by Carrie Arcos
“So, Grace,” I say. “Here we are. What do you think?”
Grace hated the cold. She hated getting wet. She hated the water. Whenever we went to the beach, which wasn’t really that much, she stayed on the shore, collecting the small sand crabs. When the water came in, they’d get flooded out of their holes. When the water was drawn back into the ocean, the crabs would try to bury themselves quickly before the next wave came. They’d make these V-shaped lines in the sand. That’s how you knew where to dig for them. She’d run and scoop the sand, then she’d hold her hand over a bucket and let the crabs fall inside. I did it with her, but I didn’t like the way it felt when they tried to dig into your hands. It didn’t hurt, but it kind of freaked me out, like they were little alien creatures burrowing into my skin.
Grace’s wish list is odd. It’s very physical, and all things she hadn’t done before. In fact, it seems more like things she was afraid of doing. Why would Grace have wanted to surf? Did she secretly like the water? Did someone else put her up to it? Did River? He didn’t seem the surfing type.
Thinking of River gives me a headache, like one of those behind-the-eye headaches that takes coffee, Excedrin, a shower, and going to bed to finally get rid of it. I don’t get migraines very often: the first time was last year after a very stressful week of tests, practice, a recital, and jazz band concert. The second time was after the accident.
I see a wave coming in, shake my head free of River, and decide to go for it. It’ll be a big one because it’s on the outside of the break, but I’m ready. I turn and wait for the water to start to take me. I paddle hard and when it starts propelling me forward, I push up. This time I pop up to my feet, without using my knees. But I don’t anticipate the force of the wave dropping, and I’m thrown off the board and crash underneath the water. I try to swim, to get to the surface, but I’m caught in the churning water. I panic. The undertow spins me around, and I’m confused about which way is up. I don’t know how long I’ve been under, but it feels like a long time. My chest begins to hurt because I’m still holding my breath. I try to relax, thinking that maybe if I do, I’ll float to the surface. I’m suddenly very calm.
I wonder if this is how Grace felt at the end. If there was a moment of peace right after she said my name and the car hit us. Right before she stopped breathing, did she have a brief moment when dying came as naturally as living?
My brain feels like it’s going to explode, and my reflexes take over. My body wants to live. I break through the surface, gulping a huge breath. I cough and cough from all the water I hadn’t even realized I’d swallowed.
“Mark!” I hear my name being called. Charlie is near me. “Can you get on your board?”
“Yeah,” I shout between gasps. Surprisingly, my board is still attached to my ankle.
“Get on it. Follow me in.”
I’m right where the waves are breaking, and another one is coming quickly. I get on my board and paddle in, staying close to Charlie.
At the shore, I stumble out of the water, dragging my board. I’m a little shaky. Charlie pats me on the back.
“Awesome, bro. Fearless.” He laughs.
“Are you okay?” Hanna asks as soon as I reach the blanket. She hands me my towel.
“Yeah,” I say, still out of breath.
“I was so scared. It took forever for you to come up.” She hits me. “Don’t do that again!”
“Like I planned that.” I am relieved to be back on shore. “How’d it go?” I ask Sebastian.
“Not in my DNA.”
“I got on one knee,” Hanna says, all proud of herself.
“You guys were great,” Charlie says. He looks out at the ocean. “A good set’s coming in. Mind if I get in a few before we go?”
“Have at it,” Sebastian says.
The three of us sit on the blanket watching the water, while Charlie heads out. He makes it look easy, as do the other surfers out there. We watch him take a wave, riding it much longer than I ever did. When he’s finished, he just floats over the lip of the wave and sits on the board to wait for another one.
“He’s really good,” Hanna says. She takes a CapriSun out of the bag she brought with her. It takes her a couple of tries to puncture the straw through.
“I had no idea how hard this was,” Sebastian says. “I’ll stick to land.”
“You think you’ll do it again?” I ask Hanna.
“Maybe,” Hanna says. “Charlie’s a good teacher. But my arms are going to be crazy sore tomorrow.”
It did take a lot of upper-body strength with all that paddling. I don’t admit it, but I know I’m going to be sore tomorrow too.
“I can’t believe it’s only nine a.m. On a Saturday. I should still be sleeping,” she says.
“I should be prepping food,” Sebastian says. He unzips the suit and lies back against his towel.
Charlie wipes out on a big wave. “Ouch,” I say. But he gets right back up on the board and paddles out again.
“Grace would have . . . ,” Hanna begins, and stops.
I finish her thought. “Hated this.”
Hanna laughs. “I know! What was she thinking? She barely liked it when we’d go swimming and play Marco Polo at the community pool when we were kids.”
“I’d always give her position away.”
“Yeah, ’cause you were a cheater,” Hanna says.
“I’d win the splash wars, even with the two of you ganging up on me,” I say.
“You were such a brat.”
We’re both quiet, remembering our summers at the pool.
“It’s a list of fears,” I say finally. “They are things she was afraid of doing.”
“Maybe we should say something. Recognize the moment,” Hanna says.
I know she’s waiting for me to initiate, but I can’t. Besides, this was all Hanna’s idea. I watch Charlie catch another wave. It’s beautiful and simple. He rides for maybe twenty seconds and then gets off, to wait for another.
I think about how the ocean never stops. It’s relentless. It keeps going forever and ever. I pick up a handful of sand and let it fall through my fingers. I wonder how long it took for the beach to be made. How many years for the ocean to beat against stone and rock, until they crumbled. What can I say about Grace?
A small stone remains in my palm. It’s smooth and dark, standing out from the pale grains. I don’t want to be a pebble turning into sand, rubbed free of Grace. I want to keep her in my heart and hold her deep, where the waters cannot touch.
“Grace, if you’re watching us. We miss you and love you,” Hanna says, since I’m not giving her any help. “Thanks for getting us to surf. And may we never do it again.” She smiles.
“Right on,” Sebastian says.
I stand and walk down to the water’s edge. I throw the stone into the ocean. As the surf retreats, I spot the V tracks, like tiny clusters of birds flying in formation, in the wet sand. I bend down and dig. I hold a huge clump of sand and watch the tiny crabs thrash. They reach the palm of my hand, but I don’t release them. They try to claw into my skin, but their limbs aren’t strong enough. I want to feel the pain of them cutting through, but all I feel is an irritating rubbing, like time itself pressing against earth and ocean. I tilt my palm and they drop into the sand, disappearing.
Suddenly there’s a foot with orange toenails digging right in the spot where I’ve dropped the crabs.
“Gross,” Hanna says.
I get up. “You’re probably killing them with your big feet.”
“Oh no you didn’t,” she says.
“What?”
“Say I have big feet.”
“Well, they’re big to the crabs.”
She skips to the water and splashes me with her foot. I look at her. Her eyes are dancing. She tries to dart away, but I catch her in the middle and pick her up.
“No!” she shrieks. “Mark, put me down!”
Even though she’s kicking and squirming, I carry her into the water and
throw her into a wave. But I stumble and fall as I do it. Then she’s on top of me, climbing on my back, trying to take me down.
“You are so dead!” she shouts. Another wave crashes into us and we both go under. She comes up coughing.
“You okay?” I ask, and reach for her, pulling her away from the deeper waters, to where she can stand. This time she comes willingly.
“Yes. I just need to catch my breath.”
I hold her, waiting until she tells me she’s okay. Instead she slips her arm around my waist while the waves break against us again and again.
Fourteen
On Sunday morning I sleep in while everyone goes to church. I stopped going right after Grace died. My parents didn’t make me, and I am grateful for it. I overheard Dad telling Jenny a while back that “He’ll come when he’s ready.” I don’t tell them that I may never be ready.
Church is not a bad place. I used to play for the band, and Marty, the band’s leader, still sends me an e-mail or text from time to time about coming to practice. Good bass players are always hard to find. But I don’t know if I can be in a room with God and all those people who’ve known Grace and me for years. I think I’d suffocate. I don’t want them asking me how I’m doing, or telling me how much they loved Grace. I don’t want their kindness. Their kindness kills me. It’s not the sugary-sweet kind. It’s genuine and motivated by love and there’s no fighting it. Sometimes love can be more overwhelming than hate. So I don’t go.
I pull a pair of jeans out of my drawer and throw on a T-shirt before heading downstairs. There’s a yellow sticky note for me on the fridge in Jenny’s handwriting. Mark, call your mom. I crumple it up and throw it in the trash. They can’t make me talk to her. Where was she before Grace died? She had years to reach out. Years. I’m not going to be the one to hold her hand through this.
I open the front door and stand outside. I should get in some bass practice, but I’m tempted to head over to Hanna’s. I hesitate though. After the beach, it’s like something’s shifted. I remember how her skin felt against mine as I held her in the ocean. It would be so much easier if Grace were here. She’d tell me what to do, although I know what she’d probably say.
Grace told me once that Hanna and I just needed to get it over with. Make out or something already. I’d ask her what Hanna thought about me, but like I said, Grace was always the best at keeping secrets. She said I was being stubborn by not admitting my own feelings.
You can’t make out with one of your best friends. Life isn’t like a movie. Friends with benefits never work. Someone always gets hurt. Hanna and I have a good thing going. I don’t want to screw it up, not that I don’t imagine what it’d be like to kiss her.
Now that Grace isn’t here as our buffer, every time I’m with Hanna I’m a little more on edge, hyperaware of her presence. She’s always been beautiful, but it’s like I’ve finally woken up and am seeing her from a different angle. Like how funny she is. How she’s willing to try new things. How cool she was with Sebastian, as if she’s known him forever. How she checks up on me without making it seem as if she is. How she makes me feel that things are going to be okay.
Besides, since losing Grace, I don’t know how I’d deal with losing Hanna, too. What if she doesn’t have feelings for me? It’s not worth the risk.
I find myself at her front door and knock. Her mom answers.
“Hello, Mark. Come on in. They’re in the back.”
“Thanks, I’ll just go around.” They’re?
“Suit yourself.” She closes the door.
I open the side gate and head for the yard. I see Hanna and River as soon as I round the corner of the house. They’re on the swing, heads bent together as if, well, I don’t want to think about what they’re doing. I turn and leave.
I’m starting to cross the street when I hear my name.
“Mark, wait.” It’s Hanna. “Where you going?”
“Nowhere. A drive.”
“Why don’t you stay?”
“I’m good.” I turn my back to her. Hanna stops in the middle of the street, but I keep walking.
“You can’t run forever,” she calls.
She’s wrong. You can run forever—or at least for a long time. I get in Dad’s car and Charlie Mingus plays from a CD. I’m already feeling better. I can always count on Dad to have killer music.
Sometimes I go down to the coast, but since I was just there, I take the 5 and head north. I want some space. Cars scatter across four lanes of freeway. I’m practically alone. I let the jazz carry me onward. I pass Magic Mountain with its huge roller coasters and wonder why I never go. It’s not that far. I keep driving, not really having a destination in mind.
I feel something sharp in my pocket. I pull out Grace’s bracelet, the one that was in the package from the police department, and turn it over in my hand. I had forgotten I’d stuffed it in my pocket that day. The bracelet is delicate and shiny, like new.
Grace met River at the beginning of junior year. She hid him from us at first, but that was just like Grace. She was incredibly private, especially about the guys in her life, not that she dated a lot or had many boyfriends. She was picky. She said things like, “Dating someone isn’t like trying on clothes. It’s got to mean something to hold someone’s hand or let a guy kiss you. At least, it should mean something. I don’t need fireworks when I’m with him, but I want him to be someone I admire and respect.” She was always deep like that. Of course, it’d make me feel all shallow, because I sometimes based my selection on a great pair of legs or a nice chest.
When she brought River over, I was kind of surprised by him. He was this long, angular white guy. Brown hair, totally straight edge. He wore a blue button-down shirt, tucked into his jeans, and a belt when he came for dinner.
He was nervous with me, like he was really trying to make a good impression. He didn’t play any instrument. He didn’t skate. He was a runner, and I guess pretty good at it. Potential-full-ride-scholarship-for-the-800 good.
Grace had warned me to be nice, so I knew she was serious about him and I cut him a break. I didn’t really care who she dated as long as he treated her well, and River seemed to make her happy. I was cool with him, even though we didn’t connect.
A couple of months later, Grace pulled me into her room and shut the door.
“What’s up?”
“Here,” she said, and handed me a small silver bracelet.
“Thank you?” I said.
“It’s a bracelet.”
I held it out in front of me. “Yep. It’s a bracelet.”
“River gave it to me last night.”
“Looks like your style,” I said, and tried to hand it to her, but she backed away.
“I know, right? It’s exactly something I’d pick out myself.” She paced back and forth.
“And that’s a bad thing?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what it means,” she said, and sat on my bed.
“It’s just a bracelet.” I tossed it on the bed next to her. She looked at it and didn’t pick it up.
“Have you ever given someone a bracelet? One with hearts on it?”
“Well, actually they’re more like dewdrops than hearts.”
“Mark, seriously.”
“Okay, okay. No.”
“What’s it supposed to mean?”
“He’s into you. That’s all. Don’t overanalyze it.”
“But how into me? And what, I’m supposed to start wearing it now? Like every day? What if I don’t want to wear it? What if I want to change it up, and River sees and gets hurt because I’m not wearing his bracelet?”
“Grace, come on. Stop freaking out.”
She fell back on the bed and I lay beside her. From an aerial shot we’re obviously not identical, separated by more than a Y chromosome. Her hair is long and layered with bangs. Mine is short, but the same jet-black color and just as straight. I’m also a good head taller than her, but we have the same shape in the eyes and mouth.
“He told me he loved me,” Grace says.
It was obvious the guy was totally whipped. He texted her all the time, took her out, came over for Friday movie nights. Now he’d said the three words and given her a present. No wonder Grace was freaking out. “What’d you say?”
“Thank you.”
I laughed; I couldn’t help it. “Ouch.”
“It’s not funny, Mark.”
“I know, but oh man. What’d he do?”
“He smiled and put his arm around me. What was I supposed to say?”
“I love you too?” I shrugged. I didn’t know. I had never told a girl I loved her before. I couldn’t believe River had the balls. It kind of made me respect the guy. “Do you love him?”
She was quiet.
“It’s okay if you do and it’s okay if you don’t,” I said.
“Maybe I do,” she whispered. “Is that weird?”
“Kind of.” I patted her on the arm. “But you’ve always been weird.”
“Don’t say anything to Dad and Jenny,” she said.
“I won’t. You going to tell him how you feel?”
“Eventually.”
“Make him sweat?”
“Exactly.” She sat up, grabbed the bracelet, and put it in her purse. “But not tonight.”
A week later we were in the accident.
• • • •
At the funeral, I played the good son and brother. I was polite, gracious in the onslaught of grief. All of Dad’s family came and most of Mom’s, along with friends of Grace from school I didn’t know. Mom kept trying to touch me, to hold me. I remained impassive.
Everyone said such nice things about Grace. Our pastor shared funny stories. Dad and Jenny spoke. I wanted to speak, but I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to keep it together. What they all said about Grace was true, but it was also false. They were only focusing on her good qualities, as if she were this perfect person. Grace was amazing, but she was also human, which meant she was messy and complicated. How could you sum up a person’s life in five minutes anyway? It made me feel angry and more detached from her. The person they were all describing wasn’t even real.
