Water Steps (12 page)

She seemed so normal. So Mem. How could she be a seal?

I stood there, staring at her closed door, trying to
fit my mind around the idea that Mem could slip into a seal's coat like it was nothing but a swimsuit, then dive into the water and
poof
, she had fins and whiskers and a walloping big tail.

“Trying my door, now are you?” Mem asked, coming back out in her day clothes. “Well, I'll leave it a bit open to give you more of a chance.”

She smiled, but I could see her glimpse over her shoulder at me as she headed down the stairs. I saw a hint of worry in her eyes. A bit of the sadness I saw when she looked at me from those rocks, right before she dove into the water in my vision the night before.

That put me in motion, pushed me to find some clothes and face that stupid lake. I'd win this time. I'd walk right in without fear.

Had only one arm in my shirt by the time I realized I'd gone into staring and amazed mode again. I must have looked like I'd been stuck in pause there for a second. Back in play mode now, I realized that my closet had a map of the world printed over and over down the wall. I ran my hand over that map seeing all that water and realizing Mem and Pep could swim through seas, one after the other, saving lost ships, rather than being stuck here with me.

Drawing my hand over the ocean depth ripples drawn in the Atlantic Ocean, my mind fluttered, and my eyes saw other maps flipped down in front of me. The fluttering steadied and I saw a hand over a map, tracing an ocean route. I squinted to see the land mass nearby, trying to focus my memory.

Was it a memory or just a daydream?

Slamming the door shut, I tried to block out the memory, knowing in that moment that I saw my father tracing our route out to sea off the coast of Maine. I wouldn't let him take me into a memory that scared me. Mem and Pep said Dad had charted a course to Nova Scotia.
“Maybe even Greenland,” he'd shouted, laughing, rocking back in his chair. I remember seeing him from behind, the chair leaning way back, him looking as if he might fall.

Dad had stood up and left the room, his answer just a sound now that the memory had been worn thin
like an old audio tape that had been played until the sound disappeared.

But I remember part of what Mom said next.
She turned me around, but all I could see were those pearls she wore as she said, “Now, Kyna, promise me this . . .”

Promise you what, Mom? I strained to hear the rest, to pull it out of the murky depths of my memory, but nothing came. It all faded like the morning fog in the sun. No Mom, no pearls, no promise.

Maybe if I could remember more, pull myself back to the time when water didn't scare me, then I could not only retrieve the memories of my mother that I had lost, but I could drown my fears once and for all.

I went under my bed to pull out my memory box. As big as the suitcase I took to sleepovers, it held a photo album, the jack-in-the-box Kenny stubbed his toe on, Grandma Bella's recipe book with the chocolate stain on the cover, Dad's pipe, a rosy silk scarf I think belonged to Mom, and my little gumball orange slicker that I'd worn that day. I loved to hold it, crinkle its fabric and know that it was probably one of the last things my mom ever touched.

When I held it, I could almost feel her. I sat at the window, rocking, listening to the waves
swing in, swing out,
praying I could remember that time on the beach
when mom held my hands as I played in the water.

Splashing. I could hear splashing. Had Pep gone to the beach? Or did that echo from my mind?

Mom.
I squeezed my hands to hold her there.

I blinked. She disappeared. I sat on my bedroom floor, feeling her skin against mine. Hearing her laugh in my ears.

For a fleeting second, I actually wanted to go into the water. To follow that memory right into a wave. But the wave crashed over my head, the storm of a darker memory looming. I crushed my eyes shut to hold it back and imagined my mom laughing, slapping the water to invite me in. I'm coming, Mom. I'm coming.

T
he promise my mom asked me to make all those years ago had been swallowed up by time. Did she want me to promise not to be as foolish and daring as my father, who tried to sail too far? Or was she asking me to be brave? To never fear the things that made her worry? Which is better? To be fearless and go too far? Or to never go at all?

Maybe both. Shrink the fear down to the right size. Don't let it disappear and lead you into foolishness, but don't let it get so big it drowns you. Pep had always told me that. So, I chose the promise to make to my mom. I'd never let fear run my life again.

I'd face it and let Mem and Pep know I had figured
out their secret. To lift the worry off their shoulders, I'd take a big water step all on my own.

I waited until Mem and Pep went for a swim, then I went to the last room in the house they'd expect to find me—the bathroom. Not for a sponge bath or a wimpy shower, but a sit-in-the-tub-filled-to-the-rim bath. After all, it's a “bath” room. And it was about time I proved once and for all water wouldn't kill me, not if I shrunk my fear down to the right size.

Pep had it right, jumping in the lake would be too big of a step, but a bath, that would do the trick. Didn't own a swimsuit, so I wore a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, got in the tub and sat down to settle myself. I shook inside and out. Gripping the edge of the tub, I said, “
Just a little wetness. A little cool cleanness
.” I could hear Pep in my head, talking me through it like he had when I took my first shower.

Closing my eyes, I pulled my feet back and turned the water on. Hot. Cold. It didn't matter, that water stung. Made me cry. But I planted myself in that tub, held my breath and let that stupid, clinging, snaking, ugly water wash around me. Then I stuffed that plug in and let it rise.

To my knee. I let out my breath. My thigh. I started to pant. My waist, each inch making it harder and
harder to breathe. When my breathing turned to the stuttering of chills, I cranked off the water. I couldn't look at it, not with the way the movement made it swish from side to side, pulling at me like waves. Waves that could pull you under and choke you.

I grabbed the sides, ready to bolt, then wrestled myself back down.

I put my hand down to the bottom of the tub. Eyes closed, I scooped up a little water and let it trickle down my arm from the shoulder. I'd seen kids do that at the pool to get used to the coldness of the water before they dove in. Just the idea had me shaking my head, repelling imagined water from dry hair.

I gripped the sides. My legs squeaked against the porcelain as I straightened them out. Easing back, my muscles locked up. I felt like a rusted chair myself, fighting to loosen up enough to lower into the water.

My shoulders ached. My jaw twitched. I could feel the coldness on my back. The water touched me, feeling slimy. Just a little bit farther. It pulled at my shirt. Wet my shoulder blades. It slicked the back of my head. Filled my ears.

I tried to pull up, but my hand slipped. I flipped to the side, falling back into the tub, water splashing over my face, into my mouth, my eyes, my nose. Panic exploded inside me. I flailed, kicking, screaming, scrambling to get out.

The water fought back, choking me, stinging my eyes, blurring my vision. I struck my head against the side of the tub. Stunned, I slumped over, face first in the water. And that woke me up, sent me bolt upright, tossing my head back to shed that choking awful water.

Scrambling over the edge of the tub, I flung myself onto the rug and pulled it around me as I cried. Cried in fear. For being so small in the face of my fears. So much for my promise.

S
o Mem and Pep wouldn't find me curled up like a beached baby whale, I scurried into my room and dried off with my blanket, then bundled up in as many warm clothes as I could find.

To keep my mind off what a fool I'd been, I tried to read a book, but I just kept going over the same sentence again and again, the words nothing but squiggly little lines like the names on that map my father traced.

Closing my eyes to clear my thoughts, I heard a staticky pop, then a voice shouting, “Kyna, Kyna, are you awake?”

Tylo? How could he be talking into my bedroom? Oh, the walkie-talkie he gave me. I dug under my dirty clothes to find it.

“Hello?” I shouted into the thing.

His voice came back. “I saw one. And it'll still be down there if you hurry.”

Did I want to see it? Know for sure? Or better yet, should I let Tylo see it? Was that why Mem got so mad when she found out Tylo meant to take a picture of one? She didn't want anyone to have proof of the silkies in the lake.

“Come on!” Tylo shouted. “I heard it bark, then I saw it, swimming in the water as slick as you please.”

There's nothing slick about swimming. “It was probably just a dog,” I shouted to throw him off. “Besides, I'm grounded. Why don't you just come to my house. We can camp-out by the fire, make s'mores.”

“No way. I'm not losing another chance to catch a silkie on film. I just need one picture. You can sneak out and be back before they know it.”

I was afraid of what he'd know by the end of the night if I let him go.

“I don't think I can.” I couldn't. Couldn't believe my parents might be mythical creatures. Or risk letting Tylo find out they really were.

Tylo called back, “I need this picture. People have to believe me. If I don't prove it, my brother Greg is going to keep putting diapers in my bag. And Trevor put a
bottle by my plate at lunch. Do you know what they will be like once we get back in school? They'll tell everyone.”

I knew exactly what it would be like. My little apple-bobbing freak-out gave the kids in fourth grade enough ammunition to tease me for a whole year, covering my notebook in little life jackets, offering me a rope to pull me back out when I went into the bathroom, calling me “water baby” for an entire year.

I couldn't allow something like that to happen to Tylo. He already had to live with his three evil brothers—being teased by the kids at school would be too much. For a friend like Tylo who'd searched the woods for me in the rain, I had to do something. But what?

“Okay, I'll go.” I said, hoping I could figure something out before I reached the beach.

“Yippee skippee!” he yelled. “I'll meet you at the bottom of the steps by your place.”

If I got back before Mem and Pep returned from their swim, they'd never know I left.

Just in case I didn't beat them home, I left a note for Mem and Pep on my pillow that said, “I'm with Tylo.” Then I wrote, “I'm sorry” down the rest of the page.

To my surprise, the only thing that bothered me as I ran down the lakeside steps was the problem of finding a way to stop Tylo. Mem and Pep had been right
again. Living on a lake had taken me one step closer to beating my fear of water. Half of me felt proud for getting so close, the other half wanted to run home.

“What took you so long?” Tylo asked when I reached the bottom.

“Had to leave a note.”

“You haven't snuck out much, have you?”

“Nope.”

“Stick with me,” he laughed as we headed down the beach. “I've been trained for it.”

I certainly wasn't trained for this. How could I turn him around? Maybe I could take a picture of a rock, a shadowy something he could tell his brothers might be a seal. But his brothers wouldn't believe him and Tylo might see too much. I was just about to tell Tylo we should turn back, when we heard it. A far off bark at sea.

“I hear them!” he shouted, grabbing my hand. “Let's go!”

He started to run, dragging me along behind him. I'd never even tried to move that fast on sand before, so I had all I could do to stay on my feet. I had heard it, though. A distant bark that echoed on the water.

That had my insides on spin cycle. That sound meant one thing to me. My parents had tails.

Tylo stopped dead. I slammed into him. “We've got to creep from here. They love this cove.”

Too stunned to even think, I inched my way over the rocks, grabbing at Tylo when I started to wobble. Could I pretend to slip and drop my camera? It'd kill me to break it, but I had to do something.