Moonglass

by Jessi Kirby

  “Mr. Carter. I—Wow. I had no idea it was you…. I thought you left … you left everything…. You just disappeared—”

  John Carter nodded. “I did. For a while. But my life was here, and I … even with it all, I couldn’t stay away.” He inhaled deeply and looked at me. “Being here now, it’s greater than the whole of the past.” I felt my throat catch. My dad was silent. He had to be stunned that he hadn’t recognized or guessed that it could be him. Or that he was sitting in our living room.

  Mr. Carter smiled gently. “Seems we all find our way back here.” He shifted his weight forward and put a hand on the coffee table to steady himself. “Also seems heroics run in your family.” He motioned at me with a quick nod. “Your daughter here … she rescued me today. Banged herself up in the process too. You may want to take a look at the cut on her head.”

  Relief, and gratitude, and astonishment washed over me, and I tried not to show it as my dad eyed me, confused. His mouth opened to ask the first of many questions just as John Carter, the crawling man, pushed himself up and stood face-to-face with him, hand extended. I couldn’t read my dad’s thoughts, but I was sure we were struck by the same thing: He was standing.

  My dad stepped forward and grasped his hand a second time, then looked out at the falling rain. “Why don’t you stay awhile? Until we get a break in the storm, at least. I can give you a ride home, make sure you’re okay.”

  I eased myself up. “Yeah, we’ll take you later.”

  He shook his head adamantly. “No, no. You’ve done enough. I will be fine.” Then he looked back to my dad, serious. “It’s your daughter who deserves your concern now. Stay with her.” He said it in a way that somehow forced my dad not to argue.

  He paused, thinking, instead. “Here, then. Take this, at least.” He pulled off his jacket and handed it to Mr. Carter, who nodded and slid an arm into it.

  “Thank you.” Then he turned to me and leveled his eyes on mine. “And thank you, Anna. For more than you can understand. I only hope that one day someone can do the same for you.”

  He slid his eyes over to my dad, who wrapped an arm around my shoulder, and I looked down at a reddening bruise on the top of my foot, not sure of what to say. He had rescued me twice now, and I didn’t have a way to thank him. Tears welled up again, and I bit the inside of my cheek, blinked them back, and nodded, hoping he knew.

  My dad tried one last time. “You’re sure we can’t take you home?”

  Mr. Carter held up his hand and shook his head with finality before he opened the door and stepped out into the rain. We watched as he raised his face to the sky, letting the drops hit his face, then walked away without looking back.

  My dad turned to me, confused and bewildered. “What in the world was that about? What happened? Is your head okay?” He pulled my head toward him and inspected the cut, which had now stopped bleeding and had crusted over. “He was in the water? You helped him?”

  I stood there and let him get all his questions out as I made up my mind. When the questions finally ran out, I sat back down in my chair and looked him square in the face, so nothing could be mistaken.

  “Tell me the truth about Mom.”

  He had been winding up for another round of questions, still trying to figure out what had happened, but this caught him off guard and stopped him dead. He craned his neck forward and furrowed his brow, like he didn’t understand what I meant. “What?”

  I waited.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” he fumbled. Clearly, though, he did, because he went chalk white and dead silent.

  After what seemed like forever I broke the silence I had held on to for longer than anyone should. “I saw her that night, Dad. She left us. She left me, seven-year-old me, on the beach. And it wasn’t an accident.” My voice came out more tired than anything else, and I felt it. “She killed herself.”

  My dad swallowed hard and looked at the ground.

  “And you knew,” I said flatly. He blinked his eyes shut for a moment, then opened them right at me, and there was no trace of the lightness that sometimes danced there.

  He sat down on the couch and ran a hand over his head before resting his elbows on his thighs. Then he looked at me again with heartbroken eyes. “Yeah. I knew it. But … I never knew how much you understood, so … I never … said it.”

  “For nine years?” I couldn’t hide the sudden anger in my voice. “Do you have any idea what that’s like?” The pain in my body and head were completely irrelevant now, and I stood up over him. “I saw her do it, Dad, and you said it was an accident, and so I went along with it, but I knew. And I was so scared that I knew, because I thought that if you found out, you would think it was all my fault.” I took a breath and looked down, and when I spoke next, my voice was softer. “Because I was there. And she was upset with me.” I didn’t want to cry about it. It was so long ago.

  He just sat there and looked at me. It was one of those moments when he probably should have pulled me in and hugged me, but it was there again, the space between us, and neither of us moved.

  Finally he took a deep breath. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  The same words I had said with such conviction to Jillian and to John Carter, but now they seemed hollow, and I knew better, because I remembered how it had been after she’d died. I spoke softly, knowing the strength of what I was about to say.

  “But I thought it was. And you thought it was. That’s why you couldn’t even look at me for the longest time. I remember that, too.” The words went right where I knew they would, and my dad sat, stricken, but I couldn’t stop. “You wouldn’t even look at me.” Despite my valiant effort, I was crying.

  He spoke slowly, in his voice that was reserved for grave matters.

  “Anna. I couldn’t look at you because every time I did, I was petrified—I couldn’t imagine how I was going to do it alone.” He looked down. “And because I thought, over and over, how she could have just as easily taken you out there with her. It killed me every time I let myself think it.” By the look on his face, it still did. He shook his head. “No. I never, never blamed you. It took me a long time to stop blaming myself.”

  We were quiet then, and I turned the word over, again and again. “Blame.” I had worn it around my neck for years. John Carter crawled under the weight of his. Jillian only set hers down when she ran. And nobody had ever told any of us we were to blame; we had just decided we were guilty. I sunk into my chair and looked over at my dad, who waited for me to say something, then I pulled the blanket tight around me and used the corner to wipe my eyes.

  “How did you stop?” I sniffed. “Blaming yourself?”

  Again he straightened up and took a deep breath, preparing. He looked at his hands briefly, then back at me. “Your mom was ill, Anna. I guess when I really accepted that, I stopped. I’m sure now they would call her depressed, or bipolar, or something else, but we didn’t know then. We were young and stupid, and when we met, it was just beginning, I think.” He smiled vaguely. “She was this wild, brave, brilliant girl who would do anything, and I fell for her the first time I saw her.” I thought of him, a crazy-ass kid, kissing her in the moonlight, and I felt myself look at him with softer eyes. Of course he would want to remember her here, like that, and as he spoke, I did too.

  “We spent two summers sneaking around here, hiding from her folks, and dreaming of running off together. Your grandparents were overprotective of her, and, looking back, they must have known she wasn’t all right. There were times when she’d want to be alone, and I’d see her walking the beach, or she’d hole herself up and paint, but I never questioned it, because she’d always come back to me and we’d go right back to being happy and together. She was starting to fight it then, I think, but she hid it well.” He scanned the water beyond the window, then looked back to me.

  “You were born here, Anna, and she called you her little rescuer—” He stopped short, but then the thought came out in spite of his reluctance. “Said you’d
saved her from the dark.”

  I said nothing. I barely breathed. A whole world I hadn’t known about opened up in front of me, and I tried to make sense of my own history that changed and shifted as he spoke. I pictured her walking the beach with me, and John Carter and his kids watching from their porch in the warm afternoon sun. I pictured her telling me stories of mermaids and sea glass, and the magic of the water. And it was there, a connection between me and her, and this place. It was real.

  “Why did we leave?”

  My dad cleared his throat. “We left because I got hired on full-time right after you were born. I had to transfer to take the position, and that was hard on her. We got up there, and she tried to make the best of it, but it wore on her. I was having to work overtime to keep us afloat, and she was in a place that wasn’t home to her, away from everything that was, and … she started to unravel … slowly.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “It was like she became two different people.”

  This felt familiar. This part I knew. The good days and the bad days.

  “I should have seen it more clearly, I guess, but through everything else—work, money, life—I didn’t. I kept thinking she’d get over it, or something would change, or it wasn’t as bad as it seemed….” He dropped his head, and I could see he hadn’t completely let go of blaming himself. I struggled for the right thing to say, but before I could come up with it, he raised his eyes to mine.

  “I’ve spent a lot of time wondering what I could have done differently, but I don’t know if any of it would have worked. I don’t know what was in her mind that night. I had to let that go, because she didn’t leave me any answers or reasons.” He pursed his lips together, and I could see that he was thinking something over. I waited. There had to be something more. The look on his face said there was.

  “She didn’t leave me with anything, but a while after … I found something that was meant for you.” He hoisted himself up and disappeared into his room, and I fought the impulse to go with him. I had always wished she’d left me something, over and over had imagined a clue that would explain it all away or say it was all a dream, and that she was off somewhere beautiful, waiting for me.

  My dad returned and held out to me a small unframed canvas. “I’ve been saving it … for the right time. It’s the only painting of hers I kept.”

  I took it into my hands, almost afraid to look. And when I did, chills ran over me. It was a nighttime beachscape, and I recognized the tide pool rocks silhouetted in soft moonlight. The view from her window was calm, luminous, and spoke of gentle movement. I marveled at the care and detail, ran my fingers along the brushstrokes. And then I saw what I knew had to be there somewhere. Just outside of the moonlight’s reflection, barely discernible, flicked a silvery tail, the curve of which hinted at the beauty that lay just below the surface.

  I dropped my hands to my lap, the painting still in them, and stared out through the rain at the gray chop of the storm. My dad stepped closer, tentatively. “There’s … something on the back.” He sat down next to me and turned it over, and there, scrawled in the same graceful loops I’d seen in her room, was an inscription:

  For Anna:

  My Beauty, Grace, and Strength

  Tears welled up in me again, and I looked up from the canvas to my dad, and I saw those things in him. I saw traces of grief and sadness that would always be there, but I also saw courage, and will, and goodness, all stemming from love at its purest. And so, without saying anything, I stepped over the space between us and put my arms around him, in an embrace that we hadn’t ever had, past whatever barriers we had put up. We stayed that way for a long time, both of us with tears running warm down our faces, neither of us wanting to move.

  He put his hand to the back of my head and must have felt the dried blood, because he pulled back and stood up to get a better look. “You did take a beating out there.”

  “Aah.” I winced as he spread my hair to examine the cut. “I’m fine, I think, as long as you quit messing with it.”

  He peered down at it a moment longer, then looked at me intently. “Are you? Really?”

  I let a breath out, and it took me a second, but I felt it. A lightness that hadn’t been there before. She had left me something more. My fingers grazed the empty spot on my neck, and I glanced out the window before looking back at him. “I am.” I nodded. “I’m okay. Are you?”

  He thought for a second, then answered with a slow, tired smile. “Yeah. I am.” It wasn’t much. No big speech. No big talk. No elaborate scene. We had hugged. But something had shifted between us in that moment, and we both felt it. That didn’t change the fact that my dad was a man of few words, or that he still wasn’t quite sure what to do with a moment like that. He rubbed the top of my head. “Doesn’t look like you’ll be needing any stitches….”

  “Good.”

  “Surf is supposed to clean up by tomorrow. How ’bout we get a morning session in and go for breakfast or something?”

  “Um … school?”

  He waved dismissively. “You can go late. I’ll write you a note, or whatever.”

  I couldn’t help but smile at his dadness as I nodded. “Okay. But I have to miss all of first period. It’s Mr. Strickland.”

  He laughed. “Deal.”

  We sat for a while without saying much and watched the storm move over the water. It was barely dark and I hadn’t eaten dinner, but exhaustion hung heavy over me. I stood up and stretched.

  “I think I’m gonna go to bed. It’s been way too long of a day.”

  My dad looked up. “You never told me what the deal was with Carter.” He had scooted to the edge of the couch, ready to hear the story.

  I shook my head. “It was nothing…. I’ll tell you tomorrow. I’m too tired right now.”

  “All right.” He smiled. “Get some sleep then.”

  I nodded and headed back to my room. I’d have some explaining to do to a few people tomorrow. Ashley and Jillian for sure. But I couldn’t think of that now. Now I just needed quiet and rest.

  In my bed, with my eyes closed, I ran my fingers over the bare spot on my neck and tried to distinguish between the sound of rain on the roof and the waves on the beach. Sleep closed in from the edges of my mind, and when I finally slipped into it, it was dreamless and deep.

  The view out our front window looked like redemption. A line of pelicans glided low over the water and, though pale, the early morning sun silhouetted a wave as it crumbled lazily over the rocks and spilled up onto the sand. It carried on its back a surfer I took to be my dad. He rode it out with an ease that spoke of countless mornings spent in the water, then hopped off his board and scooped it up, looking back for a second before he turned his face to our window. And I saw it wasn’t my dad at all. It was Tyler. I felt the zing as he waved.

  “That Tyler out there?” My dad stepped in from the kitchen holding his cup of coffee.

  “I think it is. Mind if I …? I’ll be right back.” I grabbed a blanket from the couch and wrapped it around my shoulders, then near-ran down the stairs. When I got to the bottom, he was waiting, face still dripping wet, with his ever-present Tyler smile.

  “Mornin’, sunshine.”

  I felt myself break into a big, surprised, I-am-so-happy-to-see-you grin. “Hi.” I almost laughed it instead of speaking it. “Um … do you usually surf out here before school and I just never noticed?”

  “Nah.” He set the end of his board in the sand and leaned an arm on it. “Usually Ab Point. But Ashley said you left the meet yesterday, and then you didn’t answer the phone last night, so I thought I’d come by this morning. But it was early, and I didn’t want to wake you up, so …” He looked me over just about the time I realized I was standing in my pajamas, my hair all tangled and matted, with a blanket wrapped around me. “You okay? Looks like you could’ve used a day at the spa with Ashley.”

  “Funny.” I pulled the blanket tighter and reached a hand up to smooth my hair. “You have no idea …”r />
  He took a step closer and smiled, and I felt his eyes run over me carefully, lingering a moment on the spot where I’d banged my head. “What happened yesterday?”

  “That … is a really long story. But”—I took a step into him—“I’m okay. The storm’s gone, I’m not going to first period, and here you are, first thing in the morning.” I stood on my tiptoes and kissed the salt water from his lips. He took a small step back, and I had a feeling my dad was probably coming down the steps.

  Tyler sighed. “You’re leavin’ me alone for Strickland’s class, huh?”

  “I know. Sorry to do it.” I looked out over the water. “But look at it out there. It’s a perfect morning—”

  “Hey, Tyler.”

  Sure enough, Dad walked up and set his board on the sand, then reached around behind him to zip his wet suit. “Get some fun ones out there?”

  “Yeah, it’s good. Hard to leave it, but I can’t miss first today.” He looked over to me. “See you later?”

  “Yeah. I’ll find you,” I said.

  “All right. You guys have fun out there.” He gave a quick nod, then tucked his board under his arm and jogged up the beach.

  My dad kneeled over his board with a bar of wax, then stopped, smiling.

  “What?” I fought the urge to smile too as I pulled the blanket up around my shoulders again. Heat crept up my cheeks.

  He looked at me for a second, then shook his head. “Nothing. Just …” I opened my mouth for a rebuttal, but apparently, it wasn’t needed. “Tyler’s a good kid,” he said. “He can come around whenever.” He rubbed the wax on his board quickly, then stood up and motioned at the water. “Get suited up. I’ll be out there.”

  “Okay. I’ll be just a minute. There’s something I need to do first.”

  He nodded, then grabbed his board and headed out. I stood there and watched him paddle out over the morning glass, so calm after such tumult, and when I turned to go up to the house, I thanked him silently, over and over, for being there.