And The Sea Called Her Name(3)

Meanwhile I still hadn’t found work. The days in the boat were long and tiresome but became a routine that I’d forgotten from my youth. One morning, as I splashed hot water on my face in the dim dawn light, I looked into the mirror and saw my father staring back at me. I had his same chin and hadn’t shaved in several days so the stubble bore a resemblance to the short beard he’d worn. I left the bathroom that morning on legs that were partially unstable. Looking back I wonder if somewhere in the sleeping place that resides within everyone’s mind I knew something was coming. It is beyond instinct, that area within our psyche that has never truly awakened after being lulled into a slumber through the centuries since we stepped out of the jungle and began to fashion tools to protect ourselves. I believe at times it opens its eyes as a warning and that’s all we get from it before it submerges again into the depths of the unconscious.

When I came home that night from fishing, Del wasn’t in the house. I called for her after dropping my gear in the entryway, and when she didn’t answer I made my way through the dining room and into the kitchen. At first her absence didn’t alarm me since she sometimes came in late, her new responsibilities keeping her past quitting time. I walked to the fridge and drew out a cold beer from the top shelf where we always kept a six-pack of our favorite brand. I was in the middle of the first lovely swallow when I saw her car keys and cell on the table. Taking the beer with me, I went to the single-stall garage off the right side of the house and popped the door open.

“Del?” I said into the darkness. When I turned the light on, her Toyota was parked in its usual spot, its windows black with no movement behind them. I cupped a hand to one just to make sure before exiting the garage and moving back to the house. I called her name again when I entered the kitchen. The only response was the soft ticking of the clock my mother had left behind. I climbed the stairs and checked our bedroom, as well as the guestroom, before walking out the back door to the yard.

The air was still warm for a late May evening, and I felt the sweat from the day begin to run anew as I jogged down to the rocks overlooking the beach. The narrow stretch of sand was a coffee-colored strip in the evening light. Garlands of seaweed were strung below the rocks in the impression of the latest tide. A white crab scuttled between the green tendrils, climbing up and over several before disappearing beneath a cracked stone. The rapid beat of my heart had little to do with the short run to the edge of our property. Panic had wormed its way into my stomach, creating the same cramping sensation as being struck in the groin. I scanned the vacant beach, looking for her from among the rocks, but there was nothing, only the answer of the sea to my yells. I ran to our closest neighbor’s home, an elderly man named Harold Broddinger, who was, at times, in and out of touch with reality. Most days he spent on his porch, watching the ocean as well as the road that curved past both our houses. He had little else to do since his wife had died giving birth to their daughter who was now in her forties. As I banged on his door, I prayed that Harold was having a good day and would know who I was speaking of when I asked about Del. After knocking for several minutes I realized that it was Tuesday. His son always drove up on Tuesday afternoons to take him out to dinner in Portland, and tonight was no exception. I cursed under my breath and returned to our home, already running through a list of people to call when something to the left caught my eye

I turned and froze, my guts sinking in on themselves.

The sea was fairly calm and the last of the daylight played on the water from the west. I stared at the spot that had drawn my attention and waited, hoping against what my eyes had told my mind they’d seen.

It had looked like a person had been bobbing in the water, only their shoulders and head visible. But when I turned there was nothing, only the empty expanse of ocean reaching out into the gathering dark that crept in from the east.

I was climbing down the stone path to the beach before I even knew I was moving, shedding my shirt and shoes as I ran. When I reached the surf, I took two leaping strides into the water and dove under. As I swam toward the spot where I had seen the figure, I tried to undo the image with explanations of a surfacing seal or possibly a chunk of driftwood that had floated up from the bottom, but they both disintegrated as I ran through the split second that the person had been visible. I knew it was a person in that briefest glimpse, and worse, I recognized who it had been.

The water was frigid despite the warm air, and I tried to ignore its freezing embrace as I neared the place where Del had been. I submerged, diving ten feet or more into the brackish water, my eyes stinging with the salt and cold. There was nothing below the surface but several boulders encased with scum, their gray-green humps like the backbone of some buried giant. I rose for breath and dove again, and again. Each time I broke the surface I scanned the water around me, hoping for Del’s face to be there, smiling at my needless frenzy. She loved to joke and had played numerous tricks on me, but why would she do this? Even her sense of humor had bounds.