“She has to work through it. She’s already calmer. I didn’t hear her sneak into your room last night to check on you.”
I laugh around a bite of my spaghetti. Mom’s been coming into my room at least twice each night, resting a hand on my chest for several seconds before she tiptoes back to the stairs and goes up to the third story where their room is.
I nod, hopeful Maggie is right. And then allow the silence that’s been following me for weeks with hundreds of unsaid words hanging over us as we discuss the weather and politics and things that matter, just none of them nearly as much as her leaving.
Later that day, I take Maggie to the aquarium. I haven’t seen anyone since before my accident, and though they sent flowers and have sent text messages, I fear to see everyone. Will they be mad that I was irresponsible and offer the job opportunity to someone else who didn’t make an impulsive decision that proved to be hazardous?
“I feel like I’ve corrupted you,” Maggie tells me as I park.
“You have,” I lie. In reality, I feel the weight of the past couple of weeks adding up and becoming this giant shadow, one I just need to evade for today.
Inside, we head to the break room, quickly finding Greta, the manager of the aquarium, tucked away in her small office, looking over some X-rays. I knock twice on her opened door.
“Rae!” She’s out of her seat and coming toward me in a second, hugging me in the next. “Oh, I’m so glad to see you.” She holds me at arm’s length, examining me like so many have. “How are you feeling?”
“I feel great. Truly.”
She exhales, like hearing this is a relief. “You know, it’s a good thing the water was so cold that night. If it had been warmer, I fear what the outcome might have been.”
She’s right. The coldness that seemed to have soaked inside of me, causing me to remain continually freezing, is actually what I can thank for my life.
“How’s Blue?” Lois has sent me several messages claiming he’s doing well, but for some reason, I need to hear confirmation from Greta.
Greta blinks several times before waving a hand inches from her face, her eyes misting with tears. “I can’t wait to see his reaction to you.”
Her comment throws me off. My fear at her tears was so automatic, my own eyes clouded, expecting terrible news. My shoulders fall as my eyes close.
“Lois swears he saved you,” Greta continues. “She said he got super upset, and all the dolphins were really vocal and then started diving into the water.” She looks at me for confirmation.
I shake my head. “I honestly don’t remember anything,” I tell her.
A fleeting look of disappointment has her lips thinning. “It doesn’t matter. Regardless, I bet Blue’s going to go crazy when he sees you.”
“I just hope he doesn’t think I was involved in him getting hurt.” I didn’t even realize it was a fear until I say the words aloud.
Greta shakes her head adamantly. “No. Don’t forget; dolphins are smart. He knew you were there to save him, just like he knew you were in trouble.” She pulls me into another hug, this one not as tight, but longer, imparting something that feels almost like gratitude.
“Oh, Greta, I’m sorry,” I say, glancing at Maggie, who’s watching us with rapt attention, an outsider to this massive portion of my life. “This is my sister, Maggie.”
Greta throws her arms open to hug her as well. “It’s so great to meet you,” she says.
Maggie smiles affectionately. “It’s nice to meet you, too. It’s great to see Rae has such a good support system here with so many that share the same love and passion.”
“We plan to keep her as long as she’ll stay,” Greta says, assuring that niggling voice in my head that continues reprimanding my actions.
“When you’re ready to come out, we’re all interested to see how Blue reacts. Oh, and the best news, we saw all three orca pods this past week.”
Anticipation makes my eyes grow wide. “Really?”
She nods, a reflection of excitement shining in her eyes. “And they all seemed to be in good health from what we could see.”
“That’s amazing. Maggie’s leaving on Tuesday, so after that, I’ll be back.”
Greta smiles again. “Be sure to say hi to Joel. He’s been worried about you, and I keep telling everyone to leave you alone so you can heal and come back to work.”
We do. We stop and see Joel and several others, and each meeting is uncomfortable since I have to retell the same shortlist of my physical injuries as well as my even shorter list of memories. Yet somehow, when all is said and done, there’s a sense of comfort in the process, and the fact they still see me the same as before. They fill me in on the new grant we were approved for that will allow us more funds toward the sea lions that continue to be killed along the coast by angry fishermen, who view them as competition to their livelihood.
We spend the afternoon at home with Grandpa and Camilla, watching Harry Potter four and five, eating a lasagna Camilla brought over with fresh French baguettes Grandpa baked that are still warm.
It’s perfect, and I never want the day to end. Things are falling back into place, assurances giving me hope.
And then it all goes to hell with a single text.
Poppy: I just ran into Paxton. He invited us to go out tomorrow. No excuses. You owe me.
5
Lincoln
If I were a betting man, I’d say the chick in front of me, pressing her body firmly against mine, has breasts as fake as the smile she’s trying to pass on to me. I’ll give her bonus points for attempting to appear genuine, though.
Her smile. Not her breasts.
Don’t get me wrong; I have nothing against gummy bears. My grandma battled breast cancer when I was twelve and underwent a full mastectomy, followed by breast augmentation. No judging here. But, this chick wants people to notice them, and that’s why her shirt is so low and thin, exposing the full form of her breasts. “Hey, President,” she purrs. “How’s school going?”
School is the last fucking thing on my mind as of late. Too many contesting thoughts have made classes exceptionally mundane as I work to focus my attention on two things: making sure my game is on point and forgetting about Raegan Lawson. Thankfully, the gym and the field seem to help like a medication, providing me an outlet that dims the temptation to pick up my phone and call her. But that’s not what this girl or anyone else wants to hear. They want me to tell them that my year has been nothing short of perfection, my days filled with classes and my nights with football and workouts, and the girls who ask want to hear I noticed and remember them.
I also wish this alternate reality was real. But it’s about as real as her breasts.
I smile. “It’s been great. How has school been treating you?”
She leans forward, laughing though I haven’t said anything to warrant humor.
Someone clears their throat, drawing my attention. It’s Poppy. She stares at me, arms crossed over her chest. My knowledge of Poppy could fit on a notecard. She’s Raegan’s best friend. She has a really loud laugh. Her expressions expose her feelings at all times. And, like Raegan, she’s a “good girl.”