Page 53 of Exiled

He lets go, and I splash. It’s at my chest, and the waves are big, and strong, but Papa is so tired. I can see it, in the way he staggers to his feet. I am brave. I am strong. I will walk the rest of the way. But the waves keep hitting me, and I have to grab on to his hand for balance, or I will fall and go under.

The rain is falling very hard now. Like warm bolts hitting my head and my shoulders. It is raining so hard now that even walking is like swimming.

Papa glances down, sees me struggling to keep up. He lifts me in his arms, like a baby. I don’t mind. I am tired, so tired, and fear is still worming through my blood, making it hard to breathe or to think or to move.

I feel him set me down, and Mama’s arms are around me, her wet hair against my cheek, and she’s crying. “Oh my baby, my baby. I thought I’d lost you.”

“Papa saved me, Mama.”

“I know. Your papa is very brave.”

I open my eyes to see her looking up at him. Her eyes shine, and I can see tears on her face even though the rain is running all over her. Papa falls heavily to the sand beside us, puts his long strong arms around both of us, and we all just sit there in the rain together, breathing and glad to be alive, and on the shore.

Thunder booms like a cannon, and lightning lights up the dark gray skies.

“We have to go,” Papa says. “The storm is getting worse.”

We take Abuela’s blanket, our now-sodden towels, the cooler full of juice and wine and crackers and cheese, and run for our car. We get in, wet still.

When we are almost home, Mama lays her head on Papa’s shoulder. Swivels a little to look at me.

“You scared me,mija.” It is as close to a scold as I’ve ever gotten from her.

“I’m sorry, Mama. I didn’t realize it wasn’t sunny anymore, or how far away I was. And then I couldn’t get back.”

“You shouldn’t ever swim out that far by yourself anyway, even in good weather. Only if Papa or I am with you.”

“Well, I wanted to swim. It was hot and the sun was still out, then.” I frown. “And you and Papa were busy kissing under the blanket.”

Mama hides an embarrassed smile against Papa’s bare shoulder. “Next time, come and get one of us and we’ll swim with you. Okay?”

“Even if you’re kissing like you don’t want to ever stop?”

Mama laughs. “Yes,mija, even then.”

I wonder what it would be like to never want to stop kissing someone?

“They loved each other.” I am startled to hear myself speak.

“What?” Logan is behind me, arms around my front, cupping the front of my hip bones, chin on my shoulder.

“My parents. They loved each other very much.”

“You remember something?”

“The beach.” I point to the sand. “I was... oh, young. A little girl. We were at the beach. I went out to swim, and a storm blew in suddenly. I got pulled out and couldn’t stay above the waves. I was about to drown when my father rescued—my papa.”

I stop, think. Capture the memory, savor it.

“I remember the fear. Being underwater and knowing I wasn’t going to make it, and then Papa grabbed me. Even with him, we almost didn’t make it back to shore. But... more than the almost-drowning, what I really remember is Mama and Papa. It’s so strange how vivid the memory is. It’s like I’mthere, again. I remember what I was thinking, what I was feeling. Much different than even the memories I have postamnesia. But what really stands out is them. My parents, being in love. They were like kids, I think. Always touching each other. Kissing.”

“Want to go out there?”

“In the water?” I twist to look at him.

“Yeah.”

“Why are we here, Logan?”