Beyond the Rising Tide

by Sarah Beard

  I look out at the vast body of water before me, a dark abyss peppered with moonlight. Somewhere out there, along with my drivers license, is my mortal body. Or whatever is left of it. The elements are probably scattered across miles of craggy ocean floor. The thought makes me sad. But also more grateful for this temporary body.

  I run a hand over the smooth skin on my forearm. This body feels different than my mortal one, and yet the same. My arm is already healed where I cut it on the broken store window last night. And even though there’s no blood in this body, I’ve been able to eat. So there must be some kind of digestive and circulatory system. I press my fingers to my wrist to feel for a pulse, but there’s nothing. I try my neck, just under my jaw, and there—I feel something. A low humming, more of a current than a pulse. It sort of creeps me out, so I pull my fingers away and return them to the wet sand.

  I feel weighed down and exhausted, and I realize that this body needs rest. I’ve been awake since the middle of last night, and my legs ache from walking miles to find Avery. I haven’t felt this tired since the night I left Michigan and walked fifteen miles in the snow before a trucker picked me up. I need a place to rest before I see her again tomorrow. Unless …

  I look down at Charles’s ring. Moonlight glints off the metal, and the stone inlay catches the light, turning slightly luminous. I could take it off for a while and go back to Demoror, and I’d probably feel rested when I returned. But if I do, I’ll receive an assignment. And I can’t take another assignment until I’m finished with the one I’ve given myself. Besides, it was unexpectedly painful to materialize, and if I take the ring off, I’ll have to put it on again and re-materialize. And anyway, I like having this body, even when it’s worn out.

  So I stand and head back the way I came, past the shops and inns, to the mouth of the small canyon where Avery dropped me off earlier. I follow the canyon road toward the vineyard where I worked earlier, determined to find a place to sleep for the night even if it’s behind an old barn. It won’t be the first time I’ve had to sleep outside.

  No street lamps light my way, only moonlight sifting through a tunnel of arching trees. As I wander down the dark path, I have a sense of déjà vu. Not that I’ve been here before, but that I’ve felt this way before. Uncertain. Like I don’t know where I’ll be when tomorrow comes, or if my plans will work out. I used to come up with one half-baked plan after another. When I was a kid, my plan was to run away with my little sisters and live in the woods. I even tried it once, but when it got dark and the wolves started howling, my sisters cried so hard I finally brought them back home. It wasn’t much safer there, but at least we wouldn’t be eaten alive.

  My sisters are safe now, but I’m still full of half-baked plans. What makes me think they’ll work out now?

  I’m half a mile past the vineyard now, and there’s nothing but a steep hill on one side of the road and a thick grove of trees on the other. I step off the road and into the trees, thinking it’s as good a place as any to sleep. The long grass feels soft and cushiony, and as I weave through the trees, I hear something. A woman’s voice, calling for someone. Curious, I follow the sound through the trees until I stumble onto a dirt driveway.

  “Dacio!” the woman is calling. Her voice is strained, worried. I jog down her driveway, stopping at the edge of her yard when I see her. She’s an elderly woman, standing on her porch in a long nightgown and slippers. Then I hear the unmistakable sniffing sound of a dog behind me, and before I can turn around, I feel its wet nose and tongue on my hand. I look down to see a golden retriever nuzzling my hand. “Hey there,” I say quietly, rubbing his head.

  “Dacio!” the woman calls again. “¿Dónde estás, muchacho?”

  Assuming the dog is Dacio, I say, “Come on, boy,” and lead him across the yard to the woman. When I near the porch, I use my gentlest voice so I don’t startle her. “Are you looking for him?”

  She turns in my direction, and even in the dim light of the porch I can see that her eyes are glazed white. Yet, she looks directly at me, into my eyes, as though she can see beyond whatever disease or condition has made her blind.

  “Are you here for me?” she asks, her Rs rolling with a Spanish accent.

  “No. I was out on the road and heard you calling out. I came to see if you needed help.”

  She takes a step toward me, holding onto the porch post for balance. “What’s someone like you doing walking around in the middle of the night?”

  I’m not sure what she means by “someone like me,” but I decide to go for honesty. “I’m looking for a place to sleep.”

  Cautiously, she hobbles down the steps and stands right in front of me. Her black and silver hair is long and stringy, draped over her frail-looking body like a tattered cloak. “Have you seen my son Miguel?” She squints at me, deepening the leathery wrinkles around her eyes.

  Apparently she’s lost more than just her dog. Her son, and possibly her mind. I shake my head and then realize she probably can’t see the movement. “No. What does he look like?”

  “Black hair, big brown eyes. Tall, but not like you. He died two years ago, when he was only forty-five, bless his soul.” She makes the sign of the cross.

  Dacio puts his head under my hand again. I rub it, because I don’t know what else to do or say. Somehow, this woman knows what I am. And she’s asking if I’ve seen her dead son. For a second I worry what consequence I’ll have to pay for her knowing. But then I realize I didn’t actually tell her I’m dead, so surely I won’t be banned from Earth.

  She must sense my astonishment, because her hand comes to rest reassuringly on my arm. Wonder flickers across her face when she touches me, and she squeezes my wrist. Then she hesitantly lifts her withered hand and runs it over the lines of my face. I hold perfectly still, letting her.

  “These eyes may be blind,” she finally says, “but they can see.”

  “How?” I’m suddenly wondering if there are others who know what I am too.

  She shakes her head slowly. “That’s simply how it is. I see others like you. Sometimes I talk to them.” Finally she lowers her hands, but clings to my forearms as though she’ll fall over if she lets go. “But I’ve never touched one of you until now. I didn’t expect you to be … solid.”

  “I’m not. I mean, not usually. I’m on a special … errand.”

  She holds onto me, staring up at me with frosted eyes, thin lips and chin quivering. “And you need a place to stay. Are you hungry? I can make you chupe de camarones. It is my specialty.”

  I’ve never had chupe de camarones, but it doesn’t exactly sound like throwing tacos together. “It’s the middle of the night,” I say, and my voice sounds tired. “I just need a place to sleep.”

  “I can give you a place to stay. And you tell me about Miguel.”

  “But—” There’s nothing to tell. I don’t know her son. I open my mouth to tell her this, but before I can say anything, she stops me.

  “Tonight, you rest. Tomorrow, we talk. Wait here.” She turns and shuffles back up the stairs and into the house. Dacio stays at my side, wagging his tail and tilting his head like he’s waiting for me to start speaking canine or something. A minute later, she comes back out and hands me a key attached to a little crocheted doll. “Tell me, what is your name?”

  “Kai.”

  She puts a hand to her chest. “Isadora. And I have always given refuge to those in need. But it has been many years since I have taken someone in. And never someone like you. Usually, people like you are the ones who help me. So this is a great honor.” She points away from the house. “Go through the vineyard. There’s an empty cottage, behind the lavender field. It’s not much. A bed, running water. It was for the workers, but they’re all gone now. You stay there tonight. Tomorrow, we talk.” She reaches up and pats my cheek affectionately, like I’m her own son.

  “Thank you,” I say, swallowing back an unexpected wave of emotion at the kindness I didn’t see coming. And I can’t help thinking t
hat for whatever reason, maybe this is exactly where I’m supposed to be.

  That night, I dream for the first time since my death. Of my childhood, of broken glass on a filthy kitchen floor, of trying to pick up the shards before my baby sisters put them in their mouths. I dream of weed stashed in an empty bread basket, of flashing police car lights, and the clack, clack, clack of a social worker’s high heels in a sterile hospital hallway. I dream of unfamiliar bedrooms and faces, of a well-worn Hefty bag that holds all my earthly possessions. I dream of callused fingertips on guitar strings, of my vocal cords vibrating with gritty lyrics. Of semitrucks eating up white dashes on the highway, and street corners in Omaha, coins dropping into my open guitar case.

  And then I dream of Avery. Of a fearless girl on a surfboard in a stormy sea. I feel the air rush over me as I drop twenty feet from the pier, feel the sting of the Pacific in December. I dream of a blade slicing through a surfboard leash, of Avery’s lips drawing breath, of her in my arms, warm and alive. And I think, It was all for this. My life, everything leading up to this moment, was all for her, so that she could live. And if given the chance, I would do it all over again.

  I open my eyes to an unfamiliar room. Morning sunlight pours through a window onto faded blue walls, and a wooden cross hangs over my head. My bed isn’t the only one in the room, but the other two are empty, their blankets tucked neatly in place. As my eyes sweep the rest of the room, they find an oval picture frame on the wall, and an old Hispanic woman standing in the doorway. Isadora.

  She hobbles over, her golden retriever following close behind, and pulls up a twig chair. She sits and smooths out her long, striped skirt. “You sleep. Now you tell me about Miguel.”

  I sit up slowly and drop my feet to the floor, the remnants of my dream fading with the shadows in the room. This woman has done me a great kindness by letting me sleep here, and now I can’t give her what she wants in return. I look at her wrinkled face, at the hope held there, and my heart breaks a little. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t know your son. You have to understand, thousands of people die every day, and …”

  She closes her eyes. Her withered hand reaches for mine, and a tear seeps from beneath her eyelid and travels down a crevice in her skin.

  I blanket my hand over hers, doing my best to comfort her. But clearly time hasn’t dulled the pain of losing her son. “I can tell you what happened to me when I died,” I offer. “Maybe that’ll help you know what happened to him.”

  She opens her mother-of-pearl eyes. “Yes,” she whispers. “Please. Tell me.”

  I let my mind wander back to that fateful day. I skip over the part where I died, because it’s not important to her, and because the details aren’t something I enjoy reliving. “I found myself in a beautiful place,” I say, “and then someone came to greet me.”

  “Who?”

  “Someone I knew on Earth, who died before me.” I asked Charles once why he’d been the one to greet me and not my mom, but he couldn’t give me an answer. Knowing Isadora can’t see well, I take her hand and place it over my wristband. “He gave me this.”

  Her fingers run over the smooth metal and stone. “What is it for?”

  “It gives me the power to heal people. That’s my job.”

  Her hand leaves my wrist and goes to Dacio’s head, where she strokes his fur. Her knuckles are swollen, and the skin on her hand is spotted with years of working in the sun. “If some have the power to heal, why was no one sent to heal Miguel when he was dying?”

  It’s the same universal question I’ve asked countless times but have never found the answer to. “I wish I could tell you,” I say. “All I know is that some mortals’ time comes earlier than others. I was only seventeen when I died.”

  She keeps her hand on Dacio as she absorbs my inadequate answer, and then says, “So Miguel is working.”

  “If he chooses to, yes. No one is forced.”

  “He was a hard worker when he was here. I’m sure he is still working hard.” She lays her other hand on my wrist and leans forward, clinging to me. “I just want to know if he’s happy. Is he happy?”

  Another question I can’t answer. There are places on the other side, like Elysium, where everyone is happy and at peace. And then there’s the Briar, where confusion and pain and anger reign. In between those is Demoror, where we wait and work and change for the better or worse, until we feel at home in either Elysium or the Briar. People have ups and downs, just like on Earth. I don’t know her son, so I don’t know where he ended up. “Was he happy here?”

  “Always.”

  “Then he’s happy there.” Based on my experience of seeing hundreds of people cross over to the other side, it’s my best guess.

  She closes her eyes and nods as her hand curls around mine. When her thumb touches Charles’s ring, she stops to feel it. “What is this for?”

  “It’s what makes me … solid.” I don’t tell her it’s not mine, that I’m breaking the rules by wearing it. “I don’t usually wear it, but like I said last night, I’m on a special errand.”

  “Are you here to heal someone?”

  “You could say that.”

  “Who?”

  I take a deep breath as my thoughts turn to Avery. I picture her face, hear her soft, musical laughter, feel the warmth that radiates from her. “A girl. She lives down by the beach.”

  “Well, if you have someone to heal, what are you doing here?”

  “I only have the power to heal physical ailments. She needs a different kind of healing, one that will take more time.”

  “And so you need a place to stay. You are welcome here for as long as you need. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  I look down at myself. I’m wearing the same stolen clothes from the day before, and I realize I might want to find a way to expand my wardrobe. If I had more cash, I could make a run to a thrift store for some extra clothes, and maybe pick up some soap and toothpaste. I also need to repay the store owner for the things I took, and for the broken window.

  “I need a job,” I say. “Work that I can do for pay.”

  “There’s always work to do. Come with me.”

  ive minutes to closing, Tyler walks into the chocolate shop with Gem on his heels. I’m on the phone taking a custom order, and my pencil lead snaps off. Gem is wearing daisy dukes and sandals with straps laced halfway up her calves like ballet slippers. Not exactly appropriate attire for a surfing lesson.

  “Miss?” comes a woman’s voice from the phone receiver. “Are you writing this down?”

  “Yes.” I tear my eyes from Gem and scramble for a new pencil or pen, anything to write with. I finally find a sharpie in my apron pocket. “Sixty boxes of assorted chocolate-covered fruit. Got it.”

  “No apricots.”

  “Right. No apricots.” I make a note on the form.

  Tyler and Gem come up to the display case, and he points out his favorite chocolates to her. I already know what they are. Salted caramels and ginger-wasabi truffles. From the look of Gem, she’s probably a sugar-free peppermint kind of girl.

  “And you’re sure they can be ready by tomorrow morning?” the woman on the phone asks.

  “Yes. It’s no problem.”

  Sophie clomps out of the kitchen in her combat boots with a tray of samples for Tyler and Gem, and I finish gathering the woman’s information while trying to figure out why, of all places, Tyler would bring Gem here. Either he’s trying to make me jealous, or he likes this girl so much that he’s willing to hurt me in order to get her some good chocolate.

  Only after I hang up do I realize that Dad may not be able to help me fill the order because he’s helping Mom with some things today. If he doesn’t show up, I’ll have to stay late to finish it. And if Kai stops by like he said he would, I’ll only be able to hang out with him for a few minutes.

  I take the order to the back where I tack it to a bulletin board, and when I come back up front, Gem is saying to Sophie, “I want to try some
thing that I can’t get anywhere else.”

  And I think maybe that’s what Tyler is to her. She’s probably from someplace where surfer boys are a novelty, and she’s sampling them while she’s here.

  Sophie’s black hair is knotted into a dozen little buns all over her head, and I see her cheek rise with a smile. “I have just the thing in the back,” she says. “I’ve been working on a new recipe. Wait here.”

  Gem smiles at Tyler, her doe eyes practically sparkling with anticipation, and Sophie walks past me with her brows arched in a mischievous way that makes me nervous.

  To avoid having to converse with Tyler, I grab a notepad and begin listing our existing fruit inventory so I’ll know how much we still need to make for the big order. When I duck behind the case to count the chocolate-covered grapes, Gem starts briefing Tyler on some chemtrails seminar her parents attended the night before. I can tell he’s tuning her out because when I glance over the case at him, he’s wearing the same face that he wears during algebra and English lit. And world history, and economics. And pretty much any topic he doesn’t find fascinating. The only science Tyler is interested in is how waves are formed. If she really wants his attention, she should talk low-pressure systems and swell obstacles and wave energy.

  Just as Gem is getting into some really good conspiracy theory, Sophie comes out of the kitchen with two perfectly domed truffles on a silver plate. She holds it out over the display case, waiting for Gem and Tyler to take one.

  “What’s in it?” Gem asks, and from the plastic smile on Sophie’s face, I have a feeling it’s not something we would give our typical customers.

  “Yeah, Sophie,” I say with a hint of warning. “What’s in it?”

  “See if you can guess,” Sophie says, keeping her eyes on Gem. When Gem hesitates, Sophie adds, “I wouldn’t offer this to just anyone. But you seem like the adventurous type.”

  I know I should say something. I should warn Gem or go snatch the chocolates and dump them in the trash before she has the chance to taste whatever wild concoction Sophie has come up with. But I want to see how adventurous Gem is. And I want Tyler to see too.