When We Collided(20)
“Hey!” Jonah calls from our little camp. “Sunscreen.”
The troops report back and assemble, Bekah digging into the cooler Jonah brought. She examines the Popsicle packaging, looking for the colors beneath the white paper, dark berry and tangerine.
“Do you think they make mango Popsicles? Passion fruit?” I ask, smearing more SPF 100 onto my arms and legs.
“Or pomegranate?” Bekah examines her pineapple Popsicle. “I bet Jonah could make them.”
I look back at Jonah, my eyes hidden by big cat-eye sunglasses. Leah’s rubbing sunscreen onto her nose while Jonah gets the back of her arms. He takes out her low ponytail, gathering her hair into a little bun at the top of her head. It’s sloppy but second nature, his hands twisting the hair tie. The sweetness aches somewhere in my ribs. It could wreck a girl—this handsome guy, shirtless in the summer sun, making sure his little sister’s neck won’t get burned.
For most of the day, his eyes stay on the littles—watching Leah splash at the edge of the water, supervising the sand-castle construction, and anticipating fights. He’s always reading their moods and needs, and it’s only once in a while that I catch his eyes on me. But when I do, he gives me a slow smile, like we’re both in on a secret. Jonah Daniels and his gaze are enough to make a girl feel like she emerged from a huge seashell in the middle of the ocean, like the painting of Venus, surrounded by sea foam. And maybe I did; I don’t remember being born, and I wouldn’t put it past my painter-mother to pull it off.
Also, I’m not going to pretend like I don’t look fabulous in my bathing suit. It’s a polka-dotted one-piece that covers up an ill-advised tattoo, with a halter top that does my chest a serious favor. I wear a thousand bangles on my left wrist for panache.
We splash and we reapply sunscreen and we cover Isaac in sand, sculpting a mermaid tail for him. Our hours at the beach melt together like the box of sticky Popsicles, and when it’s time to leave, I walk a few yards away to finish the last item on my beach to-do list. Using a small branch Isaac found for me in the banks between the shore and cliff line, I spell out careful letters in the sand—Vivi was here—even though I know the tide will rip my memorial away.
“Another one?” Jonah’s by my side, admiring my handiwork. I guess he’s seen me do this before. Earlier in the week, I convinced Jonah to plant more flowers in the backyard of his house. We helped the littles dig with spades, and I told them about biology and sunflowers and sprouts, and I made some of it up, but that’s okay. On our last seeds—zinnias—I took a scrap of receipt paper from my purse and scribbled Vivi was here on the edge. Then I buried it in the dark soil alongside the brand-new almost plants. Once they grow, I’ll still be in there somewhere. We were so dirt-covered when the plants were finally all in the ground, but we took turns under an outdoor shower that Jonah said their family hadn’t used in years. An outdoor shower—beach living at its magical, practical best. Like making a rainstorm whenever you want one.
“Viv.” Jonah nudges my arm with his elbow, bringing me back to him. “Why is that? All the you-were-heres?”
“Because it’s all so fleeting, isn’t it? The ocean existed so long before us and will stay long after us—most trees, too, and some animals. Isn’t that crazy? My dress collection will live longer than I ever will.” I can’t help the sigh that slips out. Oh, how I’d love to be eternal in one life. “I’m just looking for some kind of permanence, so my mark will linger on the world once I’m gone, in the places where I found joy. Does that make any sense?”
He places his hands in the pockets of his swim trunks and rocks on his heels. He’s wearing black shades, but I can tell he’s still studying the ridges of each line, each letter. “Yeah. I’ve just never thought about it like that before.”
There. Right there. Some kind of pain is pressing itself into Jonah’s skin—a cigarette burn for each time he thinks of it—and I am ready to know what it is. The anticipation of being alone together grows like steam in the air. But that heat is not why I need to get him alone—at least, not at first. It’s because I want to know if he’s ready to tell me about the pulsing sadness that I feel in this beautiful family, an undercurrent beneath us.
By the time we walk home, the sun is descending into a sherbet sky, and I have a plan. Leah is asleep on Jonah’s shoulder, little mouth hanging open a bit. Bekah and Isaac are tiny, exhausted zombies lumbering toward their own front door. I love the Daniels residence, which is tucked back from the street, surrounded by low trees that are so deep green they look almost blue. When I asked, Jonah said the house is a Craftsman bungalow, but all I know is that it’s white and homey. Especially with fireflies hovering around the yard, the image that comes to mind is a magic cottage in a fairy tale.
“There you guys are.” Silas leans against the open front door. “I was starting to think the ocean swallowed you up.”
Isaac ducks in, and Bekah’s behind him, setting our huge beach bag in the foyer. When Jonah sets Leah down, she stands on her own but keeps her eyes closed. Silas chuckles, scooping her up, and he turns to go inside.
“Let’s not go in.” I catch Jonah’s hand in mine. He startles a little, like I’ve broken a barrier between us. “Silas and Naomi can take it from here. Let’s go get ice cream for dinner, just us.”