Page 9 of The Wild Beneath

Mara coaxes Annie out while rubbing her tear-stained arms. Her presence calms the chaos and dampens the noise, until Annie can sit up and open her eyes. Mara pulls her from the floor and holds her in her arms. She doesn’t put her down until they’re on the beach next to the wharf. Then she takes off Annie’s shoes and socks, pulls her braid free from the elastic, runs her fingers through to release her long, tawny hair.

Annie dashes over the sand, back to her scuttling shore crabs, the sea sponges that suck briny water in and out. Back in the tide pools with the curious minnows. Her favourite delicate sand dollars remain snug in the sandy earth. She finds a sea star and tells him what happened to her in class. She gets all her tears out.

She tells him about the boy with chocolate eyes.

Then she races over the cold, salty rocks in her bare feet.

Eventually, she settles in Mara’s lap in the cockpit ofAmphitrite. Her mother croons a song. The world is right again and the world hums again, back in orbit.

By the next afternoon,Amphitritesails. Annie floats in the sea under the blue sky, fathoms of water stretched beneath her.

Chapter 5

Now

Annie wakes.

She expects the slatted cedar walls of Amphitrite’s berth, the rise and fall of tide beneath her. Instead: solid earth, painted white walls, a pine tree brushing against the window. She’s in a real bed. These moments around sleep have jagged edges. Before sleep or just after sleep, she inhabits a place where her entire world hasn’t ended. Then her mind orients painfully, remembering where she is, what day it is, what happened.

Then she recalls the boy down the hall in the living room. That sweet thrumming is gone. She throws on one of Ruth’s sweaters and tiptoes out into the hallway.

He’s no longer on the couch where they left him, attached to the bag of fluid on the lamp pole. She runs her hand over the blanket that’s been left scrunched in a heap. It’s cool and empty. Loose IV tubing snakes between her bare feet on the floor.

As she steps toward the window, she spots him swimming in the sea, at least a hundred metres from the cabin. The tide is lowish, garbage rolling in the distant surf. His head bobs in the water. She presses her palms against the windowpane, as if she could rescue him again from here.

“Did you sleep?” Ruth is up. She stands over the kettle, a dish towel in one hand and her amethyst-coloured mug in the other.

“He’s swimming.” Annie’s eyes are glued to his shape in the water. “Why is he swimming?”

“He was out there when I woke up. I went down ten minutes ago.” The kettle whistles sharply. “But he was too far out to hear me. He looks stronger than we thought.”

“It’s freezing out there.”

“It’s freezing in here.” Ruth pours hot water. “Do you want some tea?”

Annie strides to the door and pulls on her boots. “Do you think he knows about the undertow?”

She’s out the door before Ruth has a chance to respond. She needs him to not freeze or drown, firstly. And she wants to know why he’s swimming. She wants to know everything about him.

It’s the first time in days Annie has thought about anything except what happened. She climbs down the rope ladder and out onto the sand. A thin layer of mist hovers over the water. Pebbles press through the soles of her boots.

The sea has not returned her parents. But there’s this boy. His long arms arc through the swells. His shoulder blades move back and forth with each stroke.

Annie sits on the packed sand next to his discarded shirt. Her questions trip over each other: Who is he and where did he come from? Will he stay? And why does she care so much if he does?

Eventually, he wades out of the water, wearing the shorts from last night, hair dripping. Goosebumps cover his torso, but he isn’t shivering. He looks right at her, his expression untroubled.

“What were you doing swimming so far out?” Annie asks.

He sits down, his body dwarfing hers. He can’t seem to figure out what to do with his legs, bending and unbending hisknees, trying to figure out how to arrange his feet. Eventually, he mimics Annie’s crossed legs. And there’s that sound again. Why does the humming feel so good? It washes over her scalp and melts across her shoulders.

“Where did you come from?” she asks.

Still nothing.

He shifts until their arms touch. He’s warm. She likes the feel of him, the subtle pulse underneath his skin.

More than anything, she wants to hear his voice, as if the humming might be explained if she could hear him speak.