The Art of Not Breathing(16)

“He might be down there,” I croaked.

“What did you do?” my father screamed.

Then Dillon was there too, screaming for Dad to let go. The three of us were drenched from the sea and the rain, and we howled together for what seemed like forever. I remember the grayness of my father’s face when he looked at me that day—it was like the color had been washed out.

“You’re not to come back here on your own, either of you. Do you hear? You’re not to come here again.”

“I just want to find him,” I cried as my father dragged me up the beach to the car park. “I need to say goodbye.”

From the warmth of the car, I watched Dillon run back down onto the pebbles. He scrabbled around on the stones like a dog searching for a bone until our father wrestled him back to the car too.





Later, the police came around. Dillon and I hid in the closet under the stairs, listening to our parents talking to them. We caught only a few words: “called off” and “too dangerous.” Then I heard my name and more murmuring. I opened the closet door slightly to hear the rest, and Dillon put his hand over my mouth.

“No, I’m sorry. You can’t talk to them. They’re too upset,” my father said. His voice was high-pitched. “We’ve told you everything. It happened so quickly, there was no time . . .”

Dillon pulled the door closed, and everything was muffled again.

“Aren’t they looking for him anymore?” I asked Dillon.

“Shhh.”

“He’ll be so scared.”

“He won’t be scared now,” Dillon replied.

“He will.”

Dillon put his hand over my mouth again and said that we couldn’t let them hear us. Then he whispered very quietly that an angel would guide Eddie back to us. After a few minutes, I said, “Dillon, I’m not four. I know there aren’t any angels. And Eddie knows it too. He also knows that there is no Santa or tooth fairy.”

“You told him?”

I shrugged, even though it was dark and Dillon couldn’t see.

“Dillon?”

“What?”

“I couldn’t see Dad anywhere.”

“Shhh.”

“Dillon, where did he go?”

“He was there. You looked in the wrong place.”

A cloud of dust made me choke, but Dillon wouldn’t let me get out of the closet, even though I needed the loo as well and was really hungry. We hadn’t eaten since breakfast the day before.

“Dillon?”

“What?”

“It’s my fault. I was the one who lost him.”

“No.” Dillon shook my shoulders so hard, I almost cried out. “This wasn’t your fault. You mustn’t ever say anything like that to anyone. It was an accident. Promise me that you won’t say a word to anyone.”

I promised and drew an imaginary zip across my lips. I didn’t know then that our silence would last for a year. I followed Dillon’s lead—he would let me know when it was safe to talk again. When, after a few months, we still refused to speak, Mum started telling everyone that we had chronic laryngitis. We drank a lot of cough medicine that year and had frequent trips to see doctors, who kept asking us how we felt.

After the police had gone, we crawled out of the closet, but our parents were still talking.

“Why him?” my father said. “Why did it have to be him?”





15



ON SATURDAY I HEAD STRAIGHT TO THE HARBOR. I HEAR THE boat boys before I see them. Their voices rise and fall with the waves, a clash of different tones, all trying to be the loudest. When I turn in to the harbor, I see one of them—Rex, I think, judging by the amount of hair—dive off the harbor wall. His legs fly straight up into a V as he tucks his head down. He seems suspended for a second, a black star shape against the white puffy sky. Then he falls with a soft splash, and there’s a dull whoop from the others. Someone shouts, “Me next!”

The sky is so bright, I have to squint, but I see two more people on the wall. Tay is definitely one of them—I recognize the slope of his shoulders—and the other one looks like Joey. Danny, the mean one, isn’t there, thank God, unless he’s already in the water. I bury my chin in my jacket to shield my face from the wind and follow the mud path down toward them. I glance over at the clubhouse, but the door is closed and I can’t see in.

“Elsie!” Tay shouts as I climb the steps up onto the harbor wall. His wetsuit is shiny, his cheeks are flushed. “Watch this.” He flicks his cigarette away and launches himself into the air. I hold my breath as he twists and turns, spinning again and again before disappearing down into the water.

Joey is next. He steps off and dive-bombs straight down, sending a flurry of waves crashing into the side of the seawall. “Knob,” I hear Tay call. They climb up the ladder, and their rubber booties make wet footprints on the wall.

“You can be our judge, Elsie. Whose jump was best?” Tay sprawls out on the wall and lights up.

I take one of his cigarettes and sit next to him.

“Help yourself,” he says sarcastically, shaking the water from his head. His hair puffs up, and I try not to laugh.

“Are you not going out on the boat?” I ask, wondering which boat is theirs.