Sea (27 page)

“Before she ... before she died”—I cleared my throat—“she mailed me home this postcard of two sea turtles swimming off the shore. It was the last thing I have from her, and while you were up there with ... I saw them. I mean, maybe not the same ones, but two sea turtles just like she described. It was like she was trying to say something to me.” I frowned. “I know it sounds weird ...”

We probably shouldn’t have because of Rema, but because he was Deni and I was me, we did it anyway. I buried my face in the small of his neck, touching my lips to his salty skin.

Deni whispered into my hair, “Your mother loves you. She is everywhere protecting you. She is here with us now. Your mother, my mother, my father, my sisters. They do not disappear when they die. They leave us their strength.”

A giant wave crashed over a log adrift at sea. The log bobbed around, twisting with the motion of it, but it didn’t sink. It stayed afloat. I scanned the top of the frothy water, hoping to point out the floating humps to Deni. But the sea turtles were gone.

“Saya akan rinda Anda,”
I said. I will miss you.

His eyes filled with tears, and I could barely stand it.

I wanted to tell him that you can meet someone and they can change your life forever, even if you have only known him for a short while, that when you leave, you’re a different person than before you met him ... and I understand that because of meeting Deni.

I wanted to tell him that, all of that, but I knew he couldn’t say it back.

“Saya akan rinda Anda,”
he whispered. “I will miss you too, Sienna. And
terima kasih,
for everything.”

“I thought that’s only what tourists say.” I dared to look into his eyes.

“It’s what you say. So I will always use it. I will always love it.”

He touched my hand to his forehead and then he touched his own heart.

We held hands like we would never let go.

We held hands until the log floated all the way out to sea.

I sat alone at the Aceh airport holding Deni’s unread note in my hand.

I felt so utterly alone that I unzipped my backpack and searched for Spider’s shell.

I made myself a deal: if it was broken, if it was shattered, my life was officially over.

But it wasn’t. It was perfect.

So I set it back in and opened up my journal. Took out my postcard from Mom. I was rereading it over and over again when I heard my name and looked up.

Running through the airport, face flushed, beard longer, eyes wildly looking around, Dad spotted me. “Sienna Hope Jones!” he yelled out, his hug nearly crushing me. He was crying, I was crying (well, I was already crying, then I was crying even harder). I must have looked so weird standing there bawling, Deni’s note in one hand, Mom’s postcard in the other.

“Are you okay?” he demanded. I got the feeling if I said no, I’d be in even bigger trouble.

“No. Yes. I don’t know.”

“You aren’t hurt? Sick?” he said, checking me over. “Nothing’s broken?”

Do hearts count?
“I’m okay, Dad.”

He rubbed his forehead. “I would have come sooner, but there was a huge storm, my plane was delayed; it was a nightmare. I just kept imagining the worst. Don’t you EVER leave me again without my permission, do you understand me?”

When I nodded, he hugged me again. Then he dug into his pocket and handed me a tissue. “When Nada gave me the note you left on your old bunk—everything came back—your mom’s crash. You’re just like her, you know. I should have known you’d come alone.”

“You think I’m like Mom?”

“You’ve always been like her. You’ve just ... been subdued for so long, I stopped worrying as much. I let down my guard, and then this happens....” He looked off into the terminal, like he was explaining it to someone other than me.

He squeezed my hands tighter and stared me down. “Sweetie. I can’t lose you both.”

Then he glanced down at the open journal balancing on my backpack. At the two sea turtles. At the glassy blue ocean.

“What is that?” His face froze with recognition.

I handed it to him.

My heart pounded as he read it, eyes as glassy as the sea in the picture.

“Where did you get this?” he asked me.

“After you came home.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I wanted to have something special just from her.”

“And this is part of the reason you’ve been holding on to all that hope?” Dad asked.

I shrugged again. “I guess.”

His fingertip ran down her writing like he was seeing her again.

I felt terrible. Terrible for scaring him and terrible for keeping the card a secret. Terrible for reopening all the hurt.

But I had to ask him the question that had been weighing on me for so long.

“I want you to tell me what happened to Mom.”

He kept staring at the card.

“I was at the Indian Ocean, Dad.”

“Yes,” he said quietly.

I took a deep breath. “I don’t understand why you let her go that day. Didn’t you know it was dangerous? It was raining? Why didn’t you stop her?”

“I tried.”

“What do you mean you tried?” This was news to me.

“Honey, I haven’t wanted to share this with you because I was afraid you’d blame her. And you shouldn’t. That’s the last thing I want.”

“Just tell me. What happened? Dad, I can handle it.”

“There was a storm that day in Thailand and it was getting worse. The roofs were flipping off the makeshift huts, the supplies were getting wet and ruined. It was a mess. Then we received this SOS call over the radio. Your mom answered the call. There was a school with a collapsed roof, kids were hurt. She insisted we go help them. The pilot of the small plane refused. He said in the storm there was no way. It would be too dangerous. I told her we’d wait out the storm. We’d go after it passed. She said the kids couldn’t wait....”

“Dad. What happened?”

“We got in an argument—she could be very stubborn. I insisted she stay—she said she was going. That she had to go. But I didn’t believe her. She was headstrong, but logical. I didn’t think she’d risk it. I was busy helping the villagers when I heard the engine. I ran after the plane but it was too late. She took off into the storm.”

“Oh my God.”

“I know.”

We were quiet for a while.

“How did she persuade the pilot to go?” I asked finally.

“She had a pilot’s license. She just took off.”

“Mom was flying the plane?”

“Yes.” Dad rubbed his face. “She was convinced she could help those kids. She was an okay pilot, but anyone in a storm like that ...”

I didn’t want to hate Mom. She only wanted to help. Still, I couldn’t stop the burning anger welling in my chest. That was too risky. She risked too much.

“That’s why,” Dad said, his voice breaking, “the only thing we could assume is that she went down on one of the many islands or in the sea. She was too inexperienced. The storm was too rough. Are you okay, Sienna?”

I swallowed. “Yeah, I am. I’d rather know the truth, Dad. And I promise you’re not going to lose me. I had to help Deni. Good things happened for him because I came. Really. But I won’t do it again. If I want to do something like that again, I’ll make sure it’s okay with you. I swear.”

I was not going to end up like Mom.

He studied me, then let out a long, low sigh. “I’m so glad to hear that. Speaking of Deni, where is he? Because he’s due for a nice long chat.”

I filled Dad in on all of it. On the mass graves and Azmi and Siti. On Amelia and then the story of Rema.

He listened, mouth agape, slowly shaking his head. “Unbelievable,” he said.

“So he’s home,” I said. “Deni’s finally home.”

 

We met back up with Vera and Tom in Yogyakarta. Dad made me explain to the
pesantren
owner what had happened with Deni. Made me apologize for sneaking off. I was sorry. He could never know how sorry.

I gave Elli most of the stuff from my suitcase, promised to write, promised to send her more markers. I said good-bye to Nada and girls from the teen group. Talk-talk was at an all-time high. I didn’t care, though.

Mostly I was just numb.

All in all, Dad said, the family system was a successful trial, they helped the kids learn how to better deal with their PTSD symptoms, and, no thanks to me, we might be invited back another time. But like all these projects, they were baby steps. There was no cure-all in two weeks. Two weeks was not going to take away that much pain.

But at least it was a start.

I could barely stand being at the
pesantren
without Deni, and then we finally boarded our plane for home.

 

“Do you wanna watch something?” Tom said, handing me his headphones after the Fasten Seat Belt sign went off. “Indonesian game shows. Could be fun.”

Dad and Vera were sitting together, watching the same movie, laughing at the same jokes. For once it didn’t make me totally ill. At least one of us was happy.

“Maybe later,” I told Tom.

I excused myself to use the bathroom, where I finally opened Deni’s letter.

He wrote the note before he knew about Rema.

My tears fell on his words, smearing the ink, until I had to hold the paper away from my eyes to keep from ruining it.

He wrote that when he thought I was the girl who could maybe one day become his bride.

 

I woke up to the flight attendant’s voice. “We’ve started our descent into San Francisco International Airport. Please make sure your seat belts are fastened and your trays are in the full upright position. Thank you for flying Air Ethelia.”

It was funny how little I cared about the landing. Or the flight at all.

My seat belt was on, and I just figured we’d land okay.

You will always land in one piece,
Deni had told me when we were in the airport waiting for our flight to Aceh.

The whole flight I’d been replaying Deni’s words in my head.

Maybe Deni was right.

I imagined Mom waiting for us at the airport.

Her thick blond hair tied in a loose bun. She’d be wearing faded blue jeans and a tank top. Her arms long, thin and tan from hours working in the garden. She’d run up to us, her eyes dancing, and swoop me into a hug.
How was your trip, Sea?
she’d say.
Tell me everything.
And then
whisper, Especially the juicy parts.

And I would.

I’d tell her everything.

I’d tell her about Deni and me climbing the ancient temple of Borobudur, the smell of the warm sweat of his back, the pulse of my heart as I wrapped my arms around him. How I leaned into the turns on the
motor
just like she taught me on my pink body board when I was a kid.

I’d tell her the sad parts too, the wall of death, the headless doll. I’d tell her about bringing Rema to Deni and leaving them together.

The clouds outside my window were turning cotton candy pink again. It was sunset in California.

On the way to Indo, the colors were leading me somewhere, to the street kids, to the other orphans at the
pesantren.
To Elli.

To Amelia, Azmi and Siti. To Dad and Mom. To Deni.

I held my warm palm against the ice-cold window, remembering.

The Orange Popsicle Haze lighting my way back home.

Oma and Bev were waiting for us at the airport with a handmade sign that read,
TEAM HOPE and TEEN RUNAWAY SIENNA JONES.

“Very funny, guys,” I said, buried in a group hug until Bev shrugged me off.

“Wait. Do you have any infectious disease, missy?” she asked.

“I was exposed to the bird flu,” I deadpanned.

“Seriously?”

I shrugged. “I was around lots of caged birds. And they don’t want to put them to sleep there, even the sick ones. They’re pets, especially the doves.” I remembered Deni’s story about his mom and her pet songbirds.

I couldn’t believe I was back in California.

Oma laughed and hugged me again while Bev examined me closely for foaming of the mouth or oozing sores.

“Bev, I’m kidding. I don’t have the bird flu. But it’s true about the birds.”

“Well, you’re lucky. I was about to put you in quarantine!” She nailed me playfully with her sharp elbow. “And if you’re wondering where my brother is, he gave up waiting for you and went surfing in Mexico.”

Gave up
waiting for me? Spider was waiting for me? “Whatever,” I said.

They asked about the flight, the food, our adventure. I told them if we were in Indo, we’d be having this conversation over spicy hot tea.

“Ready to go, kiddo?” Dad asked me. “We could stop for pizza on the way home.”