Taken by Storm (30 page)

Authors: Angela Morrison

Tags: #Social Issues, #Dating & Sex, #Christian, #Friendship, #Juvenile Fiction, #Sports & Recreation, #General, #Religious, #Water Sports, #Death & Dying

michael disappears with them
leaving me behind going
crazy.

I lean far over the side, but all I
see are bubbles that whisper,

Prove it, Leesie. Prove it.

maggie finds me snorkel gear.
I jump and the ocean swallows
but spits me back up.
I fight the mask until it yields a keyhole
to this mystery he loves.
Black-suited divers glide below me.
a feathery fish close-up zooms me into panic.
I give it up, turn back, but wait,
there it is—

His parents glow spectacular white,
shimmering in the sun rays the water refracts.
I forget how to breathe—
it’s him, swimming toward me,
surfacing beside me.

Your lips are blue, babe.

a shiver runs through me.
my teeth chatter
—
I hadn’t noticed the cold.
He holds out his arm.
I hang on too tight.

Sorry I’m not down there—I messed
things up—again.
my knees are jelly,
but not because I’m afraid of the water.

Let me take you back to the boat.
He’s eager to leave me, get back
to his parents.

Please, Michael.

I take off my mask, so does he.
His eyes still storm.
But mine see clearly, at last.

I won’t—I can’t—leave you.
BYU can live without me.
I’ve got a new dream.

He musters a smile and kisses me
while the ocean swells under us.
my heart seethes like it will break.
a piece of me dissolves
and floats away.

Do you trust me?

He glues me to the front of his scuba vest,
puts his regulator in my mouth.
When your ears hurt, pinch
your nose and blow.
Don’t forget to breathe.

my heart dances to his bubbles.
the power of his body
drives me under, his legs
kick behind mine, panic seeps inside my mask
as he swims me down
to meet his
parents.

Calm. Breathe. Calm. He has me.

I touch the plaques that
bear their names.
Wonder steals over me
at the beauty of the blue beneath
as he swims me to the surface.
Overcome.

MICHAEL’S DIVE LOG—VOLUME #8

i bring Leesie back up, and she’s trembling like crazy. It’s a good thing she doesn’t know how massively illegal that was. i want to stay with her, get her back on the boat, convince her she’s made the right choice, but she makes me go back down to my guests.

The dive mourners circle my parents, converging in haphazard slow motion on the artificial reef. And me. i shake neoprene-gloved hands and show them the plaque with my parents’ names on it. i didn’t realize i knew so many divers down here, didn’t know how many loved my parents. Cared. They retreat in buddy pairs as tanks run low until i’m alone—but i’m not. She’s still up there, watching me. She’ll be way cold, but i’ll never call her ice again.

i ascend a few feet to join her before she’s hypothermic, but something draws me back to my parents. i let my body sink onto the top of their reef, stretch out, pressing my cheek to the surface, knowing i’ll kill growth if i touch it when i return months from now. The white will be gone, too—replaced with yellow-green algae.

i peel off my gloves and run my hands over the smooth cement. A school of blue tang fly over me, circle back around the east end of the naked reef, and disappear, returning the way they came.

As i lie there, i imagine what Mom and Dad will look like in twenty years. Coral coating every inch. Purple-veined sea fans. Gorgonians, pale green. Soft feathery corals. Velvet pillars. Orange sponges. Wrasses, grunts, chromis. Tiny damsel-fish picking at the rich garden. Queen angelfish trailing wisps of peacock blue tinged purple. Long thin trumpet fish. A flounder hiding in the sand, its bulging eyes watching for trouble. A moray living in the tube, feasting on the fish. And on the special shelf, a nice big nurse shark.

It’s so clear, almost as if i’m really at the lush reef in the future. Mom and Dad come, too. i see them in my mind. Mom has on her pink and black gear. Dad’s strapped into his oversized BC. i hear Mom whisper my name, feel the warmth of her breath on my neck, Dad’s hand on my back, and love familiar, strong. Tangible.

i open my eyes to catch a glimpse of them. Find just me and water. And a gleaming white monument made of their essence. Their presence lingers—a scent i can’t quite catch—like the gardenia perfume my mom used to wear. Overcome, i close my eyes and let it flow through me again. i want to go to it, join it, stay with it. But they won’t let me.

As i lie on their monument, awash in waves of their love, my mind starts to whirl. Not frenzied ideas or frightening images. No questions. Only answers. A perfect plan flowers in my brain.

But it leaves one detail out.

Leesie.

chapter 42

SUNSCREEN WITH GARDENIAS

MICHAEL’S DIVE LOG—VOLUME #8

Post-launch, me and Leesie head out to the pool. She needs a good soak in the hot tub. The place is jammed. “Follow me.”

i lead her over to the canal. Vacation homes with big boats tied up in front lounge across the canal. The resort side is lined with pastel town homes. i open the back gate of a pale pink one, hold it for Leesie to walk through.

“This is yours?”

i nod.

“It’s gorgeous.”

The plunge pool in the corner is perfectly clean, still hot and bubbling. Somebody got the rust stains off the shell fountain. The palms are trimmed and the bougainvillea blooms magenta. i have to swallow the lump that grows hard in my throat. “It’s just the patio.” An empty patio.

We slide into hot water. My thigh touches Leesie’s. She floats to the other side. “This is even worse than being in a house alone.”

i study her creamy arms and throat. “You’re going to fry.”

“I forgot to pack sunscreen.”

“Be right back.”

The spare key is still under the cement garden turtle my dad hated. i let myself in. Expect them—Mom at the sink, Dad on the couch with the remote in his hand—they were so real this morning.

The place is empty. Hotel room sterile. Fresh-painted white. The furniture is the same, but all the pieces of our life here are gone. Mom’s dive log scrapbooks, the paperback novels she only read here, Dad’s sandals by the front door, my pool towel drying on the back of a kitchen chair. i’ll kill Stan for doing this. For cleaning up.

i race up the stairs, retrieve the key to our owner’s closet from under the bathroom sink, slip the key from its magnetic metal box, replace the box, and take the stairs down two at a time. i skid to a stop in front of the owner’s closet, slide the key in the lock, and open the door.

It’s all here—the books and clothes and knickknacks. Even the toiletries from the bathroom. Okay, Stan can live.

Sunscreen. Leesie. She wants sunscreen. My eyes go to the jumble on the shelf. i rummage through the junk looking for a high SPF. i knock a bottle with my hand.

It tips—

My mom’s gardenia-scented perfume stronger than i ever smelled it before spills all over my hand.

i right the old-fashioned bottle, frantic to save the stuff. i freeze, stare at the bottle, then pull the leaky stopper out, pick up the delicate glass container, cup it in my hands, and breathe it in, hold gardenia Mom in my head, blow her out, suck my lungs full of her again, venting, cycle after cycle. i pack for a peak vent, close my eyes, hold her in me, wishing i knew the words to the incantation that would conjure her up long enough to thank her for putting up with my crap, long enough to tell her i love her, long enough—

i hold my breath three minutes, four. My mom screams again, and i finally hear her. Not the beautiful essence i found under the water this morning, but the terrified woman facing a storm alone. She called me. And i did not answer. Kept the camera going until Isadore washed it all away.

i could have saved her. Should have saved her.

“i’m sorry, Mom. i’m so sorry.” A sob that shakes my core breaks free. “i didn’t mean it. Come back. Please come back. Next time i’ll be there. Just come back.”

The door creaks, and it’s Leesie. She puts her arms around me, holds my head to her shoulder. “Its okay now,” she murmurs, “you’re going to be okay.” She massages my back, running her hands along the muscles, loving me with her fingertips.

Hot tears sneak out of the corners of my eyes, slide down my face. “i didn’t save her, Leese. It’s my fault.”

“No, that’s not true. You would have both drowned.”

“She buddied me all the time. But when she needed me, i was a snot. How can you love me like you do? i’m a disease.”

She whispers, “Cursed, I guess,” and smoothes my hair back from my forehead.

i hide my face in her lifesaving Sweet Banana Mango hair. A fresh sob rips through my body. “Why didn’t i grab her? Hold on?” The tears flow and mount until wrenching, cleansing sobs i can’t control shake me to the core. “i just saved myself. What good is that?” Regret, remorse, shame, and the simple ache of missing them consume me.

“It was a hurricane, Michael.” Leesie’s voice finds me in the storm. “A miracle you lived. God saved you for me.”

And then we’re both crying. i sink to the floor, cradle her on my lap. i look down at her face, blotched and swollen with tears shed for me. “i’m so, so sorry.” i don’t even know who i’m apologizing to anymore. i rest my forehead on hers, let the peace of her flow into me.

An overpowering emotion i never felt before rises on a tide of hope. “i love you.” i whisper it at first, then say it louder. “Leesie Hunt—I love you.” It’s not the same as the love I’ve known before, but it’s there, as strong and beautiful as she is.

Our tears blend. Our lips meet. We kiss as deep and wrenching as we cried. I can’t stop telling her I love her. She says it back over and over, and I think I’m going to die. My heart is breaking with emotion.

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