by Pam McGaffin
“JODY!” I yell, hands cupped around my mouth.
“JODY!” Sam echoes.
“Do you think she went into the woods?” I ask.
“If she did, we’ll never find her in there,” Sam says.
“Better stick to the beach, I guess.”
“Yeah, although we’re running out of beach.”
Up ahead, our path narrows against a steep rock bluff, then disappears completely where the rocks form a point jutting into the water. After some hemming and hawing, we agree to go to the point and then turn around. We don’t want to get trapped by the tide. Unlike the bluff at home, this one isn’t climbable, even by daredevils. The vertical drop is broken by slim shelves and trees hanging on by exposed roots. The trees that have fallen litter the base of the cliff as driftwood.
Sam gets to the point before I do. By the time I catch up, he’s halfway up the barrier. He makes the climbing look easy, but I know the seaweed-topped rocks are slick and the barnacles on the edges would be sharp and unforgiving if I fell. Up close, the tiny, volcano-shaped creatures release a chorus of wet clicking sounds. I’m standing there staring into their grasping mouths, or whatever they are, when Sam appears above me and asks what kind of cigarette Jody smokes.
“I’m not sure. Why?”
“I found this.” He holds up a stub with blue lettering on the smashed white end, next to the brown filter. I make out three letters: i-n-s.
“Winstons,” Sam says. “My uncle smokes them.”
“Are the packages white with red?”
“Yep, that’s right.”
As if on cue, we both yell, “JO-DY!” We yell it three times together, and then we wait, but the only response we get is the lap of waves and the crackling suckle of sea life.
“A lot of people smoke Winstons,” Sam says.
“I know. If only Jody wore lipstick.” I picture Jill’s signature frosted pink. “Then we’d know for sure.”
“So, what do you want to do?” He stands up from his crouch.
I measure the danger of climbing around the point against what we stand to gain. Even if the stub was Jody’s, she may have simply stopped here, like us, had her smoke, and headed back. She wouldn’t try to get over these rocks drunk, would she? But then, alcohol makes you do stupid stuff. I know this now. She could be nearby, within earshot even, but unconscious or too hurt to speak. If that’s true, I’d never forgive myself for abandoning her.
“I think we need to get to the top of this barrier and see what’s on the other side.”
“Okay,” Sam agrees. “But we better hurry.” He hoists himself over the top like there’s nothing to it. “Watch your step.”
My method is to crab-crawl, planting my feet carefully and using my hands to brace myself. I crunch on barnacles for traction, trying to avoid, as much as possible, the green stuff. I have a couple of near falls, but I eventually get to the top to find Sam already on the other side, standing in a shady pocket of beach surrounded on all sides by more bluff.
“Dead end!” Sam yells, as if it isn’t obvious.
It may be a trick of the light, but the water on this side of the island is the most gorgeous, glowing blue color I’ve ever seen. Looking out, the otherworldly blue is dotted with the dark, green lumps of the islands nearby. Beyond them, the Alaska mainland seems to stretch forever.
Sam climbs back up to meet me. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. I’ve never seen water that blue. It’s like a kid colored it.”
“Aquamarine,” Sam says. “That’s the Crayola crayon name. I used to draw a lot. Crayons were the one art supply my mom could afford.”
I remember the doodles all over Sam’s Pee-Chee. “I’d like to see some of your drawings.”
“Sure.” He looks down at his shoes. “I’ve never shown them to anyone, but I’d show you.”
I lean in for a kiss, but he stops me short. “We need to get out of here,” he says. I follow his gaze towards the bluff behind us. “See where the wall goes from dark to light? That’s the high-water mark.”
“Okay. Say no more. We’ll go back.”
With the tide coming in, the point is no longer a point, but we can still get over it. I think of all those happy barnacles, safe in their tidal beds as I try to retrace my steps. Going down is a lot scarier than coming up, but Sam hopscotches ahead of me like he was born to it.
“What are you, part crustacean?”
I glance over at him, not where I’m stepping. That’s all it takes. My feet slide out from under me. Hips. Then head. White light, stars, a whole blinking constellation in a black sky. How did the sky get so black? A voice, low and guttural, almost purring, then three sharp calls. The blackness takes the shape of a head, hunched on wide shoulders, two shiny eyes, a long pointed beak, and a ruffled neck. Raven. He stands on the rock above, looking down at me. He bows and the tip of his beak touches my cheek, and I fear he plans to peck my eyes out. But his head turns to regard me with one eye, and it isn’t hungry or mean. It’s protective—and so shiny, I can see my reflection.
“Dad?”
“Ida.”
He turns again, cocks his head. Wings with ends like fingers form a dark tent that folds me in. I feel my head being lifted, the fingers making a pillow.
“Ida?”
The shiny black becomes slick yellow, the smell of fish and plastic. A rain slicker, folded into a pillow, is placed under my head, and above it is the face I’ve come to know so well, the smooth brown skin, scarred eyebrow, and eyes full of concern.
Sam. I’m lying on the rocks. He fills my view.
“Ida, can you hear me?” He’s shouting but the words sound far away.
My head slides up and down on the slick surface of his jacket.
“We have to move you. Can you roll, just roll onto one side?” His hands slide under my shoulder. My body moves under Sam’s push, but it’s so disconnected. “Come on,” he urges. “That’s it.”
Waves crash against the rocks behind me, spraying droplets of saltwater on my face as I roll onto my stomach. The back of my head doesn’t hurt. It’s just cold, like the wind’s blowing right through to my brain. I don’t realize I’m whimpering until Sam tries to comfort me.
“It’s okay. I’m going to help you.” His hands are on my back. “Can you prop yourself up on your arms?”
I try to do what he says, raising myself into a kind of girl push-up, but it kills my tailbone.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Okay. I’m going to guide your feet, one at a time.” Sam pulls my right foot loose. My balance shifts, and for one heart-stopping second, I’m falling, but he’s there to brace me. I need to trust him. While he positions my feet, I hold on with my hands. Red fingered, white knuckled, they look like starfish clinging to life.
“You’re doing great,” Sam says, his voice straining with the effort of bracing me.
“Ugh!”
“Okay, here comes a kind of big drop. You can do it.”
I scream as my foot goes down, down, down … and finally finds a landing. My rain gear slides over the barnacles. If not for that layer of plastic, my skin would be scraped raw like a keelhauled sailor’s.
“Not much farther now,” Sam says. “About three or four more steps.”
The last one is a doozy. First Sam lets go. Then I do. We land in a heap on hard sand, but at least it’s sand. Sam mostly breaks my fall.
“Are you okay?” I roll off of him.
“Yeah.”
We take a few minutes to lie there, flat on our backs. Then the sickness bubbles up.
“We did it, Ida … Ida?”
I roll over just in time to throw up all that good salmon I ate earlier.
Sam puts his arm around my shoulders and helps me sit up, head between my knees. “Just rest here a minute.” His hand makes slow circles on my back.
“God, I love you.” It just comes out.
Sam’s hand st
ops mid circle.
“Sorry,” I say. It’s an all-purpose apology for dragging him into my crazy life and now this. With each pass, the waves inch closer. They’ve already swallowed half of the rock outcropping. The little alcove of sand we’re on is getting smaller and smaller.
“It’s okay.” Sam reaches over and lifts my chin so I’m looking into his face. “I love you too.”
Time stops. We sit and stare at each other. My head hurts, but my stomach feels better. We’re both exhausted. He’s got chapped lips, his hair is sticking up strangely, and his eyes are bloodshot. I can tell by the way they’re burning that my eyes are no better, and I’m pretty sure we both stink, but none of that matters as he pulls me close and kisses my forehead.
“What are we going to do, Ida?”
I think he’s talking about the future and my mother’s prohibition against my seeing him, but when he grimaces at the incoming tide, I realize he has more immediate concerns. He lets go of me and stands up. “Are you okay walking?”
“I think so.”
“How about swimming? We have to get around this bluff. If we hurry, we’ll just be wading.”
Fighting another dizzy spell, I grab Sam’s hand and let him haul me up. That’s when I notice he’s in shirtsleeves. “Your jacket?”
“Up there.” He points at the rocks we just came down. “I’m not going back for it.”
Together, we walk into the waves.
“Jeez! It’s freezing! Isn’t it summer?”
“In Alaska,” Sam reminds me.
“Screw Alaska!” My scream bounces off the bluff.
To get around a pile of driftwood, we have to go deeper, up past our waists. Sam doesn’t see the wave. It crashes into us. I’m under. Cold. Gasping, I gag on saltwater. Oh, God. Oh, God. It’s so cold, so, so cold. Calm down, Ida. Just calm down. The waves keep coming. I’m stuck on something. My hood is snagged on a piece of driftwood. I yank it free, losing my balance. I can’t feel my feet. I only know I’m standing because my head is above water. Sam. Where’s Sam? He was right next to me.
“S-S-Sam!” I’m shivering so badly, my yell is more like a croak. His yellow jacket should be easy to spot, but then I remember he’s not wearing it.
“Sam!” I force my legs to move, one in front of the other, bracing for the waves when they come. I don’t want to get knocked down again. I’m already too cold. Am I making progress? I can’t tell. The bluff doesn’t seem to be getting any shorter. I’m tired, so tired. Keep moving. Damn these waves. If they get any stronger and I get any weaker, I’m going into that driftwood. I really don’t want to be trapped in a bunch of dead trees or impaled on a sharp root. I have to move out and forward, but I can’t feel my legs. My brain is telling them to move, but they just feel like dead weights. Maybe if I use my arms. Okay, I’m swimming now, but I don’t know if I’m swimming in the right direction. I can’t really see anything but water. Waves wash over my face, burning as the water goes up my nose and into my eyes. My head keeps slipping under. God, is this really happening? Am I about to drown? And where’s Sam?
Dad, is that you? I can hear his voice, gentle and warm like a purr. Don’t let me die.
Hahaha-ch-ch-ch. It’s getting louder. CH-CH-CH-CH.
“Ida-Sue!”
I must be hallucinating. That sounds like Jody.
THERE’S the chug-chug-chug of a motor and the smell of gasoline. Two guys, one with a big red beard, haul me out of the water. Jody wraps me in a blanket. Sam’s already in the boat, shivering like crazy even though he’s wrapped in a sleeping bag. The man with the red beard is at the wheel, talking about a yellow jacket drifting in the tide. Sam’s icy fingers find my icy fingers. Relief, of course, but also gratitude. For Sam and Jody, for the men I thought were pirates, for all the people who care what happens to me. I don’t deserve them.
I’m lifted onto the dock and then into a waiting seaplane. A woman onboard feeds me something warm through a straw and says something about core temperature. She places some padding on the back of my head and yells something to the pilot but her words are lost to me. I’m lifted, rolled, pushed, sky above, then ceiling tiles, then bright light divided into squares and triangles. People talking at me and about me like I’m not there. A prick in the bend of my arm.
I wake up in a white room under white sheets with something beeping.
“You’re awake,” says a woman dealing with whatever it was that was just beeping. She’s all in white, too, except for her pearl-pink glasses.
For a second, I’m afraid I’m in Heaven or some weird weigh station. “Where am I?”
She turns to face me. “You don’t know? Why, you’re in the hospital, dear. St. Joe’s Hospital in Ketchikan, Alaska.”
CHAPTER 26
Becalmed
Unable to move due to lack of wind; said of a sailing vessel
A young doctor whose hands smell of iodine shines a light in my eyes. He asks me to watch his pen as he moves it up and down and side to side. With the same pen, he touches the soles of my feet and asks me if I can feel it. I can, along with my hurting head and back, sore neck, bruised right elbow, and scraped hands. I’m one aching mess.
A man wheels me to another room so another man can take an X-ray of my head. When I see the black-gray image of my skull, I’m fascinated and creeped out at the same time. If Dad drowned, is this what he’s been reduced to? A skeleton? Do bones dissolve in saltwater? There could be nothing left of the man who used to swing me over his head for a ride on his shoulders. My tears prompt the nurse to apologize for the pain of the antiseptic scrub she’s using to clean my wound. She’s already shaved the back of my head, and I didn’t cry when I felt my long hair fall away, so why would I cry from a little sting? Still, I’m thankful that the doctor shoots me with a “numbing agent” before he sews me up. Eight stitches.
“When you hit your head, your brain banged against the inside of your skull,” he explains. “There’s some bruising, but you should be fine. Just no more rock climbing for a while.” He pats me on the shoulder.
“What about canning?” I just assume I’ll return to Nagoon to finish the season with Jody and Sam. They have to be wondering if I’m okay. I’m aching to see Sam something terrible.
“That would probably be okay, but”—the doctor taps his pen against his clipboard—“I’ll have the nurse come in and talk to you.”
I don’t like the sound of that, but he leaves the room before I can ask him why.
After a while, the nurse comes in carrying a bag with my clothes. “Your mother’s on her way.”
WHA-AT? My mother? On her way? “But I can’t go home!” I know from the nurse’s flat expression that my whine is falling on deaf ears.
“You’ll have to take that up with your mother,” she says.
I don’t want to take it up with my mother. I know what she will say. No. Maybe I can get back to Nagoon before she gets to the hospital. But how? I have no money for a seaplane, and I can’t call on that hotel lady’s son again. Maybe the cannery … Oh, who am I kidding? They won’t take me back, let alone pick me up, not after all the trouble I’ve caused. Let’s face it, I’m trapped. Mom will get here and she’ll be furious. She’ll want to take me home—immediately—and this whole trip will have been for nothing. Here I thought I was so cool, working at a cannery, stealing fruit, loving Sam. But I’m just a great big chicken. I should have seen Trinity when I had the chance. Now I won’t be able to, even though I’m in the same town as she is. Heck, I could probably walk to her door, but the letter with her address is on Nagoon. What were those street names again? Deer-something.
“ … you ran away.”
“What?”
“Your mother,” repeats the nurse. “She says you ran away.”
“No—it wasn’t like that.”
She twists her mouth in an I-don’t-believe-a-thing-you’re-saying frown. “In any case, we’re legally required to return you to her custody. You’re a minor.”
I
nod. There’s no arguing with the truth. Or the law.
“She was really worried about you,” the nurse adds.
Again, I have nothing to say, because I know in my heart that it’s true. While I may fall miles short in Mom’s eyes, I’m all she’s got right now. I’ve no doubt that she was worried, probably more than worried. Crazed. She probably thought I was close to death and hooked up to one of those machines that shows your heartbeat blipping … or is it brain waves?
“Does she know about my accident?” Stupid question. If Mom talked to the nurse, she obviously knows how I got here. The question is, who called her? No one up here knows my last name and where I’m from. No one, that is, except Sam. It would be just like him to call her. After all, it was Sam who got me to call home after I got to Nagoon. I don’t know whether to be touched by his concern or annoyed.
“We assured her that you were going to be fine,” the nurse is saying. “In fact, you can get dressed. But I’m afraid you’ll have to have to wait where we can keep an eye on you. There’s a room to the left of the main entrance for families and children.”
Children? I’m picturing a nursery as she hands me some packets of aspirin with some papers, instructions on follow-up care. Then she leaves and draws the curtain surrounding my bed. Apparently, I’m mature enough to get dressed on my own.
As I take off my hospital gown, I feel more naked than I should. My fingers go to my neck, searching for the locket and chain that’s always there, except it’s not. I shake out my gown. Nothing falls. I paw the bed, the sheet, the blanket. Nothing. Could this day go any worse? I think of running after the nurse to ask if she’s seen it, but I fear it’s somewhere in the waters off Nagoon. Or on the beach. Or in the bunkhouse. It could be anywhere. When did I take off my shirt last? I can’t remember. That familiar ache bubbles in my chest, knocking against my heart. I want to tell my dad I’m sorry even though I know he would shrug off the loss of a mere thing. It was only a necklace, Ida. You’re lucky that’s all you lost. To which I’d say, “But it was the necklace I had to remember you by.” You don’t need a necklace to remember me. Of course, he’d be right.
