Wavehouse

by Kaltman, Alice;

  “Whatever you want, Anna,” he said. “But I could go up to the house.”

  I doubted Chris or Rusty was still around, but I couldn’t take any chances. If they heard or saw the cab, I wasn’t sure what they’d do. Or what I’d do.

  “Nah, that’s okay,” I said. “It’s good exercise for me.”

  I edged along the side of the driveway, trying to stay out of view. Trees grew together over my head like a canopy.

  There weren’t any guard dogs, and I didn’t see any hidden cameras. It was just a stupid driveway like any other. A minute later, when the house came into view, I stopped short. Just when I thought my life couldn’t get any more complicated, it turned into a Rubik’s Cube. Sara’s Jeep was parked out front, but Rusty’s slime-mobile and Chris’s VW van were nowhere to be seen. What the hell was she doing there? I had to know. Striding up to the door, I rang the bell. A moment later the door opened—

  “Babe, why’d you buzz? You have the—”

  “Hey, Sara,” I said. “Fancy meeting you here.”

  “Anna?” cried my totally confused-looking mother. “What are you doing here?”

  “What am I doing here?” I asked. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to still be in Jersey.”

  She smiled sheepishly. “I thought I could sneak back into town and see Rusty tonight without having to let you or the old folks know. His old college buddy is gone for a while and gave him use of this gorgeous place. When I found out he was at the Ramelle house, the house of a thousand rumors, and I had the chance to see the inside, I couldn’t say no, could I? I mean, a whole overnight here? Pretty romantic, huh?”

  “Old college buddy?” I cried, walking past her into the foyer. “Amelia Ramelle?”

  “Yes, ‘Amelia Ramelle.’ What are you getting at, Anna?”

  The Ramelle family portraits lined the walls around us. It felt like we were being spied on by a tribe of rich, blonde cannibals. “You didn’t listen to my last message, did you?”

  “No. My phone died and I left my charger in Jersey. I’m juicing it now, on Rusty’s charger.”

  “Where is it?”

  “In the living room, why?”

  I ran down the hall into the living room. Rusty’s spy camera was gone, but Sara’s phone rested on the coffee table next to a bottle of champagne on ice and two long, skinny glasses. I held her phone out to her. “Listen to my message, Sara. Please.”

  “Jesus,” Sara grimaced. “You can be so annoying sometimes, you know that?” She grabbed her phone, punched in her code, and raised it to her ear. Her expression darkened as she listened, then her knees buckled and she sank onto the couch. Any lingering suspicions I had had about Sara’s involvement with all this Stella nonsense were gone.

  “Sara, are you okay?” I asked.

  Sara was quiet for a moment then she murmured, “I’m sure there’s some kind of explanation.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I cried.

  She looked up at me. Her eyes were pathetic, worse than a sick puppy’s. I had seen sick puppy eyes on Sara before. These were more like terminally ill, full-grown dog eyes. “Rusty will have an answer for this.”

  I heard the front door open. “Sare?” Rusty called from the foyer, as if he had arrived on cue. “Babe? You here? There’s this funky old minivan cab parked at the end of the—”

  He got to the living room, and found more than he had expected. “Anna. Shit. You came back,” he gasped.

  Surprise, surprise, asshole, I thought.

  His expression shifted chameleon-style from shocked to stoked. “Geez. Wow, um. This is great!”

  “This is not great,” I snapped, fury coursing through my veins. I’d never been like this before. This guy got me going like no one else ever had. “This is terrible. Tell my mother the truth!”

  Rusty stumbled. “Truth? The truth is that Sara and I are hanging out. We’re cool, right, Sare?”

  My mother smiled weakly.

  “Tell her you’re the Stella scout,” I demanded. “Tell her about the cameras. The pictures you took of me. Tell her about Ceekay.”

  “Ceekay?” Sara asked. Of course she recognized the name. “What does Ceekay have to do with this?”

  “He’s the guy I mentioned in my message,” I explained. “Rusty is his manager; he used Ceekay to get to me while he worked on you himself.”

  “Well, I don’t know about Mr. Kahimbe, but I certainly wasn’t using your mother.” Rusty crossed his arms across his chest defensively.

  “So who are you cheating on, then, my mother or Amelia Ramelle?” I challenged.

  “Rusty?” Sara’s voice cracked. “Is there something I should know about you and Amelia?”

  “He and Amelia Ramelle were kissing nonstop at Brine-

  stellar’s last Tuesday night,” I said.

  Sara turned her dog eyes on Rusty. “Is this true?”

  Rusty sat down next to her on the couch and took her hand. “Babe, it’s a lie. Amelia and I went out for a drink. We talked about the old days. Maybe she kissed me on the cheek; maybe I hugged her—nothing more. And I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you about this Stella stuff earlier, but I wanted us to establish a solid relationship first. It was a total coincidence that you happened to be the mother of the girl I was searching for, I couldn’t believe it myself. I planned on telling you my own way tonight.” He glared at me and added, “Anna is misleading you, babe. She’s totally off-base.”

  “Sara.” I tried to keep my cool. “You’re not buying this, are you?”

  Sara put her face in her hands.

  “Mom?” I tried again. “Don’t you see what’s going on?”

  Finally she spoke, but without lifting her head. “Anna, maybe you should just leave.”

  “You’re gonna stay here?” I shouted. “With him?”

  She nodded, cracking my already weakened heart into a million pieces.

  I ran from the house toward the cliffs, jumping over rocks and twigs in the dark, tears streaming down my cheeks. I found my surfboard by Pee Pee Rock, stumbled and slid down the cliff path with it wedged under my arm, and catapulted myself into an ocean of howling surf—waves so out of control, and so massive that no sane person would ever, ever consider going in, even in the full light of day. My life sucked and I needed to go out to sea. I wanted to get beyond the break, where the ocean was calm, where I could think. I needed to be where I felt most at home.

  Salty white water slammed against me, knocking me repeatedly off my board. My clothes plastered and bunched uncomfortably against my skin, weighing me down. But the sea would soon settle, I knew, and I might settle with it. I managed to make it past the break, and, in the bright moonlight, I could see a figure on the cliff waving their arms at me. I sat on my board, trying to calm down, but I was a quaking mess—my heart a pounding hammer in my chest, and my body shaking violently from inner turmoil mixed with wind and cold. The only warmth came from the hot tears that ran like rivers down my cheeks. My disappointing mother, my failed romantic life, my ailing grandfather, my best friend’s betrayal: these were things that even the ocean couldn’t wash away.

  The moon dropped behind a dark mass of clouds, and the night fell dark. I needed to get back to shore and, with little to no depth perception in the black night, it would be a difficult paddle. I decided instead to catch a wave and ride it to shore.

  I felt a wave coming, and turned my board, waiting for the water to rise beneath me, to take care of me. It was a perfect wave; it was an insane wave. I took off and rode it like I was a teardrop running down a monster’s cheek. The wind picked up, whipping my face. The ocean’s surface was a frothy mess and I was a mess too, bobbing on my board, crying like a baby. I blubbered and the wave howled—I swear the wave called my name out loud, more than once.

  And then things fell apart. A small bump in the wave tripped me up.
It was a bump easily maneuvered in daylight, but not in the dark. I wobbled, trying to regain my footing, but couldn’t. I lost it and wiped out.

  I was stuck underwater, churned and mashed, tumbled like a piece of trash. Disoriented, I couldn’t find the surface and my lungs were bursting. I was in deep, way too deep. I felt a sudden pain in my arm and leg as I was thrashed against the rocks; then, right before everything went dark, I thought: This is it, you stupid idiot. This is how it ends. And in that second, what bothered me more than dying was that everyone would think I had done this on purpose—that I had wanted to die. And I didn’t want to die. Not at all.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Hush now,” a voice murmured. “You’re having a bad dream.”

  Opening my eyes, I stared up at acoustic tiles. Clicks and beeps sounded around me.

  “Well, hello there, Anna Marie. Welcome back.”

  I stiffly turned my head toward the voice. Gramma sat next to my bed, her hand in mine.

  “Where am I?” I asked.

  “Easton Medical, dear.”

  “Am I okay?” I asked.

  “You’re fine. Just a bit bruised. No concussion, thank goodness, but that ankle of yours has some nasty cuts. They gave you a sedative last night to keep you comfortable. When you first came in, you were in quite a tizzy. You don’t remember that?”

  I shook my head. The last thing I remembered was running away from the Ramelle house.

  “The doctor said that you might have some amnesia, but it’s nothing to worry about. The nurse said when you woke up you could walk around a bit and see how you felt.”

  “So what happened exactly?”

  “You almost drowned, Anna Marie.”

  And then it all came back in a rush—my stupid surf, the wave, the wipeout. “I didn’t plan on killing myself. I just needed to get away.”

  Gramma patted my arm and sighed. “Well, next time do us all a favor and take a long walk on the beach instead.”

  “I’m sorry, Gramma.” I squeezed her hand and tried not to cry.

  “It’s okay, dear. Come on. I think it’s time for you to take that walk.”

  I stumbled down the hallway with my frail little grandmother holding my elbow. I hadn’t been to a hospital since Grandpa’s heart surgery. Amid all the hushed hallway conversations and PA announcements, I thought I heard Grandpa’s voice coming from another room.

  “I could’ve sworn I just heard Grandpa.”

  “You did,” Gramma said. “He’s right in there.” She pointed to a room opposite.

  “Oh God, no!” My idiocy had caused him to have that second heart attack. I pulled away from Gramma and half-stumbled and half-ran to the door.

  I heard his booming voice, loud and clear. “You’re being ridiculous. I can run the shop. If it makes you happy I’ll get a goddamn stool and sit behind the cash register all day.”

  I shrieked as I entered. Sara was trussed up in the hospital bed, with her right arm and left leg in casts, jacked up on pulleys; her beautiful face swollen with bruises.

  “Shh, Anna,” hushed Grandpa. “It’s gonna be fine. No need to get your knickers in a twist.”

  I took Sara’s hand. “Mom, you look like shit,” I cried.

  Sara mumbled, with a pitiful attempt at a smile, “And that’s what I get for trying to save your sorry ass.”

  “Ma, Dad, could you give us a few minutes alone?” Sara asked. After my grandparents left, she said, “You look really hot in your blue sack, Anna. Much sexier than me.”

  Leave it to Sara to make a lame joke while lying in a hospital bed with multiple limbs in a cast, a black eye, and a swollen face.

  “What the hell did you do to yourself?” I asked.

  “What any mother would do. I went into that gnarly mess after you.”

  I shivered as the realization hit me—it was not the ocean that had called my name, but my mother. Sara had found me, grabbed me, and saved my life. But it looked like she had almost lost her own in the process.

  “Just so you know. I wasn’t trying to kill myself,” I said.

  “Well, that’s a relief,” she sighed.

  “I just needed to get away and go somewhere safe.”

  “You call that spot safe? Twelve-foot surges in the dark? Wicked undertow? And those dicey rocks on the inside?”

  I shrugged. “Obviously not the best choice.”

  “Obviously.” Sara’s eyes got all misty and tears started to dribble down her swollen cheeks. “I don’t know what I would have done if…” She squeezed my hand tighter and I thought it was a good sign that she still had a killer grip. Then she really started crying, like I had never seen her cry before—more intense than after any romantic breakup, fight with her parents, or work-related meltdown. Seeing her cry got me started again, too, until it was both of us sobbing our hearts out.

  “Sara, chill,” I managed in a quavering voice. I couldn’t remember Sara ever crying over me before. Or maybe I had been so busy rejecting her these past few years that I hadn’t given her a chance. Either way, it felt weird. But maybe, also, kind of nice.

  “You were right about Rusty. He was a real scumbag. What kind of guy sits there and doesn’t even lift a finger to help when you’re trying to save your daughter?”

  “Sara,” I sighed. “I get it now.”

  “Get what?”

  “You know, the whole guy thing—how you want to believe whatever they tell you; how it feels good when they like you, or you think they like you. It’s a super amp. A major stoke. At least at first.”

  Sara sighed. “The beginning is always the best part of the ride.”

  “And then, when things go south, you keep telling yourself that if this or that were different, if you could rewrite the whole thing, or make him a different person it could all work out. But it doesn’t. It just sucks, and feels like it will suck forever.”

  Sara took my hand again. “That little fucker Ceekay really got under your skin, huh?”

  “I guess,” I shrugged. “Falling in love blows.”

  “Yeah. It’s totally overrated,” she sighed sadly. “And hard to avoid.”

  I sat quietly with my hand resting in her non-injured one. Rusty’s ring was gone, a pale strip of flesh below her knuckle marked its short-lived stint. Knowing Sara, she had probably had a nurse flush it down the toilet or had tossed it out the back door of the ambulance herself. After a few minutes, Gramma came in and said, “Sorry, Anna Marie, but the doctor told us she wants you back in your own room.”

  “See you later, Sara,” I said as I stood.

  “Later, ’gator,” she whispered, eyes closed.

  Grandpa waited for me on one of the orange plastic chairs in the hall.

  “The doctor’s in your room,” he said. “She wants to give you a quick look over. If everything is okay, she says you can go home this afternoon, but your mom’s gonna need to stay for a few more days. I’m gonna go down to the business office and pay the damn bill.”

  I imagined dollar bills flying out of Grandpa’s pockets, all because of me. “What’s wrong with Sara exactly?” I asked.

  “Her lower leg is broken in two places and she fractured her wrist. The bruises on her face will go away, but probably not as quickly as your beauty queen of a mother would like. One thing’s for sure: She won’t be doing any surfing, or much of anything else for some time.”

  “How come she’s so messed up but I’m not?”

  “She smashed into the rocks while using all her strength to get you out of the water,” said Grandpa. “At least that’s what Joe Shore says it looked like from the beach. He heard Sara screaming and ran around to the cliffs just as she raced into the water. He’s the one who called the Volunteer Ambulance Service.”

  “I guess you really can be sure with Shore,” I said.

  “Joe said
your mother swam out to you—supposedly a helluva distance. Your leash must’ve snapped off. After she grabbed you, Sara hauled your sorry ass all the way in like a real lifeguard. Got even more banged up herself on those rocks, keeping you above water.”

  My mother, Sara Dugan. She might have broken bones, but she was more whole than ever to me.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The doctor gave me a green light to leave the hospital. Gramma stayed with Sara while Grandpa took me home. Grandpa took the usual left off Emerson to Main, but instead of turning on to Toilsome he took a right on Early’s Point Road.

  “Where the hell are you headed?” I asked.

  “I wanna see the big swell that everyone’s jabbering about,” he shrugged. “You got a problem with that?”

  “Actually, yes. I don’t want to see waves at the moment. In fact, I don’t know if I ever want to see waves again in my entire life.”

  He snorted. “Well, well. If you aren’t the little Miss Gloria Swanson. I can imagine your mother saying something dramatic like that, but not you.”

  “Well, maybe I have more in common with my mother than you think.”

  He nodded. “Well, maybe you do. Maybe you do.”

  “Anyway, can we just skip it, Grandpa? Really, let’s just go home.”

  “Anna, one rotten apple doesn’t spoil the whole bunch. Just because that Rusty character turned out to be a crook doesn’t mean you have to give up on the whole surfing thing.”

  I crossed my arms and stared out the window. I wanted to mention the second rotten apple—Chris was moldy at the core too. But I really didn’t want to have a conversation with Grandpa about Chris. And then, as luck would have it, he decided to have it all on his own.

  “Maybe we’ll see your young man there,” he said.

  “My what?”

  “Myra told me about your professional surfer friend.”

  “You talked to Myra?” My heart lurched.

  “Of course,” Grandpa said. “I called her last night. She’s your best friend. I figured you would want her to know what had happened to you last night.”