Authors: Naomi Fraser
“Well, where is it?” Coach’s
voice is hard and his jaw clenches. He’s angry, and I guess he knows I don’t
have a note with me.
“I talked to her last night on
the phone. My appointments have been rearranged to tomorrow. I thought I could
handle this, but I can’t. I’ll have the note the day after tomorrow.”
He says nothing and shifts his gaze
back to the pool where guys parade around in Speedos, their massive arms
swinging by their sides. Toned bodies, and faces carved from stone. I focus in
on the wet pad of footsteps around the pool and suck in a deep breath of salt.
Hunger and yearning ache under my
breastbone. There’s no way I’m getting in this pool again. I shift uneasily.
His eyes swerve back and pins
mine. “You seem calm about it now.”
That’s my poker face.
“I
don’t know what I’m feeling.” Another breath of that salt and I’ll be fighting
my body not to jump in.
Lakyn.
Where are you?
And here I’m thinking I’m weak to
chase after him. The cool blue is a hand, twining around my ankles and pulling
me in. The depths can help me forget. All I have to do is change form, breathe
water, become someone else. I reef the tie from my bun and my hair tumbles down
my back in a cascade of white curls. The faint scent of shampoo lingers in my
nose and my neck warms with sweat. Ripples of light carry off the water,
skating along my skin.
I lick my upper lip and the taste
makes my throat go dry.
“Eloise.” Coach’s eyes are
concerned. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” My mouth is so parched the
word comes out in a grunt.
“Step back from the edge,” he
suggests.
“For a moment.”
My heel taps the concrete, and I
clench my hands by my sides, loosen and then tighten them again. A burst of
throaty laughter escapes me. I can’t stop from moving closer to the water.
Coach’s grip on my arm reminds me
of my dad’s when we used to arm wrestle.
Rock hard.
“I
said back.”
I’m stronger now. “Let go.”
“Careful. You’re about to fall in
with your school uniform on.”
Who cares about my clothes? I’m
ready to dive under and breathe in water. The clothes will rip to accommodate.
I don’t fit most of them anymore; don’t really fit in anywhere. I press my lips
together slowly and try to control myself. Breathe in and out.
I look up at him and smile.
His eyes widen and he takes a
step back, releasing my arm. A flicker of fear darkens his gaze. “You . . .
y-your,” he stutters, “eyes. They just changed colour.” He swallows. “From grey
to . . .” He scratches his chin. “Bring the letter in when you can. Sit up in
the bleachers until the bell rings.”
“I can’t be here.” I close my
eyes. When I open them, he’s not looking my way.
A muscle jumps in his jaw, but he
nods. “You can’t leave the school grounds until the bell goes.”
“I’ll go to the library. Do some
homework first.”
He grabs the whistle around his
neck, blows and barks orders to the boys lined up at the end of the pool. He
stalks off in his too small polo to boss around some other unlucky students.
The guys stare at me, a trace of
envy in their eyes as I head toward the gate. They have to stay.
My mouth is so dry and the sun is
too hot. I want to jump in the pool, shoes and all. I fight my body every step
away from the water. At the library, I pick a cool, quiet space with no one
around to interrupt my study of Lakyn’s books for the next hour.
“I . . . UM . . . NEED a note.” I pause.
“For
swimming classes.”
I’m ensconced in a deep leather chair at Redlands
Hospital inside the Mental Health facility, trying to resist the urge to tell
Dr.
Farrow I know she used to be a mermaid. I don’t think
Lakyn has told her I know. Mum dropped me off on her way to a gym session.
Dr.
Farrow frowns and flicks the end of a blue pen against her nails. She puts the
pen back on her desk and spins around on her chair to face me. “Why?”
I stall at this unexpected
question. How to phrase this?
Another deep breath.
“I
don’t think it’s a good idea for me right now. I don’t enjoy it and it’s making
my nightmares worse.” May lightning not strike me where I
stand.
Why didn’t Lakyn tell her about my tail?
She murmurs and it sounds almost
like a hum.
“All right.”
Finally, she gets up off her seat
and walks to the door. “Excuse me, Eloise. I have to get some paperwork with a
letterhead for your note.”
She closes the door behind her,
and I sit there, looking around her small office. There’s nothing interesting
on the shelves on the wall above her desk. I can’t see any envelopes like I did
last time. She quickly enters again, but leaves the door ajar. She holds a
stack of paper in her hands, which she lines up in her printer.
“Why don’t you tell me what is
bothering you about the water now?”
I shrug and kind of shut down all
of my emotions so they don’t shine in my eyes. Why is she pretending not to
know? “It’s too difficult at the moment.” Not a lie. “I’m stressing out about
it.”
“Difficult
why?”
Another shrug.
She sighs. “Well, I can always
talk to your mother. How about next time she comes in?”
“I need the note tomorrow, but
you can call my mum anytime. She’s said
it’s
fine.
Ring her now on her mobile if you want.”
Dr.
Farrow studies me and then reaches over for the phone on her desk. She clicks through
an address book on her computer and makes the call. Mum picks up immediately.
Dr.
Farrow discusses my feelings, how this course of action
would best suit me and then she hangs up the phone.
Something shifts in her gaze, an
emotion I can’t define, so I don’t try. But unease grips me.
“Your mother agrees that you
should be allowed to recover at your own pace.”
Dr.
Farrow’s lips purse. She types up something in her database, prints out a
letter, signs it and then places it in a white envelope. “Hand this to the
necessary person, your swimming instructor or principal. They can ring me at
any time to discuss the details.”
My smile is more of a tucking in
at the side of my lips. “Thanks.” I hold the letter in my lap and wait for her
to say something else.
“Has anything strange happened to
you while you’ve been on the swim team, Eloise?”
I try to hide my gasp. “Yes,” I
say, thinking quickly. A lie won’t convince her now. “I freaked out and sunk to
the bottom. Everyone laughed at me.”
“But you made the team,” she
counters and unwraps a stick of gum, popping it into her mouth. “How is that
possible if you weren’t fast enough?”
I bite my fingernail. “Oh, I made
it to the end a few times. Beat the other girls my age. I still freak out
though, and I think it has something to do with my nightmares. I’m not getting
much sleep.”
“
Mmm
.”
She swings back to the desk, and I can tell
she’s considering my
mis
-direction. “Have you been
practicing your relaxation techniques before bed?”
“Sometimes.
Did you know a reporter has asked to interview me? I said no. Mum is seeing a
solicitor, but she’s also been in touch with the police.”
Dr.
Farrow nods. “Remember to practice the techniques every night and even during
the day if you experience a stressful situation. Take the time to breathe and
relax.”
“OK.” I look out her window
without telling her that sometimes the feelings aren’t so stressful. Daylight
is fading fast and, for once, I’m surprised I haven’t cried during her session.
Normally, she has me bawling and going through a box of tissues. Sometimes she
expressly asks for Mum to come in after my session and gives her quick
instructions on how to manage everything, ranging from talking about my dad, to
problems at school.
“Let me take you through a
relaxation session now to see if it’s still working. Lean back in the chair and
close your eyes.”
Dr.
Farrow’s tone lowers to a
soothing murmur as she targets my body in sections. First, my toes, and the
relaxing numbness moves up my feet. I follow her directions, imagining every
muscle tensing,
then
relaxing completely. I walk out
of her office, shoulders drooping,
legs
loose, but I
have a smile.
A sharp pang of hunger grips my
stomach and I head to the awesome cafeteria. I’d visited here last time with
Mum. I grab a seat near the garden and wait for my order of toasted ham and
cheese sandwiches. My iPhone jingles and I check the incoming message.
Bethany writes:
Wuu2
I reply:
Apt @
hosp
talk soon
I plug in my headphones since I
have a few minutes until my food is ready and hum along to the Black Eyed Peas.
The music is soothing enough to maintain my calm, but when my mind drifts,
pangs of longing hit me square in the chest. I haven’t seen or heard from Lakyn
at all, and the worry is starting to eat away at my spirit. I flip through the
songs on my most recent playlist, but find nothing I want to listen to and then
pull out the ear buds.
Distinctive strides along the
pavement catch my attention. I look up, my heart pounds, almost coming out of
my chest. I don’t realise I’m standing until I begin to walk. His head
hangs,
clothes all rumpled and dirty like he’s slept in
them. He walks in jerky, uncontrolled motions with his fists clenched tightly
by his side.
“Lakyn.”
My voice is hoarse, not loud enough, but he looks up just the same.
“Ellie.”
The word cracks and he swallows, visibly holding
himself
in check. He stops and a tortured look crosses his face.
I rush to him, standing close
enough to grab his shoulder and run my hand down his arm, offering support.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Ralph’s . . .”
Lakyn chokes on the word and bursts out, “dead.
Sirens got him.”
Shudders attack my body and I
shake my head repeatedly. “No. No. That’s impossible. It can’t be right. I saw
him yesterday morning.”
Lakyn takes both of my hands in a
firm grip.
“Ellie.
He’s gone.” His voice wobbles and
he hunches over as though he can’t bear for me to see him cry. “Sirens took him
and left his body to wash up on the shore. I couldn’t save him. The doctors
could do nothing.”
The sunshine has never been more
unwelcome. It should be raining, pouring. It should be storming. Tears drip
down my cheeks, and I sniff,
then
lean into Lakyn’s
chest.
He lifts a hand and pats my back
in slow, trembling motions.
“I can’t believe it. Oh God. I’ve
been ringing you.
Leaving messages.”
“My phone got wet.” He rubs his
nose, eyes rimmed red. “I dragged him from the shallows and it fell out of my
top pocket.”
I nod and hug him close. We stand
there, both of us enclosed in misery.
“Number eighteen.”
I turn at the call, and murmur,
“My order’s ready. Come up and sit with me. We’ll talk.”
He releases me shakily. I grip
his hand and look up at him. “It’s OK,” I say. “We’ll get through this
together.”
His body stiffens, and something
haunted and lost moves beneath his dull gaze while he stares at me. He peers up
to the sky and then I hear him whisper, “That’s the problem. I can’t lose you,
too.”
We reach the steps up to the
cafeteria, and I tug him toward my table. His body is so unresponsive. “Wait
here for a sec.” I dash to the counter and get my sandwiches and ask for an
extra small plate. When I get back to the table, I divide the sandwiches
between us. “Eat up,” I say.
“Before it gets cold.”
He stares at the food as though
he’s never seen bread before.
“Not hungry?”
“Starving,” he admits. “I just .
. . feel dead inside.”
I rest my hand over his on the
table. “The food doesn’t matter. Take your time.” His skin is all clammy, and a
deep sadness dulls his eyes. A grey pallor overtakes his glorious tan. Greasy
strands of hair hang down his face.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
He hesitates, picks up a sandwich
and takes a bite. He chews and swallows as if the food is a brick and then
says, “He warned me.”
“Ralph?
About
the sirens?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. He came to visit me
yesterday morning.” I know I shouldn’t tell Lakyn about the books. I told Ralph
I wouldn’t, but I can’t help myself. “He dropped off a present and said he was
going fishing.”
Lakyn chokes up and looks at his
hands. He doesn’t ask what type of present. “He needed to fill a few orders for
restaurants.”
My phone rings and I answer.
“Hey, Mum.” I look up at Lakyn. “Sure, I’ll be ready in five minutes? OK.” I
end the call and venture, “I’ve
gotta
meet Mum out the
front. Do you want a ride home? I can ask her to—”
“No.” He leans onto the table as
though he’s having trouble breathing.
I blink at him, concerned. “I
don’t like leaving you alone here. Do you have to fill in paperwork or
something?”
“No.” The word drops like a
stone. “I’m not fit to be around anyone right now.”
Silence hangs between us, and I
want to say he’s been just fine with me. Instead I ask, “Do you have enough
money to get home?”
No response.
“Lakyn?”
He looks up, nods and then surges
to his feet. The table shifts forward at the motion. His face shows no
expression. “I’ll talk to you later at school.” Then he turns around and stalks
away, heading back along the path through the interconnecting door and into the
hospital.
I sit there in stunned silence.
He’s taken one bite of the sandwich. One mouthful of food in two days, I’ll
bet. A cloud hovers over the cafeteria and the air turns cool and dark. From
what I’ve read in the
Guardian Training Manual
, his demeanour contrasts
to the cold, killing mentality finfolk must attain to be an effective guardian.
He made it into guardian training at such an early age, too.
It’s strange how we handle the
challenge of death. How it changes us. As I rise to meet Mum at the hospital
entrance, I consider what happened to me after my father died and who I am
becoming.