by Ali Standish
They made me feel heavy. Too heavy.
Because I finally understood what I had seen in Mom’s eyes that day she saw me playing with “Batty.” Not shame. Not disappointment.
Pain.
Every time she looked at me, she must see Matty and Ben. She must see them being swept out to sea and sucked down, down, down.
All because of me, I thought, but I must have said it aloud, because Mr. Taylor winced. “No, Miranda. You were just a child. A toddler. No one knew there was a riptide that day, least of all you.”
I didn’t know how to put into words how heavy I felt.
“Riptide?” I said instead.
“It’s a very strong current,” he explained, “that can suck even a strong swimmer like Ben out to sea. After it happened, I found out that they’re very common around this island. Something to do with the way the current runs when the tide goes out of the bay. That’s why I used most of the money I had saved to buy this place and had all the signs put up. If I could stop someone else from drowning, then at least Matty and Ben wouldn’t have died in vain.”
“So you didn’t find the treasure?”
Mr. Taylor’s brow furrowed. “Treasure?”
“Sammy and Caleb and I thought that was why you bought the island. We thought you found some treasure here ten years ago and then came back for the rest.”
“My, you three have been busy, haven’t you?” Mr. Taylor said. “And thorough, too. But no, if there was ever any treasure on this island, it’s long gone, I expect.”
“So why have you been coming out here?”
We both covered our ears as Safira let out another deafening screech from somewhere behind us. Then Mr. Taylor pointed toward the lighthouse. “I told you, didn’t I, that I promised to make sure that all the stories I collected would be remembered?”
“Yeah.”
“I want to do something,” he said, “to help Matty and Ben be remembered, too. Something to make this island a beacon of hope again, instead of a place of sorrow and fear.”
“You’re going to fix the lighthouse up?” I guessed.
“In a way. Do you know what an observatory is?”
“Isn’t it a place where you go to see the stars? With telescopes and things?”
“That’s exactly right,” Mr. Taylor said. “There isn’t one anywhere nearby. And the view of the sky out here, from the top of the lighthouse, it’s incredible. That’s why I wanted to take you and Matty up there to watch the stars that night.” Little lines of sorrow dug into the skin between his eyebrows.
“So you’re making the lighthouse into an observatory?”
Mr. Taylor nodded, casting his eyes skyward. “I always feel closest to them when I’m out under the stars.”
“Like the woman in the story from Peru. The very last story you told us.”
“Yes,” he said. “The night after I heard that story was the same night I heard Matty’s voice telling me it was time to come home. Once I set sail, I got to thinking about how no matter what they believe, a great many people look to the stars when they need to feel less alone, or when they miss someone who’s gone. So I decided I would build the observatory. I’ll create a dome at the top of the lighthouse with telescopes and star charts. But in the keeper’s cottage, and on the walls of the staircase, that’s where I’ll hang the stories and the objects that go with them. That way, I’ll keep my promise. People will come and see them, and they will remember.”
“Oh,” I breathed. I could already see it in my head. The starlit lighthouse with stories lining its walls. It would be beautiful.
“I’ve been coming at night to make some initial notes about the views,” Mr. Taylor said. “And to bring some supplies that I’ll be needing for the renovation.”
So that’s what had been in the crates Mr. Taylor’s neighbor had seen him hauling into his truck. Not leaving supplies. Building supplies. Putting-down-roots supplies.
For a long moment, we were quiet, each lost in our own thoughts.
Maybe Mr. Taylor doesn’t blame you for Matty and Ben’s deaths, hissed the voice in my head, but Mom still does. And why wouldn’t she?
A whimper escaped my lips.
“Miranda?” Mr. Taylor said gently. “Are you all right?”
The pain in my arm was still bad, but there was a deeper pain in my chest, like I was being dragged down into the sea all over again.
“I know you think it’s not my fault,” I said. “And I know I was just a little kid. But if I hadn’t gone after that starfish . . .”
“Do you remember the story I told you of the Bosnian refugee?” Mr. Taylor asked. “The one who convinced himself that he was responsible for his family’s misfortunes?”
“Yeah,” I said. “But the money he took had nothing to do with what happened to them. This is—”
“It’s different and it’s the same, too. Sometimes things just happen in life. Things that we can’t control or predict.”
“Then why do I feel so awful inside?” I asked, a sob slipping from deep in my throat.
Mr. Taylor let out a long, whistling sigh. “The man in the story made himself feel guilty because it was easier than feeling something else.”
“But sometimes people should feel guilty,” I protested. “Sometimes we deserve to.”
“Sometimes,” Mr. Taylor said. “Some guilt tells us we’ve done a rotten thing, and that we need to do what we can to make up for it. That kind of guilt comes from our conscience. But some guilt tells us that we’re just plain rotten, and nothing we can do will ever change that. And that kind of guilt is a liar, Miranda. I would know. I spent many years with it before I learned not to listen. That I’ll always have to live with my past, but I dont have to live every day in it.”
I knew that kind of guilt, too. I heard its voice all the time.
Could Mr. Taylor really be right? Was it a liar?
The voice told me it was my fault that things between Mom and me were so broken. But it also told me that things might get better. If only I could just be better.
Now, though, I understood that when Mom looked at me, she saw Matty and Ben. She saw their absence. That was the burden she’d lived with all these years. There was nothing I could do to change that.
And if I couldn’t fix it, nothing would get better between us.
I must have started to cry again, because Mr. Taylor was pulling me in to his chest, his shirt still sopping from the ocean. He held me gently and rocked side to side until my sobs slowed.
I sat up when Slug began licking the tears from my face with his hot tongue, forcing me to smile, just for a second.
“I’d better get you home,” Mr. Taylor said. “Where does Sammy’s family think you are?”
I groaned. I hadn’t thought of them since I had tried to text Sammy and Caleb. Surely Uncle Amar would be awake by now. Had he come up to check on me?
“They think I’m upstairs sleeping,” I said. “Or they did.”
“Oh dear,” Mr. Taylor said, helping me up from the sand. “Let me just get Safira to come down.”
He whistled between his teeth, and after a few seconds, the trees began to rustle again and an enormous shadow glided out. Even though I knew it was only Safira, I still shivered. Anyone would have been frightened to see that ghostly shape rushing toward them.
“Ladrão!” she chirped at me.
I stroked her head to show there were no hard feelings. “Hey, Mr. Taylor?”
There was one more thing I needed to ask before he took me back.
“Mmm?” He was fishing in his pockets for something to feed her.
“Why didn’t you tell me who you were?” I asked.
He handed Safira a few nuts from his pocket and gazed down at me. “Your mother had her reasons for wanting you to forget everything here,” he said. “Including me.”
“But why?” I asked. “Why hide you?”
He shook his head. “You’ll have to ask her that, Miranda. I wanted you to know the truth. I ha
d hoped you might already know. But then you told me your grandparents had died, and that you had no aunts or uncles, and I saw that you didn’t know. I decided it wasn’t my secret to tell. I gave you a little push or two in the right direction, though, didn’t I?”
I thought about this as we walked to the dock. “The sankofa story,” I said. “You told me to look in the past like the boy in the story who went back to his father’s town.”
“I advised you,” said Mr. Taylor. “But I left it up to you to decide. I didn’t want to force you to uncover a secret you didn’t want to find.”
“What about the picture book?” I asked. “And the photo inside?”
He frowned. “What book?”
I suddenly remembered that I had folded the photograph into my back pocket. I snatched it out, worried that the water had ruined it. It was slightly soggy, but at least the image was still clear.
I handed it to Mr. Taylor. “I found it in a book you gave Caleb for the library. Cecil the Starfish Gets Lost. Did you give it to him on purpose?”
His eyes went wide when he saw it, and he shook his head. “No. I would never have given that book to the library. Caleb must have put it in the wrong stack. It was always Matty’s favorite. I even read it to you a time or two.”
“I remember,” I said. “I think—I think it’s why I wanted to get to that starfish so bad.”
“I see,” Mr. Taylor said quietly.
“And I recognized Bluey in the photo,” I said. “The dolphin. That’s how I knew you were my grandfather.”
“Ah, so you assumed the child was you?”
“It’s not?”
He shook his head. “It’s Matty. After the accident, I insisted you at least keep his stuffed dolphin. So you would have something of his.”
“And you took the picture and the book to remember him by?”
“Yes.” He hesitated. “But I remembered you, too, while I was gone, Miranda. All the time. And when you broke into my house that night, well, it was the best thing that’s happened to me in many years.”
“Me too,” I said. “I’m really, really glad you’re my grandfather.”
He hugged me again, and I winced as he squeezed my elbow.
“Sorry,” he said. “We need to get you to a doctor. Let’s go.”
But my elbow hurt, I thought, only because someone had pulled me from the water so fiercely. Because my grandfather had gripped me so tight to keep me safe. Because I was his family, and family was the most important thing of all.
Just then, a loud CRACK filled the air, and a red firework exploded in the sky. Slug must have seen it, or felt the vibration of it, because he yelped and skittered onto the boat, and Safira let out another earsplitting squawk. As we stepped aboard, fireworks from the festival thundered through the sky, unfurling in blazes of blue, red, green, and gold.
While Mr. Taylor started up the boat engine, I lay down at the prow and looked up at the fireworks bursting across the stars, feeling the hum of the motor and the rocking of the waves underneath me.
After everything I’d been through that night, I should have been more afraid of the water than ever. But I was so tired that my bones ached, and the waves actually started to feel nice, like I was in a giant cradle.
And there was something still tickling the corners of my brain. The words Mr. Taylor had heard whispered from the stars.
Please don’t forget me.
Please come home.
Maybe it was just a coincidence. Him hearing the words I had carried in my heart for so long.
Or maybe the words I meant for Mom had been heard by someone else. Maybe Matty had carried them across land and sea until they had reached Mr. Taylor’s little boat.
I stole one last look at the stars, and I thought that maybe I had never been quite as alone as I’d thought. Maybe wherever he was, Matty had never forgotten about me. Just like from now on I would always remember him and Uncle Ben. My heart would become their home, and they would stay there as long as I lived.
As the final round of fireworks floated down from the sky and my eyelids began to fall, I thought I glimpsed a star that winked down at me fondly. As if to say Thank you.
47
I don’t remember sailing into the harbor that night, or the anxious crowd that waited for us there, including six policemen, two coast guards, and a hysterical Aunt Clare. Later, Uncle Amar would tell me that I didn’t remember because I had been weak and probably in shock. I had only just made it down the dock, he said, before my knees gave out and I fainted.
Uncle Amar had gone to check on me upstairs, not long after I had left. When he called Aunt Clare and found out that I wasn’t with them, Jai finally spilled the beans about our plans to go to Keeper’s Island, and Sammy and Caleb came clean about everything. The police were just about to launch a search party when Caleb spotted Mr. Taylor’s boat sailing toward the harbor.
But I wouldn’t know any of that until later.
The next thing I knew, it was morning, and I was in a room that felt too bright even behind my closed eyelids. My toes searched for sand at the foot of the bed, but there was none. Everything felt too heavy—the sheets and blankets, my eyelids.
When I could finally open my eyes, I realized I was in a hospital room with cream walls and a picture of the ocean that was gray and lifeless, not at all like the painting above Mr. Taylor’s mantel. A tube was sticking out of my left arm, and the sight of it made me cringe.
At first, I thought I was alone, but then I realized there was a sound coming from close by—breathing. When I managed to turn my neck, my heart leaped into my throat. A figure was slouched in the chair next to my bed, sleeping with a suit jacket draped over him.
“Dad?” I said. My voice came out all raspy.
His eyes fluttered open, and for a minute he didn’t move. He just stared at me like I was some kind of work of art, studying every detail of my face.
“Hey, kiddo,” he said finally, sitting up. His hair was rumpled, and a bit of drool was still stuck to his chin. He reached out and squeezed my right hand.
“What day is it?” I croaked.
“Tomorrow,” he said. He fumbled to pour me a glass of water from a plastic pitcher and handed it to me. “Well, it’s today, now, obviously. But you’ve only been here since last night.”
“How did you get here?” I asked, once I had gulped down some water. It was easier to speak now. “What about your case?”
Dad waved the question away. “It’s just a case. I got onto the first flight after Clare called to say they couldn’t find you.” He tried to force his lips into a smile, but his face just crumpled like a sandcastle collapsing in the tide. “I’m so sorry, Miranda.”
“Why? What did you do?”
He shook his head. “I should have told you,” he said. “You shouldn’t have had to go looking for the truth all on your own. I wanted you to know. I didn’t want you to come here without knowing, but your mom—”
He stopped, his face tightening.
“She’s not here,” I said, feeling the familiar blow of disappointment.
But then my eyes landed on two suitcases beside Dad’s chair.
“Actually,” said a voice from the doorway, “I am. It’s a good thing I had already decided to cut my trip short. I was already on my way back when Clare called.”
I whipped my head around. Mom stood there, holding a steaming paper cup in each hand. Her hands, I saw, were shaking. She was pale, her face pinched, her eyes cloaked in shadows.
I looked at her, but I didn’t meet her gaze. I was too afraid of what I might see there. I stared instead at the green hospital blanket.
“I’m sorry,” I said to the blanket. “I’m sorry I caused so much trouble.”
Dad grabbed my hand again. “Miranda,” he said, “you have nothing to apologize for. Nothing at all.”
My shoulders began to shake. “Yes, I do,” I said. “I know everything. About Matty and Ben. I know how they died.” I chanced a glanc
e at the doorway. “I know that’s why it’s so hard for you to be my mom.”
Mom’s face went even paler, and Dad blinked his eyes really hard.
“Leo?” Mom said. “Could I have a minute with Miranda? Alone?”
Dad looked at me, then at Mom. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll go let the nurses know you’re awake. And everyone in the waiting room.”
“Everyone?” I asked.
“The Grovers all insisted on staying,” Dad said, brushing my hair back from my face. It still felt stiff with salt. “Your grandfather, too. And a boy—Carl?”
“Caleb,” I said, feeling a little tingle in my toes. I couldn’t believe they had all stayed here overnight for me.
“You’re going to be just fine, by the way,” Dad said. “You had a dislocated elbow, and a cut on your knee that needed stitching, but the doctor fixed everything while you were asleep.”
I moved my hurt arm and realized that it didn’t actually hurt much at all anymore. Dad leaned over and kissed me on my head. When he got to the doorway, he took one of the cups from Mom’s hand and murmured something in her ear. She closed her eyes and nodded.
When we were alone, she shut the door.
At first, she hovered there, like maybe she was thinking she should have left with Dad. Then she shuffled over to the bed and sat down beside my feet. The morning light etched little golden lines all over her face, so that she looked like a doll whose porcelain mask had begun to crack, finally revealing what lay underneath.
48
“You remind me a lot of your grandmother, you know,” Mom said, tracing the rim of her coffee cup. “So loving. She was the one who was there for us when Taylor was working late or flying off on his next business trip. She was the one who taught me to love art. I wanted to be a painter like her when I grew up. I even went to school for it. I swore I would be like her, not like Taylor. But I ended up just like him.”
I wasn’t sure what I had expected her to say, but this was definitely not it. “You never told me about her,” I whispered.
