Chasing at the Surface. Sharon Mentyka
Marisa, that’s not what I’m say—”
“You don’t care about anything anymore! Not Dad, or me or anything! So just go!”
“Honey, please. I need to—”
“Take all the time you want! I don’t care if you EVER come back! GO!”
With that last scream, I scrunched down in bed, pulled the covers over my head, and didn’t move again until after I heard the bedroom door close.
Long minutes passed. I waited there in the dark, my brain zipping back and forth between being so angry my body couldn’t stop shaking and another part thinking I should jump up and run into the hall after her. I kept waiting for the door to open again, waiting for Mom to come back in, smooth my hair and tell me everything was going to be okay, she wasn’t going anywhere, she was staying right there with me. I waited and waited, until I fell asleep waiting.
When I woke up, I could feel it—she was gone. An empty space opened up someplace deep inside me, filled with a fluttery fear that’s stayed trapped inside ever since. For days, my mind raced, thinking surely she’d come back soon. But she didn’t.
I’ve taken to counting the slats on the old houseboat ceiling, so I already know there are eighteen going from left to right, but now I count them again anyway. From the tiny window set at eye level to my bed, I can just see the edge of the Narrows as it curves up toward the open inlet and the tip of the Warren Avenue Bridge. I lay silent, trying to steady my breathing. Outside, the sky goes from deep purple to near black and the moon begins its slow rise.
Across the room, on my dresser, an envelope sits propped against the oval mirror. That next morning, when I woke up to find Mom had really gone, I also found that letter, written with one of Mom’s favorite blue felt-tip pens. I read it at lightning speed in an angry blur of emotions, then shoved it back into its envelope.
Since that morning, I’ve reread that letter probably fifty times looking for some clue, some reason why she really left. I’ve got the whole darn thing memorized and could recite it out loud right now to you, down to her last two words.
But there’s nothing in it that explains anything. I groan and sink back on my bed. I don’t need any more letters from Mom that don’t make any sense. One is enough.
––––
M—
I knew this would be hard, but it’s so much worse than I expected. I’ve rewritten this letter a dozen times and still it doesn’t feel right. Writing words no one would want to read. They would sound every bit as wrong if I were saying them to you in person.
Something happened to me years ago, M. Something I never expected. I don’t know how I’ve managed to avoid it all these years, but I can’t avoid it any longer. Have you ever done that? Pretended something would just go away? It’s so easy to do. I thought that with time, things would change. And they did, but not the way I’d planned.
I’ve been given a second chance, M, and I need to find the courage to take it.
Do you remember how we used to love to walk across the Warren Ave Bridge and look all up and down the inlet? How sometimes, it was only from that vantage point that we could tell which direction the salmon were running? Well, it’s taken me 24 years and 1,140 miles to finally see which way I was running. I can’t go back in time and change what happened, but I can make it right now. And I’m beginning to think that’s the only way for me to move forward, by looking back.
I love you, Marisa. I’ll write again, I promise. Trust me.
And I’m coming back. Trust me on that, too.
Be good, Mom
CHAPTER 3
Orca Day 2
Marisa. Honey … wake up.”
Dad sits on the edge of my bed, lightly scratching my back, his special way of waking me since I was a little girl. The tiny window facing the bay is still dark.
“What time is it?” I ask, my voice groggy. Waking up still doesn’t feel the same. A minute of calm, then a rush of remembering.
“Just six,” Dad says. “Tal phoned. He wants me in early.”
Tal Reese owns Mud Bay Kayak Center, where Dad’s the manager. But before Mom left, Dad had his own carpentry projects too. Now it feels like he’s always going in to Mud Bay early or staying late. I wonder sometimes if we both avoid each other for the same reasons.
I shiver and pull the covers closer around me. Sometimes living on this houseboat is like being in the water instead of just on it. The ancient heater either delivers hot, dry air or it hardly works at all. In spite of everything, living here might actually be kind of fun except it only happened after Mom left.
“Listen,” Dad continues as he rubs my back, “I have some good news.”
I’m instantly awake, waiting to hear that Mom’s back, sitting at our little kitchen counter, drinking a cup of tea.
“A bunch of whales are swimming around in the inlet. Seems people have been calling and leaving messages since last night to reserve boats. That sure doesn’t happen every day, huh?”
Even without looking, I can tell Dad is smiling. I sink back into my pillow, disappointed, and try to think of what to say.
“Hey, I know it’s a school day, but what do you think about coming along? Remember that camp you went to up in the San Juans a couple summers ago? You came home pretty psyched.” Dad shifts on the bed and chuckles to himself. “Plastered your walls with pictures and those pod genealogies … all sorts of stuff.”
The chilly morning and Dad’s memory stir up the familiar tug of missing what I don’t have anymore. I lie there quiet in my cold bed, and part of me wants so much to throw myself into Dad’s arms and just cry. But then Dad will want to “talk.” I haven’t been in the mood to talk for a long time.
“I kidded you no end that you must have been a whale in a previous life—thick black hair, white skin, just like—” he stops, realizing where his talk has gotten him. “Anyway …” he coughs. “You up for it?” He starts rubbing my back again but I squirm out from underneath and roll onto my side to face the wall.
Has he forgotten who really loved whales? Who would have been crazy with excitement if she were here?
“Umm, I don’t think so,” I mutter into my pillow. “Today’s our science unit exam,” I lie.
“Well … this is kind of science in action.”
After a long minute, Dad bends down and kisses the top of my head and I feel myself relax. I know he won’t argue. Dad never argues, not even when Mom said she needed to leave. Not one fight. I still can’t believe how this all happened without any fights. Neither of us fought for Mom to stay.
I shift in my bed, restless. For a long time, feeling angry seemed safer than feeling anything else, but now mostly what I’m really feeling is confused.
I can still see them both standing there, holding hands, telling me everything will be okay. Trust us, they said. Mom just needs some time. For the hundredth time, I’m certain I must have missed something. Otherwise, it doesn’t make any sense. Mom says she needs time to figure stuff out. Dad says sure, fine. And that’s it? She leaves, we move to the marina, and everything in our lives changes?
Maybe they did all their fighting when I wasn’t around. Or maybe it was something else totally, something too horrible to tell. Was Mom already married to somebody else when she met Dad? Is that why she’s keeping the truth from him too, even now? Or is she running from the law? I barely know where she grew up—somewhere in California—she was always vague about it. And I never knew my grandparents, which is too bad, because if they were still alive, I’d call them up right