Part 5 (1/2)

”Unlock it. I can't talk to you right now. I can't. Unless you want to explain what this is. Why we came here, why James knows more about my own family history than I do ... why we don't talk about her anymore. I don't get it, Dad.”

He was silent, and I stared through the blur of my tears and reflection at the now dark beach cottage that had been my mother's.

”That's what I thought,” I said. ”Let's don't talk about it, just like always.” My hand found the unlock b.u.t.ton, and I burst out the door, just as he finally responded. It wasn't until after I had slammed the door shut that I really heard what he'd said: ”You stopped asking.”

CHAPTER 10.

It was a day for kites. The lifeguards watched over empty wind-whipped water from inside their towers as sand filled in the small valleys and smoothed itself over. I hoped none of them had been at the party the night before. I pulled my hood over my head and tied the strings so it would stay on, then headed up the beach to where I could see rocks strewn all over the sand in piles in front of the abandoned cottages. I hadn't been up this way yet, but I wasn't in the mood for sightseeing, so I kept my head down. The less I moved my neck around, the less the champagne ache wrapped itself around my head. It came in waves, alternating with nausea that made me squint behind my sungla.s.ses. I walked the waterline like this, hands shoved into my pockets, not really paying attention to anything. I just wanted to be out of the house, where my dad and I moved around each other, silent and not knowing where to start.

A few paces ahead a freshly uncovered rock pile spread out in front of a falling-down cottage. Grateful for a distraction, I picked my way over to it but then stepped on a pebble that jabbed painfully into the arch of my foot. My foot jerked up reflexively, and as it did, I saw my first piece of gla.s.s for the day. It was a thumbnail-size green shard, still wet from the receding tide. When I lifted it and held it up to the light, it showed a deeper almost turquoise green. I rubbed its smooth edges between my thumb and forefinger inside the warmth of my sleeve and turned my attention to the surrounding sand.

”I didn't think I'd have any compet.i.tion out here on a day like this,” said an unfamiliar voice. I turned around. An older woman wearing only shorts and a Ts.h.i.+rt stood behind me, smiling. The wind whipped her waist-length brown hair around her, and she made no effort to control it.

”Oh, um, are you looking for sea gla.s.s too?”

”Yup.” She motioned to the rocks. ”We haven't had rock piles like this in quite a while. Yesterday's waves uncovered them.” I nodded and pulled my green piece out of my pocket. ”Yeah, I just found a pretty little green one.”

”May I?” she asked. I handed it to her, and she held it up to the sun between rough fingers. ”Yep, that's a beauty.” I smiled, and she handed it back, then reached into her pocket. Her hand rummaged around, making sure she got all of what was in it. When she brought it out and uncurled her fingers, I leaned in closer. Scattered over the palm of her hand were some of the most vibrant colors of sea gla.s.s I had ever seen. Turquoise, cobalt blue, and purple all mingled like jewels.

”Did you find all those right here, today?” I looked around my feet, hoping for some of her luck.

”Yeah. I told ya. It's like somebody cracked open a treasure chest.” She chuckled a little. ”I suppose I can share my rock piles with you for today. You seem to be someone who has an appreciation for what the ocean can uncover.” She stuck out her hand. ”Name's Joy. I used to live here, but now I just visit it when I can.”

I wondered if when she said ”here” she meant she'd been one of the residents. Who'd been forced to leave. By the state, which my dad worked for. A little wave of nervous guilt went through me, but when I took her hand, it was warm in spite of the chilling wind, and I relaxed. She had no idea who my dad was or where I lived.

I shook it. ”I'm Anna.” She held on, just a moment too long, her eyes studying mine, until I unclasped my hand from hers. I tucked my arms over my chest.

”Aren't you cold?”

”Honey, look at me. I'm old. I haven't been cold for two years, if you know what I mean.” I laughed a little, sure there must be some small joke in her comment, and thankful the strange moment had pa.s.sed. ”I'm gonna head up that way”-she motioned with her head-”so we don't cross paths and have to fight over the same pieces.” She stepped effortlessly in her bare feet over the stones and continued on with her back to me, head down in quiet contemplation, like the rest of the world didn't exist. I stood watching, and an image of my mother walking the beach the same way opened up in my mind.

I was little, maybe four or five, but the memory was vivid and one I held close and dear.

We walked together in the warm afternoon light, and every so often she would stoop to pick something up. She'd smile as she rubbed the sand off a piece of sea gla.s.s, hold it up for me to see in the sunlight, and drop it into our special blue pouch that she kept for these walks. Our walks had gotten more rare by then, but I'd wait for the days when she'd light up and ask me to join her, and we'd walk for hours.

The first piece I ever found by myself was on a walk like that. She walked ahead while I trailed a stick in the sand, watching the wavy path it made. A translucent triangle lying in the waterline caught my eye, and I bent down to investigate. White water rushed up almost to it, and I s.n.a.t.c.hed it up quickly and then held it up, yelling to my mother that I had found ”A beauty,” just like she always called them. She turned and broke into a proud smile, then picked me up and squeezed me tight.

”This one is yours, Anna. We'll start you your own jar.” I dropped it into the special pouch and carried it the rest of the way, searching for another piece, hooked on the treasure and the happiness it had brought to my mother's face. Out of all the pieces of sea gla.s.s in the jar in my room, I could still pick this one out effortlessly. It sat in the bottom of the jar, buried beneath the pieces collected over years of walking the beach without her.

Water rushed up around my feet, and beneath it I caught a flash of a slick surface. I didn't reach with my hand but put my foot down hard over the spot and waited until the water receded, leaving an indentation in the sand. I lifted my foot and bent down to retrieve the piece of gla.s.s. I didn't much care for the brown ones, but always picked them up in case they were actually red. In the sunlight I could see that it wasn't. I was about to throw it back when I saw Joy out of the corner of my eye.

”You ever heard of mermaid tears?” she asked, eyeing the piece of gla.s.s poised in my hand. When she said it, I saw my mom again, this time seated next to me while we buried our toes in the sand. She told the story while I imagined beautiful, lonely women swimming beneath the waves.

”Sea gla.s.s, right? Something to do with mermaids and sea gla.s.s.”

She nodded reverently and took the piece of gla.s.s from my hand, then held it up in the wind and the sun. ”The story is that each piece of sea gla.s.s that washes up on the beach is a crystallized tear that a mermaid has shed for a lost love.” I could hear my mom's lyrical voice telling the same story as I sat next to her, my arms around my knees. I hadn't thought of it in forever, but the memory took shape as I listened to Joy.

She went on, turning the brown gla.s.s between her fingers. ”They come from the ones who are unfortunate enough to fall in love with humans, and the mermaids are in for a lifetime of sadness because they can never be with their true loves. Only on the nights when a full moon s.h.i.+nes on the water can they come to sh.o.r.e.” She looked from the gla.s.s to me. ”And those nights are magical, but as soon as dawn comes, they have to swim back into the ocean, leaving a trail of rainbow-colored tears behind them.”

I bit my lip, silent, as images of these beautifully lonely creatures entangled themselves with flashes of my mother.

”You should never feel sorry for mermaids, though,” she went on. ”They've been known to take that beauty and that sadness and pull down the object of their love in a second, if given the chance. There's a poem by Yeats: A mermaid found a swimming lad, Picked him for her own, Pressed her body to his body, Laughed; and plunging down Forgot in cruel happiness That even lovers drown.”

She looked out over the water, and I followed her lead. I could remember being little and thinking that mermaids were gorgeous and strong and free, because my mother had told me so. I'd gone to bed many nights wis.h.i.+ng I would grow a tail as I slept so I could go find her, out among the waves, waiting for me.

Joy handed me back the piece of brown gla.s.s and curled my fingers around it, then looked directly at me. ”I always loved the story of the mermaid tears best, though. It's stories like that that make the little things beautiful.”

I blinked and swallowed a lump. ”I knew that one. My mom actually told it to me a long time ago, and I kind of forgot until just now.” I looked down and traced a circle around a rock with my big toe, hoping she wouldn't notice my watery eyes.

Joy put her hand on my shoulder. ”Honey, I told Corinne that story, many years ago, almost in this same spot.” Air rushed out of me at the mention of my mother's name. I whipped my head up to face her. ”You knew my mother?” Her face softened. ”I sure did.” She stopped for a moment. ”She was around here a lot in the old days, and we got to know each other, on account of us both liking to walk the beach.”

I stared at her, a million questions surfacing in my mind. But I didn't trust my voice to ask any of them. Joy started walking, and I went with her, pulled, like the tide to the moon. She turned to me and laughed softly. ”You know, she learned all she knew about sea gla.s.s from me-from the best places to find it, to the rarest colors, to the story of the mermaids. She learned it from me, walking this same stretch of beach.” I could only nod, willing her to go on. I ceased to be aware of the wind and cold and walked as if I was underwater. Joy's voice and the prospect of hearing more about my mother were the only things that filtered through. She looked over at me, and I saw sympathy and concern, the two hardest things in the world for me to take. ”You look a lot like her, you know? Except for the brown eyes. That's your dad in you. Hers were the truest green I have ever seen. Sea green.”

”That's what everyone says.” I wiped my nose with my sweats.h.i.+rt sleeve. ”I wish I could really remember, on my own. We have a million pictures, but I feel like I don't have her in my mind without them. Just little bits, here and there.” Joy squatted down to pick up a frosty white piece of gla.s.s, and we kept walking.

”You do, somewhere in there.” We took a few steps in silence, and I wished that I believed her. ”You know the clearest picture I have in my mind of her?” I raised my head, interested. ”It was a day when we were walking around out here. She had come back for a visit, pregnant with you.” She smiled. ”She could barely bend over to pick anything up. All of a sudden she let out a scream, and I just about thought she was going into labor right here on the sand.” I felt the lump in my throat recede. ”I turned around, ready to holler for help, and saw her squatting down on the sand, arm stretched out behind her, like to steady herself.”

”What was it?”

”Well, it wasn't labor that she was screamin' about. She had found herself a red piece of sea gla.s.s.” A split-second image flashed in my mind. My mom letting me hold her red piece of gla.s.s, her telling me it was the rarest color. ”It wasn't just a crumb, like I've found. It was a real beauty. She had a lucky eye that day.” Joy's sunburned face creased as she smiled, and I saw her for someone genuine who had probably meant something to my mother.

”Hm.” I brought my hand to the thin chain around my neck. ”I have a piece of red. Did you ever hear of moongla.s.s?”

”Can't say I have.”

”Well, I think it's something we made up, my mom and me.” I pulled out the red pendant and held it away from my neck. Joy stopped walking and let the gla.s.s rest in her hand, just beneath my chin.

”It's beautiful,” she said, rubbing her thumb over the smooth surface. ”No rough edges at all. Moongla.s.s?” she asked, letting it fall to my sweats.h.i.+rt.

”Yeah.” I looked down at it. ”When we lived up in Pismo and my dad worked nights, my mom and I would sometimes go for walks when there was a full moon and the tide was low. And one night I bent down to pick up what I thought was a rock, because I used to like to collect those, too, but it was a piece of sea gla.s.s. Since we were out at night, we called it moongla.s.s.”

”I've never thought to look for it at night,” Joy said. ”But that makes sense. A full moon brings the lowest tide, so that'd be the perfect time to look.” She nodded at the necklace. ”Was that the piece you found? Don't tell me you found a red piece of gla.s.s on the beach at night.”

”No.” I looked down at the sand. ”Not that night. But it is a piece of moongla.s.s.” I paused. ”I found this one on another night. Just lying out in the middle of the wet sand, all by itself. The lights from the pier were s.h.i.+ning off it.” I moved it from side to side on the chain and looked down at the ground. ”My dad had a hole drilled in it and made it into a necklace a while after. It's the one and only red piece I have.”

Joy stooped down to pick up another green one, just as I saw it. ”Well, honey, you keep that one close to you. That's a lucky treasure indeed. Probably was fresh from a mermaid on her way back out to sea.” A wave of nausea washed over me just as the cool water rushed up over our feet. I shut my eyes for a moment, willing it away. When I opened them, a movement just in my peripheral vision made me turn.

It was the crawling man. He was just as I had seen him before, bent in a painful-looking bear crawl, head down, crosses swinging and pulling at his wrinkled neck. Joy noticed me looking and shook her head sympathetically.

”Never misses a Sunday. It could be pouring rain with waves thundering down onto the beach and hurricane winds, and he'll be out here, as predictable as the moon or tides. Every Sunday.”

He didn't acknowlledge us as he pa.s.sed by but kept on his slow, methodical pace with resolve. I tilted my head to try to get a glimpse of his face, but it was shadowed except for the silver stubble on his chin. ”Have you ever talked to him?” Joy chewed her lip and continued to watch him. ”No. He doesn't talk to anyone. I figure he doesn't think he deserves to. See that? His s.h.i.+rt?” I nodded.