Spring Tide

by K. Dicke

  “I will. Everything’s okay.”

  His face fell as I said the words and from deep inside came an ugly feeling that I hadn’t experienced in nearly five years.

  I went out behind Jericho and got into his truck.

  He put it in reverse. “How’re you really doin’?”

  “I’m beat.”

  “Bad pun.”

  “Yes it was.” I slouched in the seat. “Actually, I’m really confused. What I remember isn’t lining up. I should be in the hospital in a body cast. And the medics found me outside. I couldn’t’ve dragged myself anywhere. I was unconscious.” The words came out of my mouth and I didn’t know why I was talking to him about it because I hadn’t even worked through the issue myself.

  “You hit your head, right? Got a concussion?”

  “I think so.”

  “There was this guy in Baja a few years back, got a surfboard fin lodged in the side of his head. He didn’t remember going over the falls or that he swam to shore. He didn’t know why we took him to the ER, and this is the best part—his words—didn’t know why that little baby porpoise wouldn’t take its nose out of his ear. Even when he looked in a mirror, he didn’t see the fin. He saw a tiny porpoise. It was months before he put the whole thing together.” He parked in front of the building. “So be patient with yourself, you know? Head injuries jumble your mind. I hope you feel—” his head snapped left, his eyes big.

  “Better? I will, thanks.” I got out and scanned the lot. What’s he looking at? No one’s around.

  Once I was inside, he pulled away. Waiting for the elevator, I glanced out the front door. From the far corner of my eye I thought I saw a big bolt of lightning that was so white it looked blue. I put my arm over my eyes, the bell sounded, and I stepped into the elevator. I am all kinds of messed up.

  I nearly knocked over Sylvia, my attention on the bland, commercial carpet of the hallway. She was wearing a tiny black dress, a red silk scarf draped over one shoulder, and four-inch heels. Her bleach-blond hair was pulled up, her makeup flawless. I rarely got to see the before snapshot of her, was more familiar with the after.

  “Oh hey, yeah you. I know you.” She put her hand on my shoulder. “You’re the little elf that did my dishes yesterday and took out the trash. You sorta look like the girl that feeds Bongos.”

  I’d done her dishes over a week prior. “Why’d you name him Bongos?”

  “You don’t know? Well come on.” She latched my arm to hers and took me to her unit. “We’ll have to hurry. I’m meeting Joel and he’s too good to disappoint, you know what I mean? Everything about him makes my toes curl, the things he says, the way he says them, how he touches—”

  “We’d better hustle then.”

  Her place was worse than before, the smell of litter box and tobacco heavy in the air. She wandered around the clutter, put a small set of bongo drums on the coffee table, and made a brash meowing sound. The cat came out from under the sofa and hopped up onto the table. Holy cow. The animal was actually thumping the bongos with its paws. After thirteen seconds and a wicked little jam, his furry face turned up to her.

  She petted him, scratching behind his ears. “I’ve had him since he was a kitten. He’s a talented little bastard, isn’t he? Good kitty!”

  “He really is.” I went to the door. “Hey, Sylvia, go easy tonight. I’ll see you later.”

  When did my life get so weird? Random lightning, spooky mist, dwarves, cats that play reggae … what’s next? As long as I’m losin’ it, breakdancing leprechauns would be cool.

  I walked into our condo and found Sarah in our living room with a bottle of aloe vera in her hands.

  I leaned against the wall. “Sylvia’s cat can beat drums. It’s worth the visit, but she might make you drink vodka with her.”

  She looked up. “That’s what that noise is?”

  “Yep. Hey, I didn’t want to say anything during the rockin’ pity party y’all had for me earlier, but what’s up with the burn? Sunscreen’s your religion.” I scrutinized the area of her face where her sunglasses had been.

  “I fell asleep lying out this morning.” Her mouth turned down. “Look at me. I’m a clownfish. I have stripes, Kris. Stripes.”

  Her legs were streaked in shades of red, tan, and hot pink. She showed me her stomach, which was worse, and I showed her my bruises to make her feel better.

  “That looks ouchy. You’re okay? You’re sick of being asked that, huh?” She resumed rubbing gel into her skin. “So who called Derek? I didn’t get that part.”

  “Me either. The only thing I can gather is that I pulled up his number before I passed out and the paramedic called him for me. But why would he’ve done that?”

  “Maybe you were in shock and asked him to?”

  “Maybe.” Did I? I started toward my room. “Don’t mean to be antisocial but …”

  “It’s okay. And, Kris, I am really sorry and not just about your hair.”

  “Thanks.”

  As I walked up the short hall I mulled over the porpoise story. When I was sixteen I had an accident with my skateboard, had hit my head pretty good. At the second of collision I’d thought for sure that I’d broken my entire face and it’d scared the holy crud out of me. But by the day’s end the swelling had gone down, the bleeding had stopped, and there’d only been a cut and some bruising on my cheek. I hadn’t remembered the drive from the skate park to Derek’s house, but did remember seeing stars: concussion. What had happened at The Bakery might’ve been the same kind of thing. Maybe I’d freaked so hard when my attacker had dropped me that fear made the beating seem much worse than it actually was. Maybe the blinding light I’d seen was from my head hitting the floor. I was grasping at straws and knew it, but those were the only logical explanations I could come up with. Except the dwarf—I’d definitely imagined that.

  I was happy to see my bed. I’d brought my own pillows, sheets, and blankets because I was leery of sleeping on bedding that had covered countless people before me. Multicolor polka dots on a white background welcomed me, coaxing me to get off my feet. The colors had rinsed out. Red became pink, brown was tan, green was lime and all were juvenile, but I’d spent years under those dots and they made the room feel more like home, which was exactly what I needed.

  It was a crummy night’s sleep.

  At six, I was ten minutes from waking Sarah and accepting her wrath when I decided it would be easier and more efficient to walk down the beach and roust Derek. Opening the door to leave, I stopped short, a bucket in the hallway blocking my path. My disposition quickly changed from tired and unhappy to gleeful.

  So beautiful. But they’re not even in season … Where’d they come from? Wow.

  Across the side of the bucket was my name written in marker. Inside of it was a three-foot stalk of bright green globes, leaves tightly closed and very fresh. I took it to the kitchen, cleared a space in the fridge, put the bucket under the sink, and then went downstairs.

  “Arnold.” I caught up to our building’s night watchman at the door.

  “Hey, Kris. Your hair—”

  “Ignore that. Who brought the Brussels sprouts?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Who asked you to bring the bucket to my door last night? You can tell me.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He sniffed my breath.

  I could tell by his face that he didn’t know about the bucket but did think I’d been partying.

  As I made the journey to Derek’s I came up with six ideas for what I wanted to do with the sprouts, but had zero clue who might’ve left them for me. Not Sarah—she had a sunburn, wouldn’t go into public right away. Definitely not Derek—he’d want credit, would give them in person. The only person that came to mind was Mom. But if it was her, and she knew what had happened at The Bakery, she would’ve accompanied the sprouts. And then she would’ve escorted me back to Austin.

  The patio door was unlocked as it always was and I sidled into Derek
’s room, wasting no time in jumping on his bed, over and around his sleeping body.

  “Jingle bells! Jingle bells! Jingle all the way!” I screamed.

  His eyes just about popped out of their sockets. I’d gotten through one round of giggles and was starting into another when he slapped my rear and grabbed my foot out from under me. I fell on top of him, still laughing.

  He pulled my hair. “I’m real close to hitting you right now.”

  “Good morning, Polly Sunshine.”

  “What are you doing here and why are you so skippy?”

  “Brussels sprouts, baby.”

  “What?”

  “I think I’m still coming down from the assault.” I went from giddy to serious. “I need you, Derek.”

  He cocked his head. He was so cute in the morning, every hair out of place, his confidence not yet roused.

  “Will you take me to get my car now?”

  “You are such a pain in my ass.” He threw off the covers. “Give me five minutes.”

  I kept laughing.

  He pulled up to The Bakery. The store was closed and Deborah’s car was in the lot. I had to go in, see her, and get it over with. He walked with me to the door and we stopped just inside. The black-and-white squares seemed so much bigger, the floor endless. The setting was the same, but everything felt different and my heart’s rhythm increased with the sweat that was beading at my hairline. I moved my sight to the display cases. There was nothing random about the pattern of breakage. The glass was slivered in long, vertical lines, the heaviest damage to the middle right of the shop lining up with the back door. Along that plane the fragmentation was so extensive that to touch it with one finger might result in an avalanche. From there, the fissures diminished the farther they were from that point. What had made it break that way? My thoughts were interrupted by Derek, who took my hand and pulled at it a little. I couldn’t stand looking at all the broken glass anymore and decided I’d call Deborah later. Derek went to his car and I went to mine.

  I met Sarah at Cheveux. Within an hour, Ellen, the colorist, had done an outstanding job of resurrecting my hair and removing all signs of carnage.

  Ellen presented me with the bill, but before I could look at it Sarah snatched it out of my hand.

  “You may not.” I tried to take it back.

  “My treat!” She shoved it into her shirt.

  We quibbled over it for another minute but Sarah wouldn’t budge. I was grateful. The bill was a week’s pay and that was Ellen being generous because of what had happened to me. We went out the salon’s fancy stained glass doors to the parking lot.

  “Okay, gotta shop for Bermudas, hide the atrocity.” She pointed to the sunburn on her legs that had significantly faded. “Your hair looks fantastic!”

  Sarah left for the mall. I went home, put on a suit, and then went down to the sand with my tunes because I didn’t know what else to do. The beach was crowded, but walking out I spied mousy brown hair. I raised my hand to wave but he’d already turned and run away. Hi, Aaron. Sarah’s not here. I reclined into Sarah’s sacred lounger and was good and relaxed until a shadow blocked my sun, chilling my bones. I looked left and saw tall, dark, and handsome, his face somber and his eyes set on mine.

  “Hello, Kris. Those are some nasty bruises. I heard about what happened at The Bakery and hoped it wasn’t you. I’m so sorry. You’re very lucky you didn’t get hurt worse.”

  I slowly nodded and then covered my stomach with my arm. “I apologize—I can’t remember your name …”

  “I never told you. Troy. The worst things always happen to the nicest people.”

  “Thanks, that’s sweet of you to say. Do you live nearby?”

  “I travel here for work. I’ve been coming to Corpus Christi for oh, the last two years or so.” He gestured to the shoreline. “Would you like to walk?”

  I rose, persuaded by his solemnity while wondering what it was about him that made him so attractive. Maybe it was that he was uncommon—a considerate, polite person. That and his voice was just plain sexy.

  He walked with his hands in his back pockets, his vision straight ahead. “Are you seeing anyone?”

  “Why do you ask?” I kept my sight on his profile.

  “Because you’re walking with me.”

  “Why did you ask me to walk with you?”

  He grinned. “You answer questions with questions. I like that. You’re very much like someone I used to know, but don’t take that as flirting. I just enjoy your company.”

  “Yours too.” The breeze was much too cool and I wished I would’ve thought to put on my T-shirt. “Are you seeing someone?”

  “You could say that. Why do you ask?”

  “Because you asked me first.”

  “I saw you playing cards with a guy the other day. It seemed to me that he makes you happy.”

  Derek. “He does.”

  “You’ve figured out more than most girls, I think. Too many fall for shallowness,” he pointed to a parasailer, “like him. All cool, no substance. You know better.”

  Damn straight. “So what do you do that brings you here on business?”

  “Human resources—recruiting, orientation, termination, that sort of thing.”

  “Where do you travel from?”

  “Not far.” A small smile formed on his lips and was taken back.

  We walked in comfortable silence. He was shortening the length of his steps to match mine, staying slightly behind me. Despite the alteration, his movements were elegant, whereas Boy Wonder would come off like a big, bumbling yutz.

  “Why do you work at The Bakery?” He said after several minutes. “You seem too smart to be satisfied with icing cupcakes. Surely there’s something more you want to do with yourself, some passion.”

  “I like science and The Bakery’s good for that.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Take shortening. When added to dough it shortens the strands of gluten and greases them so they don’t fully form. Because of that it makes a tender, less chewy product, as opposed to, say, French bread, which has little fat and has been kneaded to make the gluten strands long and elastic.”

  “Your explanation suggests you should be in school to make the most of that knowledge.” He looked right at me. “Not here.”

  “There’s plenty of time for that.”

  We were suddenly standing by Sarah’s lounge chair. I realized then that I was unaware that we’d turned around at some point.

  He leaned forward. “Thank you for the conversation. Take care of yourself, Kris.”

  Long strides took him far down the beach, his white shirt the only thing defining him in the distance. A car alarm jerked me from my bemused state and I packed up, remembering the Brussels sprouts. I spent the next hour playing with them and wondering where they’d come from. It had to be someone from our building or someone that had my or Sarah’s security code. But who?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “She said her attacker’s eyes looked strange. Devon’s been here, was there that morning. I’m sure of it now.” He yanked his hand through his hair. “And just when I thought everything was gonna be okay, I got signaled. Poof.”

  “It’s summer. Donovan’s been taken to three boating accidents in the last three weeks and a roofing mishap that ended badly. Somehow we all made it through the disaster at the refinery last month and it’s only July.” She moved from a chair to the sofa and sat next to him. “There’s something I haven’t told you. For the last two months, I’ve been having visions of rats, hoards of rats, running blindly.”

  He turned his body toward hers. “Funny you say that because I had to play exterminator that morning. There was one guy, his screams were so … it haunts me.”

  “I’m sorry you had to go through that but there’s purpose in it.” She put her hand on his. “How many rats were there?”

  “Five. Do you believe me now? This is isn’t the occasional thief gone renegade—it’s the darks, it’s Devon.
And it isn’t gonna stop, Julia. He’s preparing for something, something big and has been for a long time. This is just the beginning—”

  She threw up her hands. “But nothing like this has happened in centuries.”

  “Have you thought about meeting with the other assemblies, comparing notes? I mean, I know that’s not done and each group takes care of itself but—”

  “I’ve already made plans to visit The Sky and The Assembly of Roses.”

  “We’ve got to band together, take out Devon. If we can do that his whole system falls apart.” He got up, went to the windows, and watched the waves churn up the sand. “At least for a year or so.”

  She rose and stood behind him.

  He continued to scan the shoreline. “Yeah?”

  “Thank you for talking to me the other night, for trusting me enough to tell me about when you became aware.”

  He nodded, his sight held to the water.

  _______

  By Sunday, I was dying for something to do since I was down to one part-time job. Derek’s ex, Pam, was hanging out with us for the weekend, so I offered to make bouillabaisse. Sarah loved it, Derek loved it, and everyone loved to watch Boy Wonder fight with mussel and clam shells. Sarah, Pam, Nick, and I went to the fish market and the grocery. The outing went well other than Nick riding the mechanical pony outside of the store and scaring the bejesus out of a four-year-old girl. Yeehaw.

  After a couple of hours I’d sterilized Nick’s kitchen and had made salad and dressing. Sarah was assisting me by sitting on the kitchen counter and filing her nails. The stock had begun to simmer when Jericho knocked at the back door and entered. He gave the nod to Nick and Derek and walked into the kitchen. He lifted the lid on the broth and I smacked his hand with a wooden spoon.

  “Why?” He rubbed his knuckles.

  “Sorry. I’ve always wanted to do that.”