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I grit my teeth and squeeze the railing as we hit another wave. Daisy drops her phone on the deck with a curse and a cute boy with auburn hair and a brilliant smile swoops in from nearby and grabs it for her. I roll my eyes as she giggles and plays with her hair. He’s staring at her like she’s the best thing he’s ever seen.
Jealousy pulses through my insides.
What would it feel like to have someone look at me like that?
Water hits the side of the boat and sprays all over my face. And I’ve honestly had enough. “I’m going to wait inside,” I tell them, not waiting for an answer as I hustle to the doorway that leads to the near empty inside. Every normal person is out there on the railing, enjoying the view and the fresh air.
I slide into a hard, plastic bench seat, the coolness of the plastic seeping into my damp shorts. I wrap my arms around myself, muttering affirmations inanely like that’ll help me overcome my fears.
For about the millionth time, I curse my father, Grant Ames, for setting me up so well for life in a seaside town.
“It’s a beautiful fucking day today, little bird,” my father hollers as he starts our old rusted boat and sets off for the open water.
I cling to the edges of the boat, terror gripping my insides as the waves dash against the sides. It is not a beautiful “fucking” day. The high winds alone are alarming, and if Mom knew that I was in this sketchy boat alone with my irresponsible father, she would definitely be freaking out.
But that’s my dad for you. A force of nature that relishes in skirting the edges of disaster. And I have never said anything to discourage his behavior because I want to be around him.
My hair smacks my face, while salt water sprays my skin as we keep smacking into wave after wave. Each time the boat hits one, I’m bounced off my seat.
“Hold on!” he yells, his face lifting to the wind as he lets out a loud “whoop” that I can hear even with the cacophony of noises assaulting my ear drums.
And that’s when it happens, right after he says it, a particularly violent wave blasts the front of the boat and I lose my grip on the sides and tumble…overboard.
I lose my breath as I hit the icy water, inhaling a barrel of it down my throat as I crash under the surface into its dark depths. I kick my legs furiously and, miraculously, a second later get my head above water. The boat isn’t turning around; he hasn’t even noticed I’m gone yet.
“Dad!” I try to scream, but unlike my father’s voice, mine gets caught in the elements and I doubt someone next to me could have heard my cry.
I’m not a strong swimmer, never have been. Swimming for me consists of doggy paddling, and I’m even crap at that. Add the fact that I’m also not wearing a life jacket, and my clothes are so heavy, they feel like an anchor pulling me down. I’m having what can only be described as a panic attack. I’m treading water the best I can, but I’m so cold that with each wave, I end up sinking under the surface once again.
The boat finally starts to turn around, but it is so far away…and I’m so tired.
Just then, a huge wave crashes over me, pushing me much farther under the surface than the previous ones have. I struggle to kick my feet but in my panic, I breathe in another huge gulp of water and…
I begin to sink, the dim light of the surface above me fading as I fall through the water.
And I wonder as I drown…if anyone will even miss me.
“Sky!” Daisy’s voice cuts through the noise in my head, coaxing me to come back to the present. Suddenly, I realize we’ve somehow managed to dock in the time I’d been lost in my tumultuous thoughts. “Ready to go?” she asks, examining me closely when I refuse to move.
I shake my head, trying to clear away the bad memories as I give her an awkward smile.
“Ready,” I try to say cheerfully, but I know my sister can see right through me. She links her arm through mine and we walk back on deck where we follow our eager mother off the boat and down the ramp to the dock.
“Clara!” a deep voice rumbles from a few feet away. I turn in the direction of the voice, only to see a tall, rugged-looking man with a thick, maroon cable-knit sweater and wavy dirty blond hair come rushing towards us with long strides.
He comes to a stop awkwardly a few steps away, obviously unsure of what he is supposed to do since my sister and I are here. My mother has no such worries, flinging herself at him, her arms wrapping around his neck as she lets out a tinkling laugh. He wraps her up in his arms and lifts her so her toes are dangling above the ground. They stare at each other for an absurdly long stretch, obviously in love, and Daisy and I exchange incredulous glances.
When they both finally remember that we are also standing here, Curt sets my mother down. She grabs his hand and turns towards us proudly.
“This is Curt,” she gushes. “Curt, these are my babies!”
My mother instantly seems ten years younger at this very moment, a soft light wrapped around her.
Is this what everyone looks like when they’re in love? I can’t remember mom ever acting this way when she was with our dad.
“Nice to meet you,” greets Daisy, in a posh, British accent, holding out her hand for him to take like she’s the Queen of England.
My mother sighs, feigning annoyance, but Curt lets out a deep, amused belly laugh as he takes my sister’s hand and shakes it.
