Girl Out of Water(17)

At one point Lincoln joined us, standing next to me in comfortable silence, watching the twins grind halfway down the rail before falling off. After observing for a bit, he called them over, crouched down to their level, and started talking and gesturing at the rail. He even got on the rail himself once, the twins watching with steadfast attention as he smoothly slid across the metal, flipping his board at the end before landing with a solid thwack on the ground.

During this maneuver, he also managed to, I shit you not, wink at me, dimple flashing as he smiled. I wanted to say something along the lines of nice wink, stalker, but by the time the thought formed and I stopped blushing, he was already waving good-bye and skating back to his brother.

I look back toward the park path, and Emery comes around the curve of the trail, walking her bike next to two other girls about her age. They look like they should be on the cover of some preteen magazine, all in bright summer dresses and wearing complicated hairstyles designed to look uncomplicated. I feel a pang for my girlfriends back home. Tess, Cassie, Marie, and I could be walking down the beach right now, gossiping about all the wonderfully meaningless shit that happened today. Maybe Spinner, the biggest gossip of them all, would even join in. My fingers itch to text them, but to say what? Besides, I’m supposed to FaceTime with Cassie tonight. We’ll catch up then.

I almost tell Emery to hurry up because I know Dad will be waiting with news of Aunt Jackie’s surgery. He texted me a little bit ago saying all good at hospital, low battery, be home soon. I’m sure the rest of the surgery went fine yet worry sticks to the back of my mind. Still, I let Emery take her time walking over to us. I don’t want to embarrass her by insisting she hurry up. Dad and I have always had a pretty tight relationship, but I remember being a mortified twelve-year-old when he would talk to my friends like he was their pal. No way am I going to do the same thing to Emery.

But then Nash shouts, “Emery!” and zooms over to her with all the energy of someone who hasn’t been skating for hours and proceeds to forget how to stop with all the coordination of someone who has never skated, crashing into Emery’s friends with enough momentum to hurtle all of them to the ground in a jumble, and I realize my speaking to her friends is low on the list of potential humiliations.

I run over to mediate the situation, Parker trailing at my heels, but by the time I get there, Emery’s friends are already on their feet and walking back into the park. One turns and gives a halfhearted wave, but the other doesn’t even glance back. My friends would never react like that. They’d laugh it off and probably even give Nash a high five. But I’ve been friends with the same people my entire life. Maybe Emery’s friendships are new—tender.

As soon as the girls round the corner, Emery turns on Nash and the screaming begins.

“You’re so annoying! Why would you do that? God, you’re embarrassing! Why can’t you be more like Parker?”

Her words are quick and harsh. Nash sits on the pavement, staring at the ground, his face red and his eyes welling with tears. I don’t know what to do, but I have to do something. I try to channel Dad’s Zen-ittude.

“Um, Emery.” I place a hand on her shoulder, which she shoves away. I don’t blame her. Who wants a hand on the shoulder when your mom is in the hospital, and on top of that, your brother just embarrassed the fuck out of you? “Look,” I continue, “I’m sure Nash is very sorry for what happened. It was an accident. Right, Nash?”

“Yeah,” Nash says with a quiet sniffle. Oh god. Did he really just sniffle? I do not know how to take care of sniffling kids. What on earth gave Aunt Jackie and Dad the idea that I’m responsible enough to deal with sniffling kids? “I’m sorry.”

I’m preparing for the worst—another outburst from Emery, perhaps even some physical altercation in retribution for her friends—but instead she pauses, takes a slow breath, then leans down and rubs Nash’s shaggy hair. “It’s fine. Never mind. I’m sorry for yelling. Come on. Let’s go home.”

Nash hesitates then grabs her offered hand. She tugs him to his feet, and all three kids start toward home, leaving me openmouthed behind them. Did we really just avert World War Three in all of five seconds? Is this normal sibling behavior? I guess I should embrace it, rather than standing around second-guessing my good fortune.

“Right,” I say, even though no one is close enough to hear it. “Let’s go home.”

? ? ?

As we round the corner to our street—I mean, their street because my street is back in Santa Cruz and has an ocean attached to it—I notice Dad sitting on the front stoop, dressed in his running gear, an electronic cigarette perched between two fingers. He gave up smoking years ago, but he still pulls out one of these when he gets stressed. I tense at the sight. What if the surgery…

I try to read his facial expression, but he’s kind of far away and also I’m shit at reading facial expressions.

“Hey.” I turn to my cousins. “Why don’t you guys go inside and get showered, and I’ll get dinner ready?”

“But we want to know how Mom is,” Nash says.

“Yeah, how’s Mom?” Parker asks.

My shoulder muscles tighten. I also want to know how she is. But bad news can wait, and good news will still be good news a few minutes from now.

When I don’t answer, Nash asks again, loud enough that the words carry over the quiet street. “How. Is. Mom?”