Clear

by Jessica Park

  “I know, I know.” Sam wavers but holds it together. “I’ll see you soon.”

  Amy and Costa sink under the water, and my heartbeat picks up.

  It’s time.

  “The fastest way is for me to block your mouth and nose and hold you under. I might need to use two hands though, but I promise that you’ll go first.” He’s trying very hard to sound logical, but I hear the hurt in what he’s saying.

  “Okay. I’m all right.”

  “Apologies in advance for what I’m going to do.”

  “I forgive you in advance.”

  “Here we go.”

  Sam uses one hand to pinch my nose and cover my mouth, and he puts the other on my shoulder and pushes down until I’m underwater. I keep my eyes closed. For a time, I just hold my breath and try to relax into it. But soon, I feel the desperate need to breathe. He was right. I’m not actively dying. I’m struggling against it.

  Drowning is, ironically, about living.

  I try not to push against him, but I can’t help it. I want oxygen more than anything, and I grab at the hand he has over my mouth. Immediately, he clamps down on my other shoulder and wraps his legs around me to weigh me down. I hate him right now because I’m suffocating under water, and my lungs are burning. I keep grabbing at his legs, trying to get him off me, and I’m in a full panic.

  But then, my brain centers me. This is for Toby. My approach going under matters, and battling against death is the wrong way in. I can stop fighting this, and I can just sink into it. The only way to find this little boy is to just let my death happen.

  My palm goes to Sam’s hand on my shoulder, and I give it a quick rub to let him know that my fight is over. It doesn’t take long. There is dizziness…then bordering on unconsciousness…

  Then, finally, there is my death.

  I barrel into the dark under, and Amy catches me by the shirt before I drift past her and Costa. It’s only seconds later that Sam crashes in. Amy pushes me hard so that I get through the heavy gel and reach him.

  He takes my hand. Even under here, I can see how traumatized he is by what he had to do. I touch his face and look into his eyes, trying to convey that I’m not suffering, that I got through it. He kisses my hand, and under here, the sensation is so magnified that I am filled with more of his love than I thought possible. My smile must convince him because he smiles back.

  Now, he begins his scan. Amy and Costa are holding hands still, trying to magnify their lure as a homing beacon. I let Sam pull me through the viscous fluid as he searches. This trip, I don’t question time or even acknowledge it. All I need to do is ride and do what I can to power up Sam’s ability to see through the dark. Allowing myself to surrender here makes the experience better for me, and I’m noticeably less unsettled. So, I let time go on, occasionally closing my eyes when the blurry rush of light and dark tones makes me too dizzy. The familiar cold ache begins to develop in my bones, and I will not forgive myself if I pass out again and destroy Sam’s ability to see.

  I catch sight of Costa and Amy, who are trying to stay as close to Sam as possible, but he’s faster today than he has been. When he brakes short though, they slam into us.

  I look up. Sam is on high alert. His focus darts from one location to another until he appears to hone in on one spot. Without shifting his eyes, he reaches and moves my hand from his so that I’m touching Costa’s body. He presses down, I think reminding me to stay here.

  Oh, wait. I understand. He wants me to…to power Costa’s and Amy’s presence somehow. I don’t know if I can. Costa did react strongly to me the first time that I tripped though, so maybe I can use my connection with him to do so.

  I hold tight to Costa and concentrate on him—as a father, as someone who adores Toby, and as a parent who has suffered so much because of his loss. He is home. He is the only home Toby should go to…

  Sam swims us through more territory for what feels to be hours. I’m hurting, and just before I feel my body screaming to shut down because the freeze in my bones is too much, he motions for us to stay still. He cocks his head and gives a wry smile. He covers his eyes for a moment and then opens his hands and covers them again.

  What is he—

  Oh my God.

  He’s playing Peek-a-Boo.

  Costa starts to swim forward, but Amy hauls him back hard and holds up her hand, telling him to stay, to be patient. Costa nods, but it must be excruciating for him to hold still.

  Sam points ahead. I can’t see anything, but I don’t need to. Costa’s face tells me that he has Toby in sight. Amy does not let go of him, but her own expression is also one of pure joy. Soon, even I can make out the figure of a small child swimming in our direction, his grace in this underworld immeasurably touching.

  Amy was right. He is incredibly fast. His black hair swirls in the waves of the under substance, and his eyes stand out against his fair skin. Of course this is Costa’s child. Toby looks just like his father.

  It feels like it takes forever for Toby to reach us, but we all remain still. When he’s only a few feet away, Costa holds out his arms, and the young boy swims smoothly into his father’s hold. I don’t need to hear Costa to know the sounds of this reunion.

  Amy gives them a moment, but then she taps his shoulder and gestures up. We need to surface. He nods. Amy takes my hand. Her smile is so genuine, and I’m struck by how strong our love is despite such a ragged history. We start to move with Amy pulling me through the dense gel.

  When there is more light and we’ve hit the ceiling, Costa gestures for Sam to go with Toby first. Tentatively, Sam takes Toby. I’m not sure what his hesitation is, but he must not want to remove Toby from his father’s arms so soon. But still Sam doesn’t budge, so Costa gives him a reassuring smile and a light push until he gets Sam moving upward. His arm goes through, but then he bounces back.

  He shuts his eyes for a moment and tries again. It’s clear that he cannot get past the ceiling.

  Oh God. We can’t surface Toby?

  There is something we don’t know that’s preventing this child from leaving.

  Slowly, Sam lowers back down to Costa’s level. His face is beyond pained as he hands Toby to his father and points up. With this simple action and in a moment that should be overwhelmingly happy, Costa is again destroyed with understanding.

  Sam cannot surface Toby because he did not trip him.

  Costa did.

  Now, Costa is frozen in place, and his grip on his son is slipping. Sam swoops over and pushes Toby back against Costa and secures his arms around his son. Then, he grabs Costa’s face and forces him to pay attention. The two silently exchange an unspoken language of their own, and it’s enough to get Costa moving. His feet begin to kick hard, and he swims to the light, soon vanishing into the surface above us.

  Amy pats my shoulder and goes next, moving me into Sam, before she soars up.

  Then, Sam and I are alone. I love him so much right now that it hurts. In this dark place, my heart feels lighter than ever. I’m glad that I only needed Costa to surface that first time because I want this moment alone with Sam. I embrace Sam, and together, we leave the bleakness of being under and burst through to the real world.

  We’ve all crashed onto the small sandy beach by the lake where the four of us stood not so long ago, preparing to die. Only, this time, there are five of us. Amy is lurching to the cooler that we set out earlier. I’m still in Sam’s arms, trying to catch my breath, when she shoves a piece of watermelon in my mouth. Costa is on his back, eating a slice, with his son lying across his chest.

  “Dah-yee! Dah-yee!” Toby giggles.

  Costa is hardly able to talk, but he says, “Yes, buddy. Dah-yee is here.” He presses watermelon against Toby’s lips. “Eat.”

  Amy sits next to them. She touches a hand to Toby’s face and then leans down and softly kisses Costa. When she lifts, I see the smile they share, the connection. Just as Sam and I waited so long for each other, so have Costa and Amy.

&
nbsp; Toby smacks his mouth as he eats. “Ish! Ish!” he calls.

  “Yeah. Sam is here, too. Bishop’s here.” Costa laughs when Toby touches his little hand to his father’s face. “You got my nose, huh?”

  “Toby…” Sam says, gasping. “He’s here? Is this real? Is it him, Stella?”

  “It’s him. Bishop, it’s him.” I struggle for breath. “It’s Toby.”

  I hear Sam sucking on the rind. When I roll over, it’s easy to read the emotion on his face. Yes, he is so full of denial that it slays me.

  “Watermelon. Shit, this really works,” he mutters.

  I roll over to face him. “Sam…” I whisper.

  “Shh. Don’t. It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does matter.” I push the hair from his eyes. “You took the fall for Costa. He was the one who was tripping too much, wasn’t he?”

  Sam doesn’t need to answer me.

  “You were sober.” I think for a minute, trying to clear my head of the trip. I take another bite of watermelon. “Thrill seeking. Costa was thrill-seeking on the ice. Jumping, testing how solid it was. Oh God, with his son.” For a moment, I shut my eyes at the horror of the image. “So, it was easy to retell the story and get him to believe your version.”

  He tries to smile. “There was no reason for him to know the truth. He had enough to suffer through.”

  “It was a big sacrifice. It was everything.” I brush my lips over his. “You’re wonderful, you know that? So brave and so strong. It’s why you’re my good.”

  “And it’s why you’re my good. Always, Stella.”

  FIVE WEEKS AGO, we tripped Toby.

  Five weeks ago, we learned the truth about his death.

  Five weeks ago, our chaos settled.

  It’s quite warm for late October, and Sam has the windows down in the truck, letting our hair blow freely. The air rushing through the cab feels invigorating, and I’m even more energized to get back to the Bishops’ place in Willow. There’s been little traffic on this Tuesday, so we’ve had a smooth trip.

  Sam’s hand is in mine, and I trace my fingers over his skin. Callous on his palms show the physical labor he exerts every day, but the top of his hand is smooth and soft. There are two sides to his hand, two sides to him—tough and hard, eternally sweet and gentle.

  Many nights, I am awoken by the memory of when he tried to surface Toby and couldn’t. His loyalty to Costa astounds and moves me. The way he immediately chose to protect Costa from knowing that he was responsible for his son’s death was a choice that not everyone would make. Sam knew exactly what he was doing with that decision. Costa had been tripping so often that he was in a state much like he’d had too much alcohol to drink and couldn’t remember what actually happened. Sam took advantage of Costa’s trip haze and easily fed him a story that released Costa of fault. The details that I’ve pulled from Sam haunt me—Costa whooping and jumping on the ice, the sound of more cracks ripping through the only partially frozen lake, the sight of the dark water showing where Toby slipped in, the utter agony in Costa’s cries.

  I understand Sam’s motivation. When you love someone enough, you do anything to guard that person from harm even if that means taking a hard hit yourself.

  I also understand Costa’s current frustration. How could he possibly thank Sam for what he did? It’s impossible. He knows the destruction the false story caused Sam, but Costa also knows that it saved him from completely falling apart after Toby had vanished under the ice. Sam was right that no one should have to survive causing a child’s death.

  In time, I hope that all our nightmares will subside.

  We pull into the driveway of the Bishops’ house, and my heart soars. We left Amy, Costa, and Toby here six days after we all surfaced. None of us have tripped since. But we will. We’ll have to.

  Costa was correct that we need to trip on occasion to discharge the buildup we all feel, and I can tell we’re getting close. My body chemistry has changed, and my physical demand to death trip is getting intense. It’ll probably be another week until it’ll become necessary.

  Sam and I have agreed that when we do trip, we will try to make it…beautiful. Nothing about death tripping should be beautiful, but we’re determined to find a way to sculpt it into something that we can make peace with. As much as I’ve responded to and crave blood, I’m trying to curb that urge. It feeds a darker side, the addict in me. We haven’t decided how we’ll trip yet, but there won’t be knives or guns. I will do what I need to maintain who I am, but I will not go out of my way to heighten it. Sam and I both desperately want normal lives for ourselves.

  Costa and Amy? They’re okay with the gore. It suits them. It’s one of the reasons that Sam and I are here for four days—to take care of Toby while they death-trip. They’re driving into Boston for a long weekend and holing up in a hotel. I haven’t asked how they’re going to trip, and I don’t want to know.

  Sam parks behind Costa’s car, a used Volvo with one of the highest crash-test ratings out there. He’s got Toby to protect now, and his son’s safety is his priority. The little boy might be a death tripper, but Costa is not taking any risks. None of us can tell if Toby will ever have to trip again, but the idea is atrocious. We’re waiting to see how he continues to do, but even maintenance death tripping for a child is beyond what we can stomach, and it’s our hope that he won’t need to.

  We grab our bags and head into the house. Through the big windows, I see Costa and Amy on the patio. The same spot where Costa once lit himself on fire is now the place where he sits with his son in his lap and the girl he loves only a few feet away.

  “Look at them,” Sam says happily. “They’re a family.”

  They are. And while they might look like an instant family, they are anything but. Each of them fought long and hard to get to where they are today. They’ve earned this happiness.

  I can’t control my smile when we walk outside, and Toby squeals, “Ish! Ya!”

  I love how he calls me Ya, which seems to come from the “la” at the end of my name.

  “Toby!” I scoop him into a snuggle when he toddles over, and then I pass him to Sam after I get in some good kisses.

  Costa bear hugs me and spins me around. “God, I missed you guys.”

  “You going stir-crazy here?”

  “Well, yes.” He sets me down and takes my hands in his, kissing each of them. “But I really did miss you anyway.”

  Given that Costa can’t run the risk of being seen with Toby, even this far north from Watermark, he hasn’t been out much because he hasn’t wanted to leave Toby.

  “You look very happy,” I say. “Cabin fever or not. Or rather, mansion fever or not.”

  “It’s a good place to hide out.”

  “Amen to that.” Amy moves to us and touches my arm. “Hey, sis.”

  “Hey, sis,” I say back.

  “It’s good to see you again.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m getting better. I’m trying.”

  “I know, and you’re doing great.”

  Awkwardly, we briefly put our arms around each other. We talk every few days. So far, our conversations have been on the more casual end. How our days are going, what toys Toby loves—it’s nothing too heavy, but we’ll get there.

  “You look really healthy, Amy.” Her hair is shiny and full, her skin tone is pink and fresh, and she’s even put on some much-needed weight.

  I’ll take those as good signs.

  “I’ve been feeding her like crazy. Death-tripper recipes and all,” Costa says proudly.

  She smiles at him and lifts her mouth for a kiss.

  While my relationship with her might not yet be solid, she and Costa are mad for each other. He manages to bring out her softer side, and Toby brings out her mothering side. They are all healing each other.

  “What? No love for Ish, brother?” Sam demands loudly.

  “Ish bruddah!” Toby squeals from his spot on Sam’s hip.

  Costa and Amy pull
apart from their kiss and laugh, and Costa lunges at Sam and Toby, throwing his arms around them both.

  “Dude! You know I totally love ya!” He gives Sam a noisy wet kiss that makes a high-pitched squeal.

  Sam manages to push him away with a groan, but Costa gets him into a hug.

  Their hold goes on for so long that Sam finally starts tapping Costa’s shoulder. “Okay, let’s calm down. I’m not that exciting of a person.”

  Costa talks softly, but I can still hear him, “But you’re the best person.”

  “It’s over. Stop,” Sam protests in a whisper.

  “Love you, Sammy.”

  “Love you, too, Costa.”

  Costa pulls back finally, and Toby reaches for his father. The joy—the purity of the joy—in Costa’s face as he lifts his son into the air makes everything that we’ve gone through more than worth it.

  “Felicia and Micah still okay with us staying here?” Costa asks.

  Sam nods. “Of course. They’ve been insistent actually that you stay here for as long as you need to.”

  “That’s a little odd,” Amy says.

  “I know,” I agree. “I thought the same thing. Is there any chance that your mom knows something?”

  I’m reminded of the conversation I had with her when I asked about coming up here in the first place. I still work at the inn two days a week, and both of Sam’s parents have been incredibly relaxed. I know that our relief and serenity radiates from us, and that has seemingly been enough to fend off concern or questions—at least for now.

  “There’s no way she knows about death tripping,” Sam says confidently, “but she knows us enough to figure something is going on. She’s trusting us to handle it.”

  “And we are handling it,” Costa says.

  We walk down to the lake, now a place of celebration and not fear, and sit in beach chairs. Although an assortment of pails, shovels, and other toys litters the sand, Toby immediately goes for a giant red ball.

  “Ball?” Amy asks. “You want to play ball? Okay. Kick it to me!”

  She runs down the shoreline, and Toby wobbles through the sand after her. Amy, I can tell, never tires of playing. She talks about him almost as much as Costa, and it’s nice to see how connected she can be. For the next hour, the five of us kick and throw the ball and build sand castles. This is likely the last day it’ll be warm enough to come down here for long, so we milk the afternoon.