action hero who can solve everything with a good kung fu scene:
Dorky South Asian Professor Man! Beware his hairy knuckles of fury
.

“Oh, honey, really. But I'm at a loss. She asked us not to interfere. Even though we can
see
how bad things are,” my mom says grimly.