Where I Found You

by Heidi R. Kling

  A week after my birthday “surprise,” after she returned from Yosemite, we were lying side by side on matching striped towels down at the cove, waiting for the rest of the group to arrive for our fare-thee-well bonfire.

  “Guess so. God help me.” My stomach churned when I even thought about the midnight flight.

  “You’re going to be okay, dude.”

  I took a swig out of my water bottle. “I hope so.”

  “The person you should be worried about is me,” Bev joked, smoothing down her straight black bob. “I mean, two whole weeks here without you? I’m going to be so bored.”

  “You have your brother,” I said, uneasiness creeping into my voice. I hadn’t seen him since the awkward day in his room.

  “Yeah, right.” Bev rolled her eyes. “I’m completely irrelevant to him. As is anyone who doesn’t surf.”

  I wasn’t sure that was true anymore, but I let it pass. I didn’t want to think about anything. Not Spider, not the shots I’d gotten that morning, nothing. All I wanted to do was soak up the sun and watch powder-puff clouds float in the sky.

  I sighed, leaned back, and basked in the heat of the day.

  Sunny Cove’s golden beach was packed, dotted with families, zigzagging Frisbees, and seagulls grazing the sand for PB&J crusts. Teal waves broke. Dozens of surfers were out waiting for that perfect ride.

  I squinted at Bev. “Tell me again why you don’t surf?” Her reasons always changed, and hearing about whatever her crazy mind had latched onto always made me smile.

  “Three words: great white sharks,” she said with a snort, pulling a vintage T-shirt over her head. “With the waters warming, the average ocean temperature is sixty-four now compared to the forty-eight it was twenty years ago.”

  Bev was currently the climate change trivia queen.

  “And with warmer ocean waters comes great white sharks. They swim up the coast from SoCal.”

  Sharks. Lurking. Waiting to strike. As if I needed something else to worry about.

  “At least there’s less fog now,” I said, measuring my tan arm against her pale one. “I do like that.”

  “There is nothing to like about global warming, Sienna.”

  “Except the whole less fog thing.”

  She slugged me. “You wouldn’t think it was good if you were that kayaker who almost ate it last week. A great white took a big chunk out of his kayak.”

  What if a great white took a chunk out of Spider? “Do you see your brother?”

  “No, but I’m not exactly looking for him,” she said with an irritated nose scrunch. “Sharing a womb and then a house for seventeen years is enough. I like my alone time on the beach, thank you very much.”

  I scanned the waves until I spotted him. I knew his surfboard like I used to know him. A short red and white board with a black spider web painted on the nose. Spider skimmed up and over the smooth water on his belly, waiting for the next set of ride-worthy waves.

  I still wasn’t sure what he’d hoped would happen now that we were talking—sort of—again. I’d all but convinced myself I’d imagined the way he looked at my lips before I ran out of his room. Spider couldn’t be into me like that. Not anymore. He’d just wanted to give me the bag and convince me to go to Indonesia, that’s all.

  “No new terrorist attacks in Indonesia or Bali,” Bev was saying, rubbing white Bullfrog on her nose, “so you should be g-to-g for the whole trip. Good. To. Go.”

  “Natural disasters and war and plane crashes are all I have to worry about, then. Super.” I forced myself to look away from Spider. “Sure you don’t want to come with me? You could be my personal bodyguard.”

  “Ha. I’ll pass. But don’t you worry. You can be your own bodyguard armed with my info. Knowledge is power.”

  I snuck one last look at Spider, watching him bob around in the water. I could almost feel it in my stomach, the sense of rising and falling, as I watched him go up and over the waves.

  I doubted that Spider worried for even a second about the possibility of sharks lurking under inky blue waters or plane crashes or terrorist attacks as he paddled hard into the building curve of water. All he cared about was catching this one perfect wave.

  We were totally different people now.

  I studied his form as he rose on the board. Knees bent, arms out, he braced himself for the foam-topped thrill ride and, as always, cruised effortlessly toward the shore.

  That evening, Spider and I walked barefoot, together, in the sand.

  Away from Team Hope. Away from Spider’s family. Away from Oma. Away from the crackling bonfire and roasted marshmallows and veggie dogs.

  He had said he wanted to talk to me.

  Alone.

  Sitting cross-legged in the sand, Bev raised her eyebrow and so did Dad. And so did I, frankly, but I shrugged and followed Spider toward the cliffs anyway. My stomach tightened with the same twisted knot of seaweed that hadn’t managed to untangle itself since my birthday.

  “What’s going on?” I asked once we were out of earshot.

  Spider glanced at me, sunset washing over his face. “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?” I asked.

  He ran his fingers through his hair, tugging on a handful like he was trying to get out whatever he wanted to say. “So, you all set for the trip? Didn’t forget your toothbrush or anything?”

  He wanted to talk about what I’d packed? “I probably have three extras,” I said slowly. “Vera made sure the car was totally packed before she agreed to the farewell bonfire. If you haven’t noticed, she is nothing if not organized.”

  Spider laughed in an uncharacteristically nervous way. “Here, I found this for you earlier.” He dug into the pocket of his sweatshirt and pulled out a perfect-circle sand dollar. “It’s for good luck.”

  He set the ivory disk in my palm.

  “Where’d you find this?” I breathed. “The ones I’ve found have all been cracked.”

  “I have my sources.”

  “Thanks,” I said. The intimate way he was looking at me, like he wanted me to understand something unspoken between us, made me freeze up. I looked to the sea to avoid his questioning eyes, wondering why he was suddenly so interested in me when he’d ignored me for years.

  Violent waves pushed clay-colored foam toward the shore and left me shuddering. “Isn’t it weird how the ocean changes so fast?” I asked, changing the subject. “This afternoon the waves were so clear and blue. Now look at them.”

  “Yeah, they’re supposed to be head-high tomorrow.” He looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “Too bad you won’t be around.”

  Right. I wouldn’t even get my toes wet, never mind go surfing. Ever since my mom died, and the ocean and I were at odds. I could only imagine how the kids orphaned by the great tsunami felt. That wave swallowed up their entire village.

  Anxiety threatened to collapse my chest. I wasn’t sure if he stopped first or I did, but there we were, standing awkwardly watching the waves. I sat down and dug two small ditches into the wet sand with my heels. Cool wind picked up as Spider plopped down next to me, hugging his knees to his chest. I noticed how light the hairs on his legs were, how the fool’s gold stood out in the flecks of sand dusting his skin.

  Why did everything have to be so complicated?

  I fingered a cracked shell partially buried in the dark sand, the shattered piece sharp as cut glass.

  “The sailboats are heading in,” Spider said finally, breaking the silence. “Hey, look”—he pointed—“the Jolly Roger’s back.”

  “That old pirate ship.” I responded with a nonchalant eye roll like I wasn’t excited to see it. But the smirk that crossed his face let me know he didn’t buy my attitude one bit.

  “You were always a sucker for pirates, Sienna.” His smirk turned into a grin that reminded me so much of the boy I used to know as well as myself. “Hey, do you remember that story your mom used to tell us?”

  Mom had told us lots of stories, but I knew which one he me
ant. If I said yes, he might not tell it, and I suddenly, desperately, needed to hear it. “Not really.”

  Spider narrowed his eyes. “I can’t believe you don’t remember! Let’s see if I can get this right.” He cleared his throat and spoke in a fake British accent. “A long, long time ago, sometime in the 1800s, there lived a sea captain whose great and only love died very young. He was so heartbroken that he vowed to never set foot on land again. He’d sail the seas forever and never return to the home that stole his true love.”

  “You can use your regular voice, you know.”

  “No interrupting!” He waved away my comment, but he changed his voice back to normal. “The captain was a man of his word, and for five years he stayed at sea, not even walking into the port towns for supplies—he had his crew do that; he always stayed on his ship. Then he received a letter—let’s say it was in a bottle, just for fun—proclaiming his mother’s dying wish: for her son to return home and kiss her one last time. How could he deny her this last request? He was a righteous man, a good man. So, with great sadness about abandoning his personal quest, he pointed his ship toward home.”

  Spider pantomimed steering the wheel of a great ship and headed straight at me. “Onward, Miguel!”

  I couldn’t help laughing.

  “Day and night he traveled the high seas, the rough and wild seas,” he continued. “When he was just moments away from his destination, a tremendous storm hit, and his ship nearly capsized. But now the captain was determined to get home.”

  “The storm was so dark and violent that he lost sight of land and was drifting off to sea again when he saw a light—a pinkish-orange glow hovering over what appeared to be land. It was the light of a star, or the light of an angel. He followed the bright glow all the way to shore, and when his ship crashed on the rocks, the light disappeared. At last, by the bedside of his beloved mother, he swore the light was his lost love bringing him home, which is why they eventually named our town El Angel Miguel, after the sea captain and his angel.”

  I listened to the rhythm of the waves crash. Wiggled my fingers deeper into the damp sand. “Then what happened?”

  “The sea captain ended up marrying the most beautiful girl in the village. And they had like ten kids. All of them brilliant surfers, of course,” Spider said. “And they lived happily ever after.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Of course.”

  “So how’d I do?” he asked, his voice softening. “I know it’s not the same as her telling it, but…”

  “Awesome,” I said. And I meant it. “Do the surfers still call the light the Orange Popsicle Haze?”

  “We just call it the Haze. It was you that made up the Orange Popsicle part because you were so obsessed with those sticky things.” He laughed. “Seriously, though, some of the guys swear they’ve seen the Haze after a bad wipeout. Or when it gets too dark, a little darker than it is now. They watch for the orange light hanging over the sand, lighting their way home.”

  I watched the sun set deeper and deeper into the sea until it disappeared into the horizon. I remembered Mom telling us that story when we were kids. And like everything she told me, I believed it. We used to watch for it a lot. The Haze. But I hadn’t searched in a long time.

  “Have you ever seen it? The orange light?” I asked quietly.

  “I’m not sure. Maybe. Then again, I always know my way back to shore.” Spider looked at me pointedly.

  He wasn’t talking about geography anymore.

  He was talking about me.

  “Spider…”

  He looked at me like he did back in his room. Like he was trying to get closer to me.

  “Yeah?” he asked, his eyes silently asking why I wouldn’t let him.

  I looked down. “Never mind.”

  “Never mind what, Sea?” He grabbed at his hair again, frustrated. “Sorry. I mean Sienna. I just miss you, you know? Or maybe you don’t. You would if you didn’t shut me out.”

  He pushed to his feet and started to pace in front of me. “I wish you’d tell me what’s going on in that head of yours. At least before you take off to the other side of the world. I can handle it, you know.”

  I shook my head, wishing I could open up. Wishing we could go back to how we were. Before. When I used to tell him everything and he used to understand, before orange Popsicles melted, when I used to chase after him into the welcoming waves.

  I fingered the sand dollar. “I wish it were that easy.”

  “It will be,” he said, heading back toward the group. “When you decide you want it to be.”

  Chapter Five

  “Flight attendants, prepare for takeoff.”

  “This is it. You okay, kiddo?” Dad asked.

  I’m paralyzed with fear. Thanks for asking!

  I gripped the two armrests like they were safety handles. “Is my seat belt tight enough?” I hardly recognized my squeaky, high-pitched voice as Dad reached over and tugged on the blue strap.

  “Looks good to me,” he said, pulling even tighter as he said it.

  I yanked on it again just to make sure.

  The Chinese flight attendant walked through the aisle glancing at our laps, talking to the many Asian passengers in words I didn’t understand. Another attendant was demonstrating the safety vests we were supposed to blow up and stick over our heads in case we crashed into the ocean. All I could think about was Team Hope floating in a lone yellow raft in the middle of the sea surrounded by sharks while our plane sank into the dark, warmer-than-average, abyss.

  Thanks, Bev.

  My stomach nearly flew out of my mouth when the plane’s engine roared to life and we started to move down the runway.

  Dad patted my white-knuckled hand. “It’s going to be just fine, kiddo. You’ve flown lots of times. Always been fine.” The way he said it made it sound like he was comforting himself as well. And maybe he was. He hadn’t flown since Mom’s plane disappeared over the ocean, either.

  Tom flashed me the thumbs-up sign. I was shocked to see Vera leaning back in her seat, her blackout mask tight on her face like a super villain.

  Was she seriously already asleep?

  More engines buzzed and hummed. Lights blinked overhead.

  Please don’t crash, please don’t crash, please don’t crash.

  I repeated the mantra, leaning back, squeezing my eyes as tight as I could until I finally felt the plane go up at an incredibly unnatural angle that was both terrifying and familiar.

  My silent begging got more specific as we started to level off: Please God, Buddha, Mom, whoever is listening. Please don’t let us crash.

  “You can open your eyes now,” Dad said as I felt the plane balance itself in the sky. “Piece of cake.”

  Not convinced it was safe to look, I kept my eyes shut tight.

  “You know what they say, kid, takeoffs and landings are the only trouble spots to flying.” Tom’s voice. “Smooth sailing for the next twelve hours or so.”

  Except for the rash of plane disappearances that happened well after takeoff in the area we’re going…but I didn’t point that out.

  Instead, I fought off a yawn. That little blue pill Dad had given me at the airport must have started working. My eyelids weighed a ton. There was no point in opening my eyes at all, even if I could.

  “Your Indonesian guidebook is in your backpack,” Dad said. “That will explain everything you need to know about the local culture in Yogyakarta. In the back, there are key Bahasa Indonesian phrases you should learn too before we arrive.”

  I fell asleep before I had a chance to respond.

  The flight attendants scream in Chinese. Suitcases tumble out of overhead bins, and somewhere in the back of the plane a baby cries the worst cry I’ve ever heard, like a desperate animal caught in a trap. Yellow life raft tucked under my arm, I run down the aisle.

  “Here it is!” I scream, spotting the door marked Exit. “I found it!”

  That’s when I notice nobody else is moving. The other passenge
rs are reading quietly or listening to their headphones, totally oblivious to the fact that our plane is barreling toward the sea.

  “We’re going to crash!” I screech to deaf ears. “Did you hear me? What is the matter with you? We’re GOING TO CRASH!”

  “Sienna! Sienna! Wake up!” Dad was shaking me.

  “Dad?” I clawed at his shirt. My face was wet with tears. “The plane was crashing!”

  “It’s okay, sweetie, the plane is fine. You had a nightmare. Just a bad dream.”

  “Oh my God. I hope I didn’t scare everybody.”

  “It wasn’t that loud,” Dad said. “I don’t think you woke anybody up. Except me.” He laughed, but his eyes didn’t look like he thought anything about it was funny.

  Dad pulled a cinnamon-raisin bagel out of his leather backpack and handed it to me. “You might feel better if you eat something. And remember, we’re perfectly safe up here.”

  The perfectly safe line again. But I didn’t say anything. Biting my lip hard, I checked it out for myself.

  Outside my circle window, the sky was death black. I couldn’t see the ocean, but I knew it was down there lurking. Waiting. Ready to swallow us up if it had the chance. I slammed the window shade down and turned my back to it, then choked down a few bites of dry bagel.

  “See? Everything’s fine,” Dad said, squeezing my arm more meaningfully than he did back home. “Try and get some more sleep.”

  I curled into the seat the best I could, but I couldn’t get comfy. The AC drifted through the cracks where my flimsy blanket was too small to keep me covered, freezing only parts of me. After squirming around in the dark for what felt like hours, I finally rested my head against the plane’s cool vibration and closed my eyes.

  Dawn Over the Ocean

  I woke up to Dad and Vera talking about me in hushed voices. I kept my eyes closed so I could listen.

  “So I’m thinking Sienna can work with you,” Dad said. “She’s good at art. Maybe she could do some art therapy with the younger kids in the morning, and attend therapy groups in the afternoons?”