Coral

by Sara Ella

  “Jerome LaDuke. Duke for short.” Worst man alive. “Yeah, that’s him.”

  Nikki must sense my feelings of worthlessness and pain at the mention of their names because, for whatever reason, she squeezes my arm. “I’m glad you came today, Brooke.”

  “Thanks. Me too.”

  “Come on.” She winks. “I know the best place on campus to get ice cream. You haven’t had ice cream until you’ve had CREAM ice cream.”

  I have no idea what that means and I don’t care. Because for the rest of the afternoon I have a new friend, and it doesn’t feel forced and I’m not constantly worrying she doesn’t like me or questioning if she’s annoyed or doesn’t want to be here. Instead, I enjoy my plain vanilla in a cup while she eats her birthday cake ice cream smashed between CREAMfetti cookies, which I would absolutely order if they didn’t have gluten. I almost want to cheat, but I’d regret it later.

  There will be a next time. I let the idea turn to choice. I’m already making plans for when I’ll visit again.

  We talk and laugh and exchange numbers. When I meet Jake at the car, Nikki’s already texted. I have a text from Hope too. I skip it, wanting to tell her in person about how amazing Berkeley is.

  I climb into the car and click my seat belt in place. “Hey, can we take a detour to Hope’s house? It’s only thirty minutes out of the way and I haven’t seen her in a week.”

  Jake doesn’t answer right away. The radio plays low over the car’s speakers. I open Nikki’s text. I love that she uses proper grammar and punctuation. I can tell we’ll get along well.

  Hey, that guy behind the ice cream counter was super cute, right? I think he was interested in you. Should I give him your number?

  Nikki already has a boyfriend so I know this is her way of being nice. But I can’t help that all-too-familiar feeling that surfaces when I think of boys and summer and first dates.

  Thanks, but I think I need to keep my options open. Let me check Cold Stone and Baskin-Robbins and get back to you?

  I add a winking face and hit Send.

  She responds with four crying-laughing faces and I know I’ve made a friend.

  It didn’t even hurt.

  I pull up directions to Hope’s house, then turn to Jake to tell her about my campus tour.

  Her deadpan expression shatters every perfect detail, shading it in gray.

  This is Jake’s version of crying. This is the face she makes when she doesn’t want to make a face at all. It’s the same face she made before I was life-flighted to the hospital in January.

  “Jake?”

  “The hardest part about this job,” she says, “is getting attached.”

  I unbuckle and twist to face her fully. A new song fades in over the radio, a haunting, siren-like voice I recognize too well. I hit the power button and the music dies. “Jake. What. Happened?”

  “It’s Hope.”

  And that’s all. I don’t need more because that’s it.

  It’s Hope.

  And so a new normal begins.

  I didn’t brace for the impact this time. I fly headfirst through the shards of my flawless day. They cut me as I sail straight into the concrete finality of Jake’s words. I’m lying in a pool of the blood that drains from my head. Because . . . because . . .

  I close my eyes, squeeze my phone hard, wishing I could turn back time and open the text I didn’t read when it would have meant something. I make myself say the words for her.

  “Hope is gone.”

  Thirty-Three

  Merrick

  Merrick had braved the Fourth of July crowds before, but this was insane. Sweat bordered his hairline, the deodorant he’d put on this morning expired. He removed his tank and shoved the bottom end in the back of his board shorts, giving himself a nice tail.

  Humans occupied every inch of the beach. Mothers slathered sunscreen on their children from head to toe. Dads threw Nerf balls. A few teen girls sunbathed on their stomachs, bikini strings untied.

  A year ago, he might have whistled. Maybe even joined them in hopes of some action. Today he searched for a girl who was fully clothed and never failed to make him believe in a better version of himself.

  When the pier was fifty yards off, he sensed her before he saw her. Coral’s presence was a song he’d gladly play on his harmonica any day. He’d brought it tonight. He was determined to show her how he felt with more than words.

  Be cool. Be cool. You’ve played the harmonica a thousand times before.

  When had he gone from caring about nothing to caring about everything?

  No, not everything. Just her. And Amaya, of course. And their mom. But that wasn’t the point.

  Merrick made a beeline for the men’s bathroom and ducked inside. Splashed some cold water onto his face. “Get it together, Merrick.”

  “Talking to yourself again?”

  He whipped around to find his sister standing in the doorframe.

  “You left the house. Alone? Maya, not cool. Someone might see you.”

  “What? In the million people here?” She jerked her chin over one shoulder. “I’m nothing, a nobody, a Waldo in this sea of busybodies.” She’d propped the door open with her arms and feet spread apart like a starfish. Her wrinkled nose was warranted thanks to the reeking scent wafting from every corner of the space. What was not warranted was how comfortable she felt to intrude here, of all places. “Relax, Brother. Grim and Nikki are with me. They went to get shaved ice.”

  He’d have a word with Grim again about his sister’s safety. It had been over six months, but that didn’t mean they were in the clear.

  “Amaya.” Merrick left the cracked and graffitied mirror and filthy sink behind, bolted toward her, and scooted her out before someone saw. Or came in. “This is the men’s bathroom.”

  She rolled her eyes, dug her thumbs under her backpack straps, hitching it higher on her thin shoulders. She drew her sunglasses down over her nose, removed one of Grim’s ball caps from her back pocket, nestled it low over her forehead. “I’m inconspicuous. See?”

  Merrick eyed her. Had she lost more weight? Hard to decide when all her clothes were too baggy to begin with. Amaya’s knee-length shorts hung low on her hips, and the neck of her T-shirt sagged beneath her collarbone. Maybe he’d ask Nikki to bring her some new things.

  He suppressed his worry over Maya’s weight and searched the perimeter for Nikki and Grim. They waved at him from the shaved-ice shack and Merrick’s worries eased. He wanted to introduce them to Coral, but he was also selfish. This night had to be perfect. If he overwhelmed her with introductions, it might trigger her anxiety.

  So Merrick swung his arm around his sister’s neck and forced her into a hug. She had thinned, and the circles under her eyes said she lacked sleep. He glanced at her arms, hoping she wouldn’t notice. He didn’t see any new cuts. Still, his gut said his sister wasn’t as okay as she seemed.

  They were running out of time.

  He needed to find their mom. Yesterday.

  Amaya elbowed his side.

  “Hey, buddy.” Grim and Nikki walked up. It didn’t escape Merrick’s notice that they were holding hands. “Should we have gotten you one too?” Grim held up a yellow shaved ice—pineapple.

  “I’m good,” Merrick said. “I sort of have this thing.”

  Amaya rolled her eyes, her favorite pastime. “Your girlfriend again? Are you sure she exists? Are you certain she’s not a mermaid you imagined?”

  Merrick gave her another hug and decided he’d let her have today. Maybe he needed to loosen up, let her out more. This was a good thing for her.

  It was good for both of them.

  They parted ways after Merrick reminded Grim and Nikki not to let Maya out of their sight. Nikki assured him they’d stay linked and took Maya’s hand. Merrick expected her to pull away, but she didn’t.

  Maya liked Nikki more than she liked her own brother.

  He watched them go until they were lost in the crowd. Amaya had to hold up
one side of her shorts to keep them from falling off. Guilt stabbed Merrick’s ribs.

  She’ll be okay. It’s one night. I’ll buy her a double cheeseburger tomorrow and watch her eat it until it’s gone.

  The pier and boardwalk waited fifty yards off. Merrick headed to her spot. The Summer of Lights Festival was in full swing, complete with balloon-animal artists, cotton-candy vendors, and two shaved-ice trucks. A canopy booth was set up on the boardwalk where attendees could buy lanterns, markers, and lighters. Every July, people from all over showed up to write their wishes on the white paper lanterns and send those wishes afloat over the ocean. The entire sky lit up. Better than fireworks, there was a serene calm to the Lights Festival. The last time he’d sent a wish into the sky, his mom was there. Merrick was young and had wished to make his dad proud.

  He’d stopped believing in wishes after that.

  “But . . . I’m starting to again.” The words released on a murmur as he kicked up some sand behind him.

  Coral sat on a dry patch beneath the pier, hidden away from the crowds and lights and noise above. Band music played a nostalgic tune in the distance. Merrick tapped the beat out on his thighs, whistled along for good measure. The ocean approached and receded against the shore. It barely reached Coral’s feet before it backed away. She wiggled her toes, shifted closer. The sun began to set, the day fading like the end of a song.

  She was writing again, lost in the world she’d created between the pages of her notebook. She didn’t look up, didn’t even notice Merrick standing a foot behind her.

  Intrigued, he stayed back and crossed his arms. Was she . . . humming?

  The sound was soft, almost nonexistent.

  Merrick withdrew his harmonica from his pocket, played the chords to match her tune. His heart swelled with each step toward her.

  Coral continued to hum. She bobbed her head, tapped one foot on the damp sand. She was lost in her own world. With her, time dwindled from existence. Merrick wanted to freeze these moments before they escaped.

  He leaned forward and caught a glimpse of his name on her notebook page. A diary entry? A poem? A few more inches and she’d be leaning back against his shins. But she didn’t look up from her notebook.

  Merrick became an intruder in the private bubble she’d created. So he pocketed his harmonica, cleared his throat, and offered a casual, “Hey.”

  Coral stopped humming and closed the notebook cover. “Hi.”

  He sat and their hands lay side by side in the sand. If he moved his pinky finger a few centimeters, they could make another promise. One that mattered more than the one they’d already made.

  She lifted her hand and played with her braid.

  “So . . .” He coughed. Classy, Merrick. “You came.”

  “I said I would.”

  “I’m glad.” He inched his hand closer, hoping she’d place hers next to his again.

  She didn’t. “Me too. What are we doing?”

  “Trust me?” He wanted her to say yes more than anything. To take his hand and let him show her that he could be her safe haven.

  When she looked at him, a strange sensation in his chest took over.

  “Lead on,” she said.

  It wasn’t the answer Merrick wanted, but he’d take it.

  They stood at the same time. Merrick almost offered his hand, but he didn’t want to mess this up. He’d told her he’d wait and he would. He wasn’t about to rush things when she’d only begun to let him in.

  “I went through my grandmother’s attic.”

  “Without me?”

  “Yes.”

  Questions ran rampant, but he allowed her to speak first, showing her he could be as patient as she needed him to be.

  “You’ve only shown me some recent photos of Lyn, so I can’t be sure.”

  His ears perked. “You found something, didn’t you? Tell me you found something.”

  “Maybe. It might be nothing.”

  Merrick stopped where they strode. They were both barefoot and their strides matched in pace. He tried not to get his hopes up. He didn’t want this evening to be all about that. Still, she couldn’t mention it and expect him not to ask questions. “What is it?”

  “An old newspaper clipping. An engagement announcement. That’s it.”

  “Did you bring it?”

  She nodded, then withdrew a small square of faded newspaper from inside her notebook.

  It wasn’t much. A few sentences. Lyn Camden, town sweetheart, to marry the most eligible bachelor in San Francisco. Wedding date to follow in a later edition.

  His dad’s name wasn’t listed, but Camden had been his mom’s maiden name. This had to be about them. “How long did it take you to find this?”

  Coral shrugged. “A few days. My grandmother has a lot of junk. I pulled out a stack of old photo albums too. I haven’t gone through them yet . . .” Her voice trailed.

  Was it an invitation?

  Merrick pocketed the clipping and didn’t think before he made his next move. He pulled her into a hug, picked her up, and swung her around. When her feet met sand again, she drew away, her hands sliding down his arms. When her hands found his, they stayed.

  This was different from anything he’d experienced.

  Merrick reached out to touch her face, half expecting her to flinch. She didn’t. His confidence boosted. “You’re amazing. Has anyone ever told you that?”

  Questions glazed her eyes. She searched his as if looking for a flaw. It was the longest she’d ever held eye contact.

  He leaned closer. Was this his chance?

  She didn’t move. They were so close he could feel her breath on his skin.

  A popping noise resounded from somewhere to their left.

  Coral jerked.

  “It’s okay,” Merrick said. “Probably a balloon or some firecrackers or something.”

  But it was too late. Coral withdrew, ending the moment.

  They walked down the beach, their arms brushing. After a few minutes, their fingers found the other’s again. Soon they intertwined. Her hand, icy in his palm, was soft despite the chill. Merrick squeezed it, hoping to share some of his warmth. Hoping to make her see, with a touch, that he’d keep any promises he made.

  When they reached the other side of the boardwalk, where a giant screen and projector had been set up, Merrick beamed. “I hope you’re a movie buff.”

  Coral’s eyes illuminated brighter than the lanterns that would soon be overhead. “I’ve never been to one.”

  Merrick’s jaw dropped.

  “I mean, I’ve seen a movie, but not like this. On the big screen surrounded by people. My father thought it was silly and common. My oldest sister went once.”

  “And? What was the verdict?”

  “She said it was magical.”

  “You haven’t seen anything yet.” He led her to a spot he’d reserved for them earlier in the day. An oversize blanket with a picnic basket at the center. Excitement sped his pulse. He’d never taken so much care to plan a date. His father usually did that for him.

  They sat and a vendor called through the crowd as the previews played. “Popcorn. Cotton candy. Ice-cold Coca-Cola.”

  Merrick opened the basket and pulled out a to-go container of scones from the same tea shop they’d visited in June.

  Coral stared. Her eyes glistened.

  “I figured since we didn’t get to finish the last time, a do-over was in order. There’s no whipped cream or marmalade, though. It would have gone bad.”

  Her lips pressed and she shook her head. “No. This is perfect. Thank you.”

  Merrick watched her as she ate. He watched her eyes on the screen as the opening scene brightened the night.

  As she brightened the night.

  He leaned back with elbows locked. Then he hunched forward over his bent knees. Then his arms were behind him again and he was basically lying down, fingers clasped behind his head.

  Why was he acting like such a spaz?

&nbs
p; While Merrick was all nerves, Coral didn’t move. Her knees had to hurt after kneeling for so long. Merrick tried to focus on the movie, but stray hairs kept falling away from their tucked places behind Coral’s ears. She had a tiny, brown, apple-shaped birthmark beside her left one. It could only be seen when her hair was pulled back. Every time a strand fell, the mark disappeared again.

  He coughed but she didn’t react. How could she remain so still? He was practically jumping out of his skin at her nearness.

  What. Is. Wrong. With. Me? If this were Nikki, or any other girl for that matter, I’d have made a move by now.

  Other girls were predictable. In their revealing dresses and so much makeup caked on their skin that a guy had to wonder what they were hiding underneath all that paint. Coral didn’t wear makeup. Her eyebrows were so light, they almost blended in with her skin. Her dark eyelashes contrasted, framing her two-tone eyes, shocking against her pale complexion. She rarely spoke but always listened. On guard but begging to be seen.

  She was something else.

  Merrick didn’t want to be that other guy ever again.

  The air seemed to change as the final scene rolled. Merrick observed the other couples cuddle closer. An old man and woman sat in a pair of matching lawn chairs. The man leaned in and kissed the woman’s cheek. His lips lingered and he nuzzled her skin with his nose. She giggled, batting him away, pretending she couldn’t stand him. What a cornball.

  I hope I end up like him.

  The music swelled and half the audience clapped and cheered as if they didn’t expect the happily-ever-after ending. Like they had zero clue the princess and her prince would end up together.

  It’s why Merrick loved the classics. Every time was as good as the first.

  When the credits rolled and the theme song faded in, the old man took his wife by the hand. They swayed in the sand as if they were the only two people in the world.

  “Shall we?” Merrick offered his hand, palm up.

  She placed hers there and he guided her to stand.

  Coral often seemed a little uneasy on her legs, reminding him of a toddler first learning to walk.

  Merrick placed a firm hand on her waist and guided her arms into position. He drew her in, the music accelerating his confidence. “Trust me. Pinky promise.”