Things We Know by Heart

by Jessi Kirby

  “We’re drifting,” Colton says. The bubbles dissipate, and my words float away, unspoken, on the current.

  He smiles and lifts the paddle from his lap, pulling me back to the moment. “Time to learn. You ready?”

  I nod, still twisted around.

  “All right. You’re gonna hold on to the paddle here and here, where these grips are,” he says, demonstrating.

  “Okay.” Thankful for something else to focus on, I face forward, grab my own paddle that’s been balancing on my legs, wrap my hands around the grips, and hold it straight out in front of me. “Like this?”

  Colton laughs. “Perfect. Now turn back around for a sec so I can show you how to do it.”

  I do, and he digs his paddle into the water on one side in a strong and steady stroke that sends us gliding gently over the inky-smooth surface. Then he brings that side out and does the same with the opposite end of the paddle. “It’s like you’re making circles with your hands, the way you do with your feet when you pedal a bike. Try it.”

  He rests his paddle on his legs, and I nod and turn around to try it. The first stroke I take is too shallow, and my paddle just skips over the surface of the water. We don’t budge. I feel my cheeks redden.

  “Try again. Dig it in deeper.”

  I concentrate on using my arms to push the paddle down through the water like Colton did and am astonished when we actually sail forward a few feet.

  “There you go,” Colton says.

  Encouraged by him and the fact that we actually moved, I bring the first end back in deep, feeling the resistance of the water as my paddle pushes through it. I think of the circles, like pedals on a bike the way he said, and I keep going, and after a few good strokes we’re cutting through the glassy surface at a decent clip. I laugh, happy and proud that I’m the one powering this little boat.

  “You got it,” Colton says from behind me, and I feel the forward momentum of his paddle moving through the water too. I look over my shoulder. “Just paddle,” he says. “I’ll sync up with you.”

  I nod and turn back around, face the wide expanse of blue ocean and sky in front of me, and plunge my paddle in again, and again, until I make my own steady rhythm. At first I can feel Colton’s strokes working to match mine, but after a few more, we fall into a synchronized, two-part rhythm that carries us away from the shore, beyond the rock islands, out to deeper water.

  A dolphin fin breaks the surface as we paddle past a patch of seaweed drifting in the sun. The only sounds are of the steady rhythm of our paddles and my breath, in and out, in and out with each paddle stroke, and I feel like I could do this forever, paddle all the way out to the horizon and keep right on going. It feels good to get lost in the natural rhythms of breath and movement without thinking of anything else. Like I used to when I ran. Until now, I didn’t realize I’d almost forgotten that feeling—or that I missed it.

  “I’m impressed,” Colton calls from behind me. “You’re stronger than you look.”

  “Thanks a lot,” I shoot back over my shoulder with a grin. But I take it as a compliment. I do feel strong right now, and it surprises me that my body remembers how to be.

  “So did you want to paddle on out to Hawaii, or do you want to see the cave?” I can hear the smile in his voice again, and then I feel the absence of his strokes. I lift my paddle from the water and rest it on my legs, noticing the burning in my arms and shoulders.

  “What cave?” I ask, turning around.

  “The cave we came out to see,” he answers simply. I look around warily, not seeing any caves anywhere. “At the base of that rock we passed. The big one.”

  “Oh,” I say, looking around. “I didn’t see it when we went by.”

  “That’s because it’s kind of hidden.”

  “Like a top secret cave?” I joke.

  “Sort of,” Colton says with a smile. “Not part of the standard tour anyway. Too much liability. C’mon. I’ll show you.” He digs his paddle in deep on one side, and the kayak slowly starts to turn. “You coming?” he asks. “I can’t steer this thing all by myself.”

  I doubt that. His shoulders are surprisingly broad, and his arms are strong, but I turn around anyway and dig my paddle in on the same side as him, and in a few more strokes we’re facing the shore again, heading back toward the rocks. It hits me right then that I’ve never been this far from the shore before, which is as exhilarating as it is scary.

  When we were kids coming over to the coast, Ryan would swim out so far, I was always sure the lifeguards would have to go out and get her, and later on, Trent would too, racing his friends out past the buoys or the end of the pier. Fearless. But I didn’t ever go out past where the waves broke. It felt too big out there, too out of control. But it doesn’t today. Being out here now, I feel the best I have in a long, long time, and it makes me wish I could bottle this feeling.

  Here, beneath the impossibly blue sky, I think I understand what Colton’s dad meant about falling in love with the ocean. Maybe all it takes is a guide you trust.

  “So those rocks all used to be part of the coastline,” Colton says from behind me. I look at the rocks more carefully, and now that he’s said it, I can see how their layers of color match up with the cliffs’.

  “What happened?”

  “Erosion,” he answers. “I kinda picture it like one of those time-lapse sequences—with waves crashing against cliffs, and storms rolling over them, and water and air finding the cracks and widening them into tunnels and caves until the weak parts crumble and all that’s left are these little rock islands.”

  The way he says it, I can see it perfectly, like it’s happening right in front of us. And it is, really. Just so slowly you can’t see it—the same way grief can do to a person over time, wear you down until you almost disappear.

  “Anyway, the one with the cave is that one, right in front of us,” Colton says.

  About a hundred feet away, the largest rock of the cluster rises high up from the water. It’s fairly flat on top and covered with some sort of yellow wildflowers that sway gently in the sunshine and the ocean breeze as they reach for the sky. My eyes follow a crevice, which starts out narrow at the top, down to the middle of the rock where it begins to widen into what looks like it could be an opening at the base. Water flows in and out of it every few seconds, the steady rhythm of the waves.

  “It’s a calm enough day; we can go in,” Colton says.

  I look back at the opening, which is dark and doesn’t seem tall enough, weighing my bravery.

  “If it’s like I remember, it’s one of the most awesome things I’ve ever seen. There’s one main chamber that’s open at the top, so the sun shines down into the water, and then there a couple of other smaller chambers that are all connected, and the surge pumps the water in and out of them all like—”

  “Like a heart,” I say. It comes out of nowhere, but from everywhere at the same time. I turn around.

  Colton flinches, almost imperceptibly, but I see it and wish I could take back those three words I just said. Stupid. A moment ago we were out here on the ocean, just for a day, the reason for our connection left far behind on the shore. But now that reason is right here again, pulling me back in like the tide.

  “Yeah,” he says simply. “I guess it is kinda like a heart.”

  He gives a little half smile and is quiet for a long moment. I worry that he might say something about his own heart—Trent’s heart.

  “So what do you think?” he asks instead. “You want to go in? It’s safe, I promise.” His eyebrows lift in a hopeful smile.

  I know it probably is safe, and I trust him, I do. But there’s nothing safe about what I’m doing here with him, or the way it makes me feel, or the way he seems to trust me. Guilt tugs at my conscience, reminding me of every little wrong I’ve already done. But then something bigger sweeps through me, a pull toward Colton and toward this feeling I have right now.

  I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, sending away all t
he things I don’t want to think about. And then I look at Colton, really look at him in a way I haven’t yet let myself.

  “I do,” I say. “I want to.”

  He doesn’t answer for a moment, just holds my eyes there in the bright sunlight. Then he smiles. “Good,” he says, like it’s another one of his little victories. “Because this is the part where you fall in love.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “[The heartbeat is] a link to the universal motion surrounding us, the tides and stars and winds, with their puzzling rhythms and unseen sources.”

  —Stephen Amidon and Thomas Amidon, M.D.: The Sublime Engine: A Biography of the Human Heart

  WE SIT A little ways off from the cavern, the kayak rising gently with each swell that passes beneath us, watching the water surge around the rock, then funnel in through the opening. I lean forward trying to see, like I have for the last ten waves, how much space there is between the surface of the water and the ceiling of the tunnel—it can’t be more than a foot or two higher than our kayak.

  “You okay?” Colton asks. He uses his paddle to back us up a bit. “We don’t have to go in if you don’t want to.”

  “I’m fine,” I lie. But the next words are the truth. “I really want to.” I count the beats it takes for the water to come rushing back out. “I just need to see it one more time, and then we can go in.”

  “Okay,” Colton says, positioning us in front of the entrance. A few seconds later I feel another surge come from behind us and raise the kayak slightly. I watch the water funnel through the opening again. Fast.

  “So remember what I said,” he tells me, moving us backward while keeping us angled at the opening. “All you have to do is paddle hard, then pick up your paddle and lean way back when I tell you, okay? We’re gonna catch the next wave in. And we’ll make it, promise.”

  “Got it,” I say, with far more confidence than I feel. I’m in so deep now, it’s all I can do.

  “Okay, here we go, right here,” he says as the next swell rises behind us. “Turn around. Paddle!”

  I do, and I feel the immediate power of his strokes as they join mine. Our momentum builds, and then all of a sudden we take off as the wave catches the kayak. I feel a rush of fear as it lifts us and sends us flying—right at the hole in the rock.

  “Lie back!” Colton yells.

  I do, pulling my paddle to my chest and screaming at the same time. It doesn’t look like there’s any way we’ll make it through the opening, so I squeeze my eyes shut and brace myself against the sides of the kayak. Everything is loud and muffled all at once. The kayak smacks hard against the rock walls of the tunnel, knocking me around inside it. I grip my paddle like my life depends on it.

  “It’s okay,” I hear Colton yell above the noise. “Stay down!”

  At the moment, there’s absolutely zero chance that I would do anything else. Even with my eyes closed I can tell it’s dark. The air is heavy with moisture and salt, and it feels too thick to breathe. I squeeze my eyes shut even tighter, sure now that we’re going to die because I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe, I can’t—

  And then a miraculous thing happens. The tunnel spits us out like the end of a waterslide, and everything goes nearly still. I lie there a moment, afraid to open my eyes, listening. I can hear my own breaths, and Colton’s, and water lapping against rock, and something else . . . dripping?

  “Ha! We made it.” Colton lets out an ecstatic laugh, and then the kayak rocks and I feel a hand on my shoulder. “Hey. You okay? You can open your eyes now.”

  I crack one open and then the other, and the first thing I see is his face above mine. He looks down at me, and it’s impossible to catch my own breath with him so close. “We made it,” he says. “Look up!”

  I gasp. Far, far above me I can see the sky through an opening like a skylight in the roof of the cavern. It’s a window that frames it perfectly, setting off the blue in contrast with the dark walls of rock. “Oh my god,” I whisper. “This is . . .” I don’t even know what to call it. It’s more beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen.

  I sit up slowly, like if I move too quickly it’ll disappear.

  Sunlight streams in through the opening at an angle, setting the mist that hangs in the air aglow, illuminating each tiny water droplet. All around us, the water catches the sunlight and throws it against the walls of the cavern, waving and dancing. Another surge of water pushes through the opening we just came from, then disperses, rearranging the little reflections like the turn of a kaleidoscope.

  I can feel Colton’s eyes on me, watching me take it in. He sweeps a hand through the air, setting off tiny eddies in the mist. “When I was a kid, I used to think this was all the negative ions floating around.”

  “The what?” I ask, watching them swirl and dance.

  “Negative ions.” He laughs. “Sorry, I forget that not everyone grew up with my family and their weird random facts.”

  Now I really want to know. “What? What are they?”

  “They’re what’s released into the air when water molecules collide with something solid.” He gestures at the cave around us. “Like these rocks, or the beach when a wave breaks. They don’t come just from the ocean, though. They can come from anywhere—a waterfall, rain . . .” He pauses and smiles a little self-consciously. “Anyway. They’re good for you to breathe in. Healing, according to my dad and grandpa, at least.”

  He falls quiet, and I follow his eyes to the sunlit mist floating above us. We inhale deeply at the same time, and I don’t know if it’s the beauty of this place, or his words, or the negative ions, but I can feel something I haven’t felt for a long time running through me. It’s the pull of another person, of Colton, tidal in its subtlety but there beneath everything else.

  “Thank you,” I say suddenly. “Thank you for bringing me to this place.”

  A slow smile spreads over his face, and he shrugs. “I figured if all I had with you was a day, I better make it a good one.”

  I drop my eyes to my hands on the paddle in my lap. “You have.” I look back at Colton. “It’s the best day I’ve had in a long time, actually.”

  He nods, that smile still there. “Me too—you have no idea. But don’t sell us short, it’s not over yet.”

  We sit for who knows how long, breathing in the air and talking, and watching the light and the water as the cave fills and empties, until the tide starts to rise and we have no choice but to ride it out.

  The surreal, euphoric feeling of the cave stays with us even after the current carries us back out into the sudden brightness of the day. It lingers in the salt air around us as we paddle in to shore and spread our towels over the pebbly beach. And it tucks itself in between us as he tells me about all the other places he plans to visit this summer, places he hasn’t seen for a long time; and the earnestness in his voice makes me want to go right along with him.

  I don’t ask why it’s been so long since he’s gone to these places he seems to love so much. I already know the answer. Instead, I let myself go with him in my mind to each place he describes: a cave at the edge of an impossibly high cliff, where we can sit and hang our feet over the ledge and feel the thunder of the surf pound in our chests. A beach where the water is so clear we can paddle out and see twenty feet straight down to the colonies of purple sand dollars covering the bottom. His favorite cove, where we can watch as a waterfall plunges over a cliff onto the sand, fresh water mixing with the salt of the waves that rush up the shore. He uses that word we so easily, like it’s a given I’m already included in his plans beyond just this day. And a part of me wants to believe it’s possible.

  As I lie there in the sun, its warmth sinking into the length of my body in my bikini, the truth creeps in slowly, carrying with it a wave of guilt so strong, it stings my eyes. I open them and look over at Colton lying on his back, eyes closed and face to the sky, as he describes another magical place from memory, and suddenly it doesn’t feel possible anymore.

  He’s sti
ll wearing his rash guard, which, under any other circumstances, might be meaningless. But I know what’s beneath it. I know because I’ve seen it in a picture Shelby posted of Colton, bare chested, after his surgery. I almost couldn’t stand to look; though at the same time it was impossible not to study the bright-red scar that ran right down the center of him. The scar from where they opened his chest to take out his sick heart and put in a strong one to save his life. The scar that I didn’t realize until this moment Trent must’ve had too when they buried him.

  I bite back tears and the terrible, awful sense that I’ve betrayed him in a thousand different ways by being here with Colton, and by feeling the way I did in the water: strong, and free, and . . . happy. It seems wrong, for so many reasons, that I felt happy for those moments. Happy with someone else, who is so much more than just someone else.

  “So what do you think?” Colton asks, and he opens his eyes and turns his head and looks right at me, concern wiping the smile from his face. “Um. You okay?” He sits up, puts out a hand like maybe he’s going to rest it on my shoulder, then takes it back, eyebrows creased with worry. “Did I— What’s wrong?”

  I sit up quickly, wiping the tears from beneath my bottom lashes. “I’m sorry. I’m fine. I don’t know what happened, I just . . .” I can’t come up with a remotely plausible explanation, so I don’t try. “It’s nothing.”

  Colton looks at me for a long moment, his eyes running over my face, searching for what it is I’m not telling him, and I’m sure he can see it all. But then he reaches up to my cheek without a word, and this time he doesn’t take his hand away. With a feather-soft stroke, he brushes away a tear, and the feel of his touch makes me wish he’d keep his hand there. I look away, out at the sparkling ocean, because I don’t know what to do with the crazy swirl of emotions he’s just stirred up in me.