Page 23 of The California Dreamers

22

Grins

“You knew that college student with the camera came back after that night, that he took more pictures of us. And ran this one in his newspaper, but you. Didn’t. Want to. Worry me.”

Cap’s voice is even, quiet, but I know he’s full of rage. We’ve confessed about seeing the Triton nine months ago, and how we kept it from him.

“It was my decision.” Griff holds himself high. “I made a mistake.”

“We voted,” Mag says.

Drowning in cowardice or shame, I let the twins do all the talking. I wish Mama was here to soothe Cap with her tincture pots. Lemon-honey balm on his temples to clear his thinking. Lavender under his nostrils to calm him.

Cap pulls more contest brochures from his trunk pockets. Stacks of them.

They’re all folded open to our picture. Cap’s breathing is heavy as he sets them down on the sand between us, one by one—we’re everywhere. And in this printing, I’m not just a black-and-white silhouette with a cloud of hair. It’s clearly me in the photo. And you can see part of the Gull’s bumper.

“You’re the oldest, Griffin. I’m so disappointed, you—”

“It’s not his fault.” I have to scrape it out.

“Ro’s right. It’s that weasel college kid who’s responsible. Maybe he even made money off this.” Mag’s picked up one of the brochures and he’s studying the picture, disbelieving.

Cap ignores us both.

Griff tries to change the subject from blame to the how of it—by what dark magic did our photo jump from a little college-paper collage to a color advertisement a hundred miles away? “Did that boy sell it to the store to use in their advertisement, do you think? Or did the college maybe—”

“They don’t care who they hurt,” Cap says. “Whose lives they taint.” His voice breaks, hidden rage turning to hidden despair, and even in my confusion I ride a small swell of pity for him.

Cap scoops up the brochures and marches off toward the water, Griff trailing after him. “I’ll come. I’ll help, we’ll get to the bottom of it.”

But Cap only raises his hand in dismissal. Ankle-deep in the shallows, he hurls the bright sheaf of papers into the Pacific.

I don’t want to look at Griff. If he’s crying, I’ll cry, too.

I gather up the brochures Cap missed, staring at my own profile, replicated on each one. How strong I look. How carefree. What’s happened is so unexpected, it simply doesn’t seem possible that I took the photo now.

“He’s worried,” I say softly. “About money, his hand.”

“It’s fine,” Griff says, his voice a little steadier. “It’s my fault he’s upset. I should’ve told him the second we saw the picture in the newspaper.”

Mag says, “It wasn’t our fault that guy came back, or ran it in the Triton .”

“So you think Cap went to that Kenny’s store to confront them about their ad or…” Clutching the stack of Kenny’s Surf Outfitters brochures, I realize what’s missing.

“Karana,” I say senselessly. What I mean is she’s gone—my Island book’s gone. Cap swept her up with the brochures.

Griff races to the water, duck-diving. Though I’m wishing desperately for a glimpse of the bright yellow cover with Karana standing proud on the rock, her hair streaming to the side, I know it’s pointless. Cap has a strong arm and the book’s nowhere.

***

Cap returns hours later, eerily calm. Mama’s with him. He always seems to know how to find her. His expression is indecipherable under the shadow of his hat.

Maybe Cap did confront the Kenny’s Surf Outfitters owner, and now he’ll let it go. He’ll never learn how our photo really got in the paper. It’s over , I think. I deserved to lose my book, and maybe that’s punishment enough.

“We’ll be on the move tonight,” Cap announces. “Pack up.”

***

Late that night after I’ve brushed my teeth at the public restroom and I’m walking listlessly over cold sand, Griff catches up to me from behind and hands me something clumsily wrapped in a brown bag.

It’s Island . A hardback edition, with the same picture on the cover as the one I loved—Karana with her hair flying out, dolphins leaping behind her. In vain moments, I’ve thought she looked a little like I would, if I darkened my own wild hair.

I hug the novel to me like it’s Karana in the flesh, come back from the dead. “How?” Then I see that his neck is bare. “You sold your puka necklace.”

“Only fair, since it was all my fault. I should’ve warned him when we first saw that picture in San Diego.” He’s talking himself into worshipping Cap again.

“Griff,” I whisper. “It wasn’t your fault, you have to listen—”

“He worries about our privacy, for our safety. Don’t waste time being angry, Ro. I’m not.”

I don’t answer.

Griff says, “I’m going back out there before we leave, interested?”

“What’d you think is going to happen? Cap’s acting like…” I check over Griff’s shoulder, but Cap’s far off, entering the shallows with his longboard. “Like we’re running away from that picture.”

“Cap said it’s just a precaution. It’s just one silly advertisement. So, coming with me?”

I shake my head.

So quickly, back to waves and smiles and everyone getting along. He’ll join Cap in the water like Cap never scolded him. Griff—generous, grinning, good—he sees the best in everyone.

But I can’t ignore the feeling of the world closing in.