Dreaming Water

  But I don't hear a sound as I hurry through the house and onto the back deck. From there I can see that Hana and Josie are out on the grass, looking at the bushes where we buried the birds so many years ago. My tiny Hana, standing next to Josie, holding tightly on to her arm for balance. In one glance I can see that everything is fine. I quietly turn around and go back into the house.

  "Things seem to have gone well here," I say to Laura as she and I put the groceries away. Camille goes out to set up a game of Scrabble on the deck.

  "It's going to be okay," Laura says, just as pleased as I am. She hands me a bag of cookies. "I wasn't wrong to bring the girls, then?"

  I put the cookies down on the counter and give Laura a hug, holding her tight. Her body slowly relaxes in my grip, and I feel her hugging me back. "No, you weren't," I whisper into her ear. "Thank you, Laura. You can bring them back any time you like."

  When we finally pull apart, Laura asks, "How long does she have?"

  "A year of mobility, more or less, barring no major complications. And then, we'll see."

  Laura sighs. "With all the technology and discoveries they make every day, why can't they do something?" Her voice is anguished like a child's as she echoes the words that I've said or thought over and over since Werner entered our lives.

  "No one has the answer to that question," I say, unimaginably calm after all the years of hoping.

  When Hana was still young I thought that, by some act of God, a miracle drug would be developed and Werner would suddenly reverse itself. Like Sleeping Beauty, Hana would wake up young and beautiful. But as the years went by and the opposite effect developed, I lost hope, letting it go like ashes in the wind. Now I see that hope comes in many forms. Hana's body won't be saved, but her spirit has been.

  "We're not too late, then," Laura says, almost to herself. "I thought we might be too late when I first saw her."

  I stare out the window to see Hana flanked by Josie and Camille as they play Scrabble at the table on the deck. This is happiness, I think to myself as their laughter rings out.

  "No," I tell her. "You're just in time."

  HANA

  Full Circle

  While Cate and Laura make lunch, I play Scrabble with the girls. "International Scrabble," I announce, "in any language you want. Just like your mother and I used to play."

  "You're kidding!" Josie says, mixing the facedown wooden tiles and rolling her eyes at me.

  "That's not fair," Camille adds.

  Josie laughs. "I think it's great."

  "You would," Camille snaps back.

  "It gives us lots more choices," Josie says, picking from the mixed tiles and passing the box over for Camille and me to do the same.

  I watch the ordinary movements of my goddaughters with great satisfaction.

  After lunch Cate leans forward and taps her spoon against her water glass. I'm always amazed at how conversations stop at that sharp, dinging sound. If only wars and disagreements could be ended so easily. All heads turn her way. She clears her throat as if she's been waiting all through lunch to make her announcement. I haven't seen her so happy in a very long time.

  "We're going for a drive," she announces.

  "Where?" Camille pipes up.

  Laura and Josie look up expectantly. I glance at Cate with the same question in mind. It surprises me how fast we have all settled into each other.

  Then Cate clears her throat once more and says, "We're going to Falcon Beach."

  In an instant, my childhood days at Falcon Beach return to me. And, like Camille, I want to sing it out. We're going to Falcon Beach!

  My love of water comes from Max, from his joy in watching the ocean and swimming through it. He taught me to swim when I was just a little girl, and I too became addicted. "Yes, that's it, Hana!" Max said proudly, when he saw that, even at three, I wasn't afraid as I pushed my body through the water. Even now, when I dream of jumping into the ocean and swimming against the strong pull of the waves, floating, losing myself in the comfort of the water's embrace, I feel alive and well again, and I know my father would understand.

  * * *

  I was twelve the last time we came to Falcon Beach. I had spent lots of time in doctors' offices that summer, and I can still feel the cold, round head of the stethoscope pressing against my back. My asthma was worse, and I hadn't grown an inch all year. "Take a deep breath," I hear Dr. Truman saying, his voice low and serious. I coughed, because I had taken the breath too quickly, and he said, "Good, Hana," but it wasn't good. I caught a chill at the beach that day and ran a fever for a week.

  Afterward, I couldn't bear the thought of returning to Falcon Beach. I saw myself in the mirror and refused to put on my bathing suit anymore. I looked ridiculous. Some of my friends had already begun to menstruate and develop breasts, while I was still small and skinny, trapped in a child's body. The summer I turned thirteen, I chose to go alone to visit my grandparents in Los Angeles instead.

  Cate and Max must have felt the same. After that summer we just stopped going to Falcon Beach, as if the waves and sunlight were somehow to blame. But I knew it was for the opposite reason — Falcon Beach would always be a reminder of all our good times, and it was too hard to return when things became difficult.

  * * *

  I go to my room to rest for a short time while Cate, Laura, and the girls get ready for the beach. Just as I close my eyes and let my mind wander, there's a light tap on my door. Thinking it could only be my mother, I'm surprised to see it's Laura who enters.

  "I hope I'm not disturbing you," she whispers, closing the door gently behind her. "I'm sorry, but I needed —" She has changed into cotton slacks and a T-shirt.

  "Come here," I say softly. I move over and pat the bed beside me. Laura carefully lies down next to me. Our last slumber party. Finally we have this unexpected moment to talk, to catch up on all the years in between, the silences we couldn't speak about on the phone. Yet we don't say a word — simply lie silent, side by side, comforted.

  JOSEPHINE

  Truce

  "We didn't bring our swimming suits," Camille tells me when we're back in our room trying to decide what we should pack for the beach.

  "Shorts and a T-shirt should work," I say. "It's probably too cold to swim anyway."

  Camille smiles and nods, turns her canvas bag over so that all her clothes fall onto the bed. "Why do you think Cate wants to go to the beach all of a sudden?" she asks.

  "There's not much else to do around here, or haven't you noticed?" I ask too sharply, then add in a softer tone, "Maybe she's just being nice because she knows we like to swim."

  Camille seems to take everything I say in stride. "How does she know we like to swim?" she asks.

  I unzip my bag and shrug. "From all the letters and cards we've written to Hana."

  Camille accepts this explanation and drops a pair of shorts and a T-shirt into her bag. "Ready," she says. And then, turning back to me, she asks, "What was it like with Hana this morning?"

  "Fine," I answer.

  "Did you feel strange being with her?"

  I look her in the eye and say, "No, why should I?"

  Camille shakes her head. "I just wondered."

  I smile at her and say reassuringly, "She was nice. It was actually real easy to talk to her."

  "Do you think I'll have anything to talk to her about?" Camille asks.

  I can hear a slight wavering in her voice, like when she was a little girl and frightened of strangers or of anything unfamiliar. And, for the first time in months, I don't feel the urge to snap back at her. "I think you'll have lots to talk about. You'll like her. I do. Really." It feels good giving out big-sisterly advice.

  "Do you think Hana will be okay going to the beach?" Camille asks.

  "Sure, why not? There's no reason why she should just sit around the house all day. She's walking again, so she must be feeling better," I add.

  "She looks so breakable," Camille says.

  I throw a blue swea
ter into my bag and point to her white one on the bed. Without a word> Camille puts the sweater into her bag.

  "You'd be surprised just how strong she is, " I say, as if I'm some kind of expert after one conversation with Hana.

  Camille nods. "Yeah, I bet she's really strong on the inside."

  I smile, realizing that Camille does understand. And it's enough to make me lean over and kiss my sister on her smooth, unblemished cheek.

  CATE

  The Edge of the World

  With Laura's help, Hana has changed into an old Hawaiian shirt with pineapples on it, cotton pants, and tennis shoes. Together, they're like young girls again. I couldn't stop laughing when they emerged from her room. We drive to Falcon Beach in two cars. That way, I tell the others, there'll be room in case Hana needs to elevate her feet, or rest in the backseat. But the real reason is that I need to make this drive back to Falcon Beach with Hana alone. Josie and Camille ride with Laura in the car behind us.

  What started out as an unusual day has become a real adventure. We're actually running away for the afternoon. I feel wonderfully free as I drive — past the park, past the strip malls and the new outlet stores, and onto the Coastal Highway, heading south toward Falcon Beach. When I drive past the park without stopping, I glance over to see Hana simply smiling at me in perfect agreement. It's as if we know each other's thoughts, the kind of intuition gained by living together for so long. "Let's get out of here." She laughs, rolling down the window and letting in a cool wind to upset the stale air.

  I click on the radio, the low hum of voices keeping steady company. It's a beautifully clear day, with no fog in sight. As we drive along the coast, I feel as if we've come to the edge of the world. Jagged cliffs fall away below the ribbon of road and there's nothing but ocean as far as the eye can see. I take each turn slowly^ one perilous curve after another wrapped around the rugged mountains. Every so often, I check my rear-view mirror to make sure Laura is right behind us. The stretch of highway farther north is called the Lost Coast, yet I feel as if I've found something coming back here. The screeching seagulls overhead welcome us back. After twenty-five years I'm just thankful that Hana is still here with me.

  "Are Laura and the girls behind us?" Hana asks. She turns in her seat.

  "Yes, they are," I answer. I wouldn't lose them for the world, I think to myself. I reach over and grasp her hand, which feels soft and bony, like a kitten's ribs.

  Hana smiles and settles back into her seat.

  I roll down the window and breathe in the salty, kelp-scented air, then turn down the radio to hear the waves break against the rocky shores below. Driving past the smaller Pelican Beach, I'm tempted to stop. But I know that it isn't much farther to Falcon Beach. Less than fifteen minutes down the road, as I slow down and round a sharp curve, I see three large boulders leading to the entrance to Falcon Beach. The Three Stooges Max used to call them. Moe, Larry, and Curly. And right away it's as if I'm that young woman again, who was so in love that just the thought of going to Falcon Beach brought a sense of freedom and adventure. I'm transported back to the many nights I sat here with Max in the Thunderbird, the memory so sharp I can almost hear "Love Me Tender" playing on the radio, smell his sweet cologne, and feel his warmth beside me. Max, who had driven across the country to find himself, only to find me instead. Max, I want to whisper, who dreamed of water as a young boy at Heart Mountain, Max, whom I still reach for in the dark of night.

  I swallow the lump in my throat that comes from wishing he were right here with us and turn into the dirt and gravel parking lot overlooking Falcon Beach. I park near the lookout point where the rocky dirt path leads down to the beach. There's only one other white car parked at the far end of the lot. And just behind us Laura's car pulls into the parking lot, crunching gravel as it settles into the space next to us. I turn off the engine and take a moment to gaze down at the blue-gray mirror of water gleaming in the afternoon sunlight.

  HANA

  Bettina Troy

  I slip on my baseball cap and sunglasses, then lean forward and stare out at the ocean, where a fishing boat rocks in the far distance. "We're here again," I say softly to Cate, thinking how it doesn't really seem like a lifetime ago. What felt like endless slow motion just last week has turned into a flurry of quick scene changes since Laura and the girls arrived. My mind flickers with memories that pop up as clearly as if they had happened only yesterday.

  Bettina Troy. Her name was Bettina Troy. I remember my father telling me the story when we saw her at the Maritime Museum when I was fourteen, and how the story infuriated me. A life wasted. I didn't know then how Werner would one day waste mine.

  "Who is she?" I had asked, staring wide-eyed at the eight-foot-tall carved wooden torso of a woman — a young woman with long, curly blond hair that fell delicately onto the open collar of her faded blue dress.

  "She was a figurehead perched on the bow of a ship," Max told me.

  I gazed at her faded features, battered from years of salt water and rough seas; her pale blue eyes with their sad, faraway look. I scrutinized each scar and chip that marred the once beautiful face in its glass case. I imagined what it would be like to run my fingers over each crack and crevice, touching each small wound.

  There was a tragic story attached to the figurehead. "Her name was Bettina Troy," Max explained, "the only daughter of Captain John Troy. After Captain Troy's wife and second child died in childbirth, Bettina was all he had left. When he was away at sea, on his ship, the Passage, his sister, Ada, took care of Bettina. They lived happily with this arrangement, the captain's daughter growing more beautiful with each passing year. All she ever wanted was to follow her father to sea, but he flatly refused, since it was no place for a respectable young lady in those days." Max walked around the display case and continued.

  "Before Captain Troy knew it, Bettina had grown into a beautiful young woman, with every eligible bachelor near and far wanting her for his wife. As fate would have it, she fell for a ne'er-do-well named Robert Harcourt, who left her when he learned she was pregnant with his child." Max looked over at me. "It's an old story, but back then Bettina didn't have many choices. She either disgraced her father's good name or she killed herself. She chose the latter. When Captain Troy returned from another long voyage, his beloved daughter was dead. She had hung herself from the big oak tree in the backyard. The first thing Captain Troy did was cut down the old oak; the second thing was to have his daughter's likeness carved from it. From that time on, Bettina Troy became the eyes on the Passage and always accompanied her father out to sea."

  Max stopped and looked thoughtfully at me.

  I remember glaring at the solemn face of Bettina Troy, angry with her for ending her life even though she'd found a way to go to sea after all. "I wouldn't ever kill myself like she did," I said adamantly.

  Max leaned over, hugged me tightly, and said, "No, no you wouldn't."

  Just before he died, Max had talked about driving out to the coast again. "It's been too long," I remember him saying. "If Hana's feeling better, we can drive out this summer." He died three days later. I wonder if Cate remembers.

  "You all right?" Cate asks, watching me. A familiar look of concern shows in her eyes, the lines that crease her forehead.

  "I'm fine," I answer. "It's been so long since we've been back here." I turn and smile at her to put her at ease.

  "Yes," Cate simply says.

  "So what's it like, coming back to your old haunt?" I ask.

  "Like I want to laugh and cry at the same time," she says, her hands gripping the steering wheel.

  I know just how she feels.

  Car doors open and slam as Josie and Camille run over to the lookout point and glance down at the beach below before Laura has even gotten her seat belt off. As a child I couldn't wait, like Josie and Camille, to get out of the hot, stuffy car. I roll down the window all the way, letting in the cool ocean breeze, the thundering sound of the surf, and the strong, eager voices of Josephin
e and Camille. In the distance I can hear music, a radio playing from some far off picnickers, the high shrill of laughter. It's curious, how my hearing remains intact even as the rest of my body fails.

  Camille waves at us to join them and Laura at the lookout, but for a moment I watch the three of them laughing and jostling each other and pointing down to the beach. The bright sunlight makes me dizzy. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, then another and another until I've regained my balance.

  There's a slight chill in the air as Cate opens my door and leans in toward me, but her arm is warm as she helps me out of the car to join the fun.

  JOSEPHINE

  Sand Castles

  When Camille and I were four and six, my parents took us to the beach on Long Island for the first time. We were armed with buckets and shovels, a plastic blow-up walrus, blue and red plastic lifesavers. It was Mom's idea, since she'd grown up near the ocean. My dad was more suspicious. He believed in swimming pools with concrete boundaries. Such a large body of water didn't seem in the natural scheme of things.

  "If humans were meant to swim, we'd have been born with gills," he remarked.

  My mother brushed his cheek with the palm of her hand. "That's what makes it exciting: we don't have gills, but we do it anyway."

  He looked at her unconvinced, but he spent hours with us building a sand castle, molding turrets and a deep moat that he had us fill with buckets full of seawater. In my mind, it's still the most beautiful castle I've ever seen.

  Camille cried when we had to leave, wanting to take the castle home with us. But Dad picked her up and said to her, "We have to leave it, Sweet Pea. Sand castles have to stay at the beach. There are lots of things in life that we can't take with us, no matter how much we want to."

  Camille looked puzzled. "Then why did we spend so much time making it?" she asked, which I thought was a perfectly good question.