I’ll Become the Sea

by Rebecca Rogers Maher

  “Hello. Jane Elliott here to see David Casey.”

  “One moment please.”

  She waited until she heard the buzzer, then pushed hard on the door. Her eyes swept over a series of vivid pictures on the walls. Children with their hands in wet clay, a group of teenagers in costume on stage, a class in matching purple T-shirts standing on the boardwalk in front of the ocean. She smiled and walked on to the elevator, pressing the button for the second floor.

  At the reception area an older woman sat behind a computer, her desk organized in piles and trays.

  “Just a moment, Ms. Elliott.”

  The receptionist picked up the phone and spoke quietly into the receiver, motioning for Jane to take a seat in the small waiting area.

  Jane stole a look around the room. Down the hall, the muted voices of children fanned out; farther away, a piano played. Several classrooms adjoined the foyer where she waited. Inside one open door, two older children were reading a book aloud, attempting to do the voices of the characters while their audience of younger kids listened and laughed. After a few minutes, she was caught up in the story herself, drawn in by the passionate delivery of the two readers.

  She didn’t see David approach her. Politely, he cleared his throat and she started, reaching a hand out to steady herself.

  “Oh.” She stood. “I didn’t hear you coming. You must be Mr. Casey.”

  Looking up at his face she nearly lost her footing. She stumbled forward from the worn upholstered chair and held out a hand to greet him. He was tall, she thought stupidly. He wore a black sweater and dark gray jeans. She held his gaze as he clasped her hand. “Jane Elliott.”

  His eyes were blue. His hand was strong and warm. “I thought you might be.”

  He held her palm against his. She wished she’d had the sense to run a comb through her hair. He looked at her with an unsettling directness, holding her hand a little too long. She felt its heat run through to her wrist and forearm.

  “Welcome.”

  “Thank you. This place is wonderful.”

  “That’s Ms. Mason here’s doing.” He held a hand out toward the receptionist. “She runs the whole operation.”

  Ms. Mason smirked at him. “Finally, the respect I deserve. Can I bring you some coffee and cookies, Mr. David?”

  “Shut up, Bertha.”

  She laughed, her plump body shaking the desk as she turned back to her computer.

  “Ignore her. Let me give you a quick tour before I call for Raymond. We sent him to a music class while he waited for you.”

  Jane nodded. “How’s he doing so far?”

  “He’s…good. Maybe a little overwhelmed.”

  “I remember how shy he was in September. That’ll pass fast.”

  David smiled. “He was excited about the instruments we’ve got. Couldn’t decide which one to try first.”

  “I hate to disturb the music lesson then.”

  “It’ll be over in about ten minutes.” He checked his watch. “I’ll show you around and then we’ll go find him.”

  “Sounds great.”

  He walked her through the center room by room, explaining the classes that were in session and the functions of each space. A well-appointed gym down the hall was housing a relay race. The auditorium, a library, and several colorful classrooms with students and teachers at work lined another hallway.

  They passed a group of girls in smocks sprawled on the floor of the corridor, painting a mural on the wall beside their classroom door. Their faces were intent as they reviewed each other’s work, debating the next phase of the project. When David neared, they all looked up and smiled at him.

  “Hi, Mr. Casey.” They showed him their painting.

  “It’s about Jamaica,” one girl said. “That’s where Ms. Temple is from, and some of the kids from the class are from there too. We read a lot of books about it, and we’re gonna have a party with Jamaican music and food and everything.”

  “Can I come?”

  “Oh, yes! You can come. You can bring your friend too!” The girl looked at Jane, her smile wide.

  “Well, thank you.”

  “We just might,” David said. “You let us know when and where.”

  “Okay!”

  Jane waved goodbye. It could have been the heat of the building seeping into her clothes after the long walk in the cold, but she felt flushed suddenly, unsettled, as though she were going to cry. She thought of Raymond coming here after school, to all this bustle and movement, to this contagious interest in learning—instead of going home to an empty apartment, waiting for his grandmother to come in from work. She wanted to kiss David Casey.

  The thought made her laugh out loud.

  “What is it?” David stopped in front of a modest classroom.

  She managed to pull herself together. “I just want to thank you. For accepting Raymond. I’m so happy he’ll have this opportunity.”

  He nodded, regarding her with disconcerting care. Briefly, the corners of his eyes crinkled into a smile. “You bet, Ms. Elliott. I have a feeling this is going to work out well.” He led her through the door to the music room.

  Raymond saw Jane before she saw him. His face split into a wild grimace and he banged on the drum kit he was sitting behind. He wiped a fake band of sweat from his brow and sank down on the stool. Jane walked in, clapping.

  “Let’s go, rock star.”

  “Mr. Parker, this is Ms. Elliott, Raymond’s teacher.”

  “Nice to meet you, Ms. Elliott. You’ve got a real firecracker on your hands here.”

  Jane shook his hand. “Yes, I do. And now you do too.”

  He laughed, giving her hand a kindly squeeze.

  She let Raymond lead her on a tour through the music room, pointing to each of the different instruments and explaining why, at the final analysis, they were inferior to drums. She indulged him for a few minutes before steering him toward the door.

  “I’ll show you a good place for tutoring,” David said. “It can be your spot for future meetings.”

  “Thanks.”

  Jane directed a small bow toward the music teacher. “It was nice to meet you. Raymond loves your class already.”

  Mr. Parker waved goodbye.

  Jane turned, her hands on Raymond’s shoulders, and met the full force of David’s gaze as he stood in the doorway.

  “Geez, Ms. Elliott.” Raymond pulled away from the sudden grip of her fingers.

  “Sorry, honey.” She blushed and pushed past David out the door.

  Chapter Five

  “So he’s hot, right? This David?” Sarah sprawled on the floor of Jane’s apartment, splitting an Oreo and licking the cream side like a cat. “Tell me everything.”

  “I never said he was hot.”

  Sarah rolled her eyes. “Right. Just tall, I heard that part. Blue eyes. What else?”

  “He’s just…He was really kind, that’s all. Really nice to Raymond and very welcoming to me. I’m just glad Raymond’s getting this chance.”

  “Really, very?” Sarah crammed the cookie into her mouth.

  “Shut up.”

  “What? You’re not allowed to think a guy is cute? You’re engaged, darling, not dead.”

  “Well…” Jane dropped down to the floor, reached for the Oreo box. “He is kind of…powerful. I don’t know how to explain it.”

  Sarah held back a smile. “So you’re going to tutor Raymond there?”

  “Looks like it. Anyway we’ll try it for a few weeks, see what happens.”

  “What are you planning for over the summer? Will you still meet up with him, keep up the teaching?”

  “I don’t see why not. I mean, I’ll take some time off. I have to go see my mom at some point, maybe I’ll take a little vacation…”

  “How is your mom?”

  Jane sighed, leaning back against the sofa. “She’s okay, I guess. Getting ready for the parole hearing. She’s totally convinced he’s getting out.”

  “And that’s a
good thing?”

  “I don’t know. She thinks it is. She’s lonely. She says she misses him. She says he’s changed.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know. I really don’t. He goes to meetings. He hasn’t had a drink in twelve years.”

  “I don’t recall hearing that they serve alcohol in prison.”

  “I know that. But maybe he’s learned to live without it. Maybe he’s better now. He’s been in therapy.”

  “So he can put it on his record! You know he doesn’t take it seriously.”

  “Maybe.” Jane looked down at her fingers. They were damp and suddenly cold. She stood up to make some tea.

  “They don’t still want you to go to the hearing, do they? What do they want, for you to testify?”

  Jane went to the sink in the attached kitchen, stalling while the water ran into the teakettle.

  “Jane?”

  She looked up and saw Sarah standing in front of her, on the other side of the counter. “Yes. They want me to attend the hearing. We’re not allowed to speak, though. Only the victim’s family.”

  “Okay. That’s good.”

  “But they want me to…”

  “What?”

  “They want me to write a letter, to go in his file, saying they should let him out. And they want me to call the man’s wife.”

  “Are you kidding me? And say what?”

  “They want me to tell her…to convince her…”

  “Convince her of what? That he didn’t kill her husband?”

  “That…that he’s changed. He’s better. He’s not…”

  “You’re not going to do it, are you?”

  “I…I have to.”

  “Jane.”

  “No, listen. I have to do it. They’re counting on me. Mom…begged me. I can’t say no to her. She doesn’t have anybody, Sarah. She’s all alone.”

  “She has you.”

  Jane shook her head. “It’s not enough.”

  Sarah went to her, took the teakettle out of her hands.

  “Oh, honey.”

  * * *

  Raymond sat at the table with his hands pressed to his forehead. His elbows held open the book in front of him. “I like this one.”

  “Oh, yeah? How come?”

  “It’s just like me and my grandma.”

  “How is that?” Jane put her hand over the book to signal a break from reading.

  “Well, like she taught me to walk and everything.”

  “She did?”

  “Yup.”

  “You remember?”

  “Nah, I don’t remember. I just heard is all. My auntie told me. She said I used to go all around the house holding on to things like the couch and the table. Like my legs could walk and everything but my mind didn’t want to let go. So my grandma, she took me out in the park. In the grass, where it would be soft? And she held me up and then she just let go my hands and walked backward until I started following her. And then before I knew it I was walking.”

  “Wow. That’s cool.”

  “I know. Like she made me be brave and everything.”

  “You’re lucky, Raymond. Having a grandma like that.”

  “I know.”

  “You want to read the rest of the story?”

  “Sure. Here comes Mr. Casey, though.”

  She saw him through a window in the classroom door. He had found a place for her and Raymond at the back of the center. A room they used for one-on-one instruction, which he arranged to clear out for her twice a week. It was private and quiet, a safe haven from the stress and tedium of their usual classroom.

  “Mr. Casey.” She rose.

  “Hello, Ms. Elliott.”

  She took his warm hand in hers. The sheer size and energy of his body shook her sense of balance. She steeled her spine against the ridiculous impulse to sway. When he turned his attention to Raymond, relief flooded through her and she sat down.

  “Hey there, kid.”

  Raymond smiled up at him. “Hey. We’re reading a book.”

  David glanced down. “Ah. That’s a good one. Does it make you think of your grandma?”

  “Yeah!” Raymond beamed. “I was just telling Ms. Elliott.”

  Jane sat down, gesturing for David to sit too. “She taught him how to walk. Did you know that?”

  “No. I didn’t know. That’s funny, though, because my grandma taught me how to play baseball.”

  Raymond looked dubious. “Really?”

  “Really. She was from New York. Loved the Dodgers when she was a little girl, when they were a Brooklyn team. She knows everything there is to know about playing. Started teaching me when I was five.”

  “You any good?”

  “Yeah. I’m not too bad. How about you? You any good at walking?”

  Raymond stared for a minute, then laughed, flicking his pencil at David across the table.

  David caught it with his hand, picked it up, placed it squarely next to the book in front of Raymond. “Back to work, you two. Just thought I’d drop in to say hi.” He stood up.

  “Hi.” Jane lifted her face to smile at him. “Bye.”

  He grinned in return. “See you.”

  He went back out to the hall. When the door shut, Jane brought her hand to her cheek and tried to ignore the way it was suddenly burning.

  At the end of their two hours, she packed her books and led Raymond out to the foyer to meet his grandmother. The older woman was waiting by the front desk.

  “Mrs. Johnson! How are you?” Jane reached out her hand.

  “Hello, Ms. Elliott.” She held Jane’s palm for a moment in her gloved fingers. “How’s everything?”

  “Great. Raymond has a book to read to you tonight. A good one.”

  Mrs. Johnson turned to her grandson, wrapping her arm around his shoulders. “Do you now?”

  He grinned at her.

  “Let’s head on home, son. I have a chicken in the oven.” She nodded to Jane. “He’s doing all right?”

  “Just fine. I’ll take the elevator down with you.”

  She opened the door, moving aside to let them through, and spotted David in the doorway of his office. She gave a small wave and hurried out. Before he could see the color rise up and spread over her face.

  Chapter Six

  “Ms. Elliott?”

  She turned, facing into a swath of light from a parking lot lamp. She raised a hand to shield her eyes. “Hello?”

  He stepped closer, into the glare, blocking out the brightness so she could see. Around him floated an absurdly pretty cascade of new snowflakes.

  “Oh, hi. I didn’t recognize you. How are you, Mr. Casey?”

  Blinking, she looked up into his face. His eyes were bright in the sharp synthetic light.

  “Good. Grocery shopping. Laying in for this crazy snowstorm. What happened to spring? And call me David, by the way.”

  “David. And you can call me Jane.”

  “Okay then. Nice to see you again, Jane.”

  He extended his hand, shifting to the side. For a moment her face was flooded again with lamplight and she couldn’t see him. She had the strange impression of being alone with him on a sea of ice, everything gone but the two of them. He grasped her hand and she felt the heat and light course through her, unsettling her balance. Then he stepped back, blocking the lamp again. She stood there for a moment, dazed.

  “So,” she managed, “how do you think Raymond is doing?”

  “Great. Settling in. I think he’ll do just fine.”

  “I hope so.” She shivered a little and wrapped her arms around herself. “I didn’t dress warmly enough.”

  “Would you like to get a coffee and warm up? We’ll uh…” He looked up at the darkening gray sky, clearing his throat. “We’ll be snowed in soon. I’m not ready to go home.”

  She should say no. No was the obvious answer. She should make an excuse and say goodnight immediately.

  “Yeah, let’s. That sounds nice.”

&
nbsp; The town’s only decent café beckoned from across the parking lot. They walked to it through a thin layer of gathering snow. Inside, Jane took brief refuge at the counter, placing their orders while David found a table.

  “Do you…um…live near here?” she asked as she joined him, setting their coffees down. “I got a scone too. Want some?”

  “Thanks.” He broke off a piece, tossed it in his mouth. “Not far. Down by the water. Ocean Avenue.”

  She smiled for the first time without thinking. “It’s beautiful there. In Avon? I must pass you on my way to work every day. I take my bike along the boardwalk.”

  “You must freeze in weather like this.”

  “It’s not too bad. I bundle up.”

  Across the table, he held his black coffee in one loose hand. A trace of beard underscored the blue of his eyes. His hair was a deep, warm brown, his shoulders broad under a navy wool sweater. His gaze on her was steady, taking her in—her face, the shape of her body, and finally, the small diamond ring on her finger.

  “You and your fiancé. Do you live together in Belmar?”

  “No. Ben’s away for a few months, in L.A. Working on a film, a documentary. He lives in his own apartment, though, in Point Pleasant. We might move into a new place when he gets back, but maybe not. He likes having his own space.”

  “I guess that makes sense. What’s he going to do when you get married though?”

  “When we’re married?”

  A small voice in her head said if. Surprised, she pushed it away. “I suppose he’ll get used to having a roommate.” She reached for her coffee. “How about you? Do you live with anyone?”

  His hand rested on the table, quiet, motionless and unambiguously strong.

  “No. I live alone. Me and Karl Marx, my goldfish.”

  “Quite a name.”

  “He’s very disgruntled.”

  Her laugh was genuine, surprising her.

  “What are you going to do tonight in all this snow?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. Read, maybe. I bought some music today. Maybe I’ll just turn off the lights and listen.”

  “What did you buy?”

  She confessed her love of punk and metal, bracing for the inevitable dismissive chuckle. Instead, he brightened.