clean.
When I mention this to Miah, he says, “Shirley calls it dayclean, when the world kind of starts over.”
Like us, I think.
I breathe in the air, which is cool and light. By midmorning it will be as heavy as a wet blanket, but for now it feels good on my skin.
I say, “I have to write.” But the truth is, I’m already writing. My mind is reeling with all the images and words and scenes that are in it. I need to get them out of me and onto the page.
I wander for a minute until I find it, the perfect place to sit with the perfect view of the sunrise and the boy who is wandering the beach, this way and that, taking pictures.
* * *
—
Every now and then I look up to make sure he’s still there. I watch him as he wades into the water, as he kneels in the sand to get the angle he wants, as he covers the camera screen with his hand to check the photos he’s taking. He turns to look at me, as if he can feel me watching.
He laughs. “I see you, Captain.”
I write, I see you, Captain. I wish I could draw him with words and put him down on paper the way he looks right now, as if he’s part of the sunrise.
* * *
—
At some point—a click. I glance up, and there is Miah, lying on the ground, a few feet away, camera pointing at me. I’m so deep in me that it takes me a moment. There you are, I think. I’m glad you’re here.
Sometime later—who knows how long—he is standing in front of me, shirtless. “Come for a swim with me.”
“I can’t. I’m in it.” Even though I want to do both, stay and go.
“When do I get to read it?”
“Probably never.”
He laughs. “Okay,” he says. “Stay there.” And I know he means, Stay in it. He spins around and takes off running. The sky beyond him is blue and bright. When did the sun get here? As he runs, he tries to shuck off his shorts and nearly falls over. Click. I’m taking word pictures as he goes. Click. As he hollers, “Nothing to see here!” Click. As he’s running full speed again into the water. Click. Click. Click.
DAY 27
(PART TWO)
I sit at the general store, in one of the four chairs set up in a corner, and chew at a hangnail. The place is empty except for Terri behind the counter.
At noon exactly, my dad calls.
“Dad.”
“Hey, kiddo.”
I have no idea what I’m going to say or whether I’m going to mention the other woman, at least by name. I need to hear what he has to say first.
“I talked to your mother. Kiddo, I’m so sorry.” Not Clew. She is now your mother and I am apparently kiddo. “I’m sorry you found out this way and I’m sorry I told you not to talk about it and I’m sorry that I’ve let you down.”
My heart is pounding in my ears. If I can just get things back to normal, everything will be okay. My house will still be my house. My parents will still be my parents. Maybe my dad will not have fallen in love with Michelle from work and that will go back to normal too.
He says, “I wish I could be there.”
“Do you?”
“Yes—”
“Did you want to leave us before you did?”
“Clew…” And suddenly I’m Clew again. Oh no, I think. You can’t just throw that nickname out there like that, whenever you want to. Take it away, give it back. Take it away, give it back.
“Did you?”
“It’s complicated.”
“You met someone and you’re leaving Mom. That doesn’t sound very complicated.”
The line goes completely quiet.
“You told me there was no one else. You literally said, ‘It’s important that you know that.’ Why would you say it if it was a lie?”
“I’m sorry.”
It’s my turn to go quiet.
“Clew? Are you still there?”
“You know if you marry her, you’ll have to be a family again, right? You do realize that?”
The line goes silent again.
I give him plenty of time to respond. When he doesn’t, I say, “So I guess it really was us, wasn’t it? It’s not that you didn’t want a family. You just didn’t want our family.”
“It’s not like that. I never should have said that. I just didn’t know how to say it, and so I said it wrong.”
“Is it true you and Mom are selling the house?”
“We’re thinking