Wish (10 page)

We stopped at a convenience store and bought ten Arnold Palmers, a half lemonade, half ice tea drink that Ty and Little Brew drank like water. Tommy took a few sips of one, then passed it to me. It tasted sweet and a little tart.

“So what’s Little Brew mean, anyway?” I asked when we got underway again. “Is that your Native American name?”

“Oh, man,” Little Brew said. “You don’t even want to know.”

“Tell them,” Ty said, his eyes looking in the rearview mirror. “Or I will.”

Little Brew sighed and said, “There was a baseball player a long time ago named Harmon Killebrew. He was my
dad’s favorite player, because my dad was from Minnesota and Harmon Killebrew was like the only decent player to ever play for the Minnesota Twins in those years. So somehow I got it into my head that his name was Little Brew and they didn’t correct me or anything for about, I don’t know, a hundred years. They thought it was cute every time I said it, and of course I was being a donkey.”

“My dad would make an announcer’s voice and say,
Now batting, Jasonnnnnn Little Brew
,” Ty said. “And my dork little brother used to think it was the right name.”

“It stuck,” Little Brew said. “That’s how it goes.”

“So your real name is Jason?” I asked.

He nodded.

“Little Brew is way better,” I said.

He smiled. His leg slid over a little and brushed against my calf. I felt a stone roll off a big pile in my gut. It kept going down the stones below it and rattling like an avalanche. I was afraid if he spoke I wouldn’t be able to hear him.

“You think so?” he asked. “I went through this thing last year where I started asking people to call me Jason. Teachers and friends. But no one stuck to it. Some people say L.B. But no one calls me Jason.”

“How long have you been surfing?” I asked him.

“I started surfing way young. They just put a board in the shallow water and let me jump on and off it. I was, like,
three or something. Then you start climbing up on it and riding a little. Ty learned the same way. Our dad got us into it.”

“You know, my dad had a white trail him once,” Ty said, looking over at Tommy and changing the subject. “He was in a kayak with a group of people and the white trailed behind him for about fifty yards, then disappeared. A big fin, my dad said.”

“We have some weird shark mojo in this family,” Little Brew said. “No doubt about it.”

“Do your parents live at the house?” I asked.

“Divorced, like, to the tenth degree,” Little Brew said. “Mom’s down in Mexico doing art tiles and Dad sells surgical supplies. He travels a lot. They bought our place as kind of a beach house years ago, but we took it over. Dad comes whenever he can.”

“Snow Pony,” Ty said, pulling into a parking lot next to some dunes with a path running down the center, “you ready to see some shark damage?”

“Bring it on,” Tommy said.

I had to help him climb down out of the van. Tommy didn’t like that, but he endured it. While the guys were still on the other side of the van, Tommy leaned close to me.

“Little Brew is
so
into you,” he whispered.

“Cut it out, you weirdo,” I whispered back.

“I know what I know.” He held up his two fingers like
bull’s horns, jabbing at me to make his point. He was feeling good and I couldn’t help smiling. I also couldn’t help thinking about what he said.

“I hope they haven’t moved it,” Little Brew said, coming around the backside of the van. “Frankie saw it here yesterday.”

We smelled it before we saw it. Seagulls flocked the air above it and even a few crows hopped on the dunes, looking down like old ministers waiting their chance. We had to go over a small rise and I stopped to help Tommy kick out of his shoes. Ty and Little Brew were already barefooted. I stepped out of my flip-flops and the sand came up cool and smooth between my toes. Even with the horrid smell, the ocean air pushed around and filled in any empty places not given over to the dead-animal odor.

We came to a golden retriever before we came to the seal. A man dressed in a fleece and baggy shorts walked toward us, his face red. He didn’t look happy. I understood why a moment later when I smelled the dog.

“Dead seal down there,” the man said, then pointed to the dog. “This bonehead rolled in it.”

“He reeks, dude,” Little Brew said, stepping sideways to let the dog pass. “Why don’t you let him swim?”

“I did,” the man said, and yanked the dog after him.

“Seal guts get kind of ripe,” Ty said.

“You imagine that dog in the car with you?” Little Brew said.

Then Tommy saw the seal. He walked toward it as fast as he had the night at Fisherman’s Wharf, his eyes straight ahead, his gait cut by a limp. The gulls lifted at his approach. He waved his hand as if to dismiss them, as if to say he would take over now. They scattered and banked in sideward glides.

Even in the sand, even after the gulls had been at it, and the crows, I still saw the violence of what had occurred. So did Tommy. The blood along the seal’s neck shone dull and cruddy like a rusted pipe. The knuckles of muscle and veins, the cords of tendons and strings of flesh, looked bruised and shortened by the savage bite. Somehow the tide had delivered the seal well onto the beach, and the waves that floated forward and back beyond the body seemed incapable of retrieving it.

It stunk. It stunk so hard it filled my nose and made me turn away, but Tommy went forward and knelt beside it. He grabbed a nearby stick and prodded at the neck. Whatever the seal had been, whatever its power to face the waves and the dark sharks flying up at it from below, had passed into the sand, had evaporated like air from a balloon. Death had flattened the sleek body.

It made me sick to go near it. I felt like retching. To my relief, Ty walked over and knelt beside Tommy. I stood next to Little Brew.

“They decapitate them a lot,” Tommy said, still examining the seal with the stick. “Doesn’t look like a gigantic white did it, but you can see it was a bite.”

“It’s not uncommon to have them wash up,” Ty said. “This time of year, the whites are hunting here.”

“You’d think with a bite like that, he’d never be able to get away.”

“Yeah, it’s nasty. But could be the shark was distracted. Could have hit a juicier one, maybe. You never know.”

“You guys are ghouls. You’re a little weird about this stuff,” Little Brew said, and smiled at me. “Bee and I are going for a swim. You want to go for a swim?”

I wondered if it occurred to him that he was inviting me to go swimming where a shark had killed a seal a day or two before. I shook off any dread, glad that I had changed into my swimsuit back at the house.

“Sure,” I said. “First swim in the Pacific.”

“We’re coming,” Ty said. “Have you seen enough, Snow Pony?”

“I just never knew it was like this exactly,” Tommy said, his eyes still on the bite mark. “It’s awesome.”

“They got to get them dead before they can eat them,” Ty
said. “They really hit hard. The first bite probably kills most seals. It’s a big impact.”

“I can’t believe you were hit like that,” Tommy said.

“If it hadn’t hit the board, I would’ve been a goner,” Ty said. “You can see how it goes when you look at that seal.”

Ty stood and dusted his knees free of sand. Tommy followed. Their movement shook some flies away from the body. The flies shifted, lifted, then resettled.

We followed the path to the water’s edge. The afternoon sun rode a half dozen hands higher than the horizon. Early evening, late afternoon. The ocean rolled at us and collapsed on the sand and shells, then pulled back again. Little Brew pulled off his shirt and ran into the ocean. He dove into the first wave and reappeared fifteen feet out beyond the breakers. Ty laughed. I surprised myself by swinging my backpack down, stripping out of my shirt and shorts, and trotting to the water’s edge. Little Brew didn’t shout or make a big deal out of being in the water and I liked that about him. I waded in, trying to be casual, and when I got to my waist I flexed forward and dove.

As corny as it sounds, I couldn’t help thinking: I am swimming in the Pacific Ocean.

I checked off a little box in some sort of quirky Beatrice Winterson life list.

Little Brew swam over. He looked irresistible, his hair wet and hanging down, his skin shiny with water. He swam beautifully, moving through the waves with total ease. I treaded water beside him, too nervous to put my feet down on the sand.

“Chilly, huh?” he asked. “Is it cold in New Hampshire when you swim?”

“Freezing,” I said. “We don’t really swim. We just duck in and out.”

“Do you have coastline?”

“Seventeen and three quarter miles,” I said.

He looked at me funny, so I added, “They made us memorize our state facts in fifth grade. Purple finch, state bird. Purple lilac, state flower. Pumpkin, state vegetable. Tallest mountain, Mount Washington. That kind of stuff.”

“Impressive.”

“Dorky,” I said.

“Impressively dorky.”

We didn’t say anything for a little while, then I thanked him for being so kind to Tommy. His face softened.

“Ty loves the kid, so it’s no biggie,” Little Brew said. “I mean it. He e-mails with Tommy all the time. That whole shark thing is too big to just forget about, but you can’t keep talking about it forever, either. It helps Ty to sort it out with Tommy. They have a bond about it all.”

“Well, it means the world to Tommy. A lot of kids his age aren’t quite as accepting.”

“He’s a cool kid. Ty said he has cystic fibrosis. So it affects his lungs?”

“Yes,” I said. “He has trouble breathing and keeping the passageways cleared.”

“That’s a tough break.”

Little Brew swam closer. His handsomeness seemed almost radioactive, like it glowed from him. I’d never let myself really like a boy before, but no boy had ever captured my attention like Little Brew. We kept looking at each other, and sometimes it seemed like it was
that
look, and sometimes it didn’t. And then I realized I didn’t really know
that
look, but I felt myself wanting to melt into him. I wanted to soak into him and let my heart beat be his heart beat, his skin my skin. I had to force myself to breathe.

“He’s lucky to have you for a sister,” Little Brew said. “You’re obviously crazy about the kid. A lot of sisters wouldn’t be into hanging out with their little brothers.”

“He’s the best person I’ve ever met. And that’s dorky to say, too.”

Little Brew smiled.

“I like dorky. Besides, I’m close to Ty. He didn’t have to let me live with him after our parents split up. He could have just gone off and done his thing, but he made sure I
was okay. Ty is kind of a natural dad-type. My father isn’t, but he is. Weird, I know.”

“And your mom? What’s she like?”

“She’s arty. Into primitive art. She’s kind of worried she’s missing out on life if she isn’t painting something or traveling somewhere. Kids weren’t exactly her top priority.”

“I have a mom like that.”

He nodded. “Then you know how they get easily distracted.”

Little Brew put his feet down on the bottom and the water came to his chin. He tilted his head back to keep his nose and mouth free. He held out his arm.

“Here, hold on,” he said. “You can’t tread water forever.”

I reached over and took his forearm. He smiled. The water moved me up and down, back and forth. I brushed against him and I felt like my heart might beat so hard it would break through my ribs. This is not happening, I thought. But it was. The most irresistible boy I had ever seen was holding me up in the waves off a California beach.

“See?” Little Brew asked.

“It’s great.”

“And it’s not cold, right?”

“No, it’s perfect.”

Then for one instant, for one wave, I thought he might kiss me. Our eyes locked. A wave brought my body against
his, my chest against his, my arms against his, and just as quickly the wave moved us apart.

“We have to be careful with Tommy,” I said, because I couldn’t think of what else to say.

“Not one bit,” Little Brew said, joking. “Go big or go home.”

Waves kept coming, lifting us up and setting us down. Salt lined my lips. I wondered what my girlfriends back home would think of me swimming with Little Brew, the cutest boy any of us had ever seen. Finally he lifted his arm to let me go, then he swam away and dove down, staying under for a good stretch. When he came up, he twisted onto his back and floated. Like an otter, I couldn’t help thinking. Aqua-boy.

By the time we came out of the water, Ty had a small bonfire going. He had dug a hole in the sand and then walked around the beach until he found some trash and twigs. Ty said it was an Indian fire. White men, he said, build a big fire and sit far away from it; Indians build small fires and sit close. What it mostly meant, I realized as I dried my hair beside it, is that he had only a little fuel. But the flames looked lovely in the afternoon light. Tommy sat next to the fire and leaned back on his backpack. I loved seeing him relaxed and being part of something for a change.

“We should call Frankie and Kobie and tell them to bring us some wood,” Little Brew said. “And some tofu pups.”

“You guys veggies?” Tommy asked.

“You laugh,” Little Brew said, “but Ty here thinks the shark didn’t take him because he’s a vegan. He uses no animal products. I’m just a simple veg beside him.”

“Wonder why the shark bit at you in the first place if it was picking up your vegan vibe,” Tommy said, looking at Ty.

“Yo, Snow Pony,” Ty said. “I didn’t expect to be dogged by you.”

“Speaking of phone calls,” I said, and glanced at Tommy. “Could I borrow your cell for just a second to check in with my mom? We kind of ditched her this morning.”

“No problem.”

“Don’t tell her where we are, Bee,” Tommy said, his voice even and strong. “She’ll just mess things up.”

“I’ve got it,” I said. “But she knows about Ty.”

“She doesn’t know where he lives,” Tommy said. “And she’s not a detective. She’s not going to track us down.”

“She could call the police.”

“She’s not going to call the police,” Tommy said. “She’s just going to be pissed, that’s all.”