I yell, “Heath!” But my voice is lost in the roar. What the hell is he doing? I run now, sprinting down the sand, feeling it grow wet between my toes. “Heath!”
Jessie raises her head, sees me running. She races up the beach until she’s at my heels, and together we stand at the edge of the freezing water, calling.
“Heath?” My voice tears out of me, raw with fear. “Move!”
But he doesn’t. He stands there, shoulder-deep in the surf, eyes locked on something only he can see. The wave’s already coming,too fast, too hard, and he just stands there like he’s waiting for it.
I don’t think. I shove off the sand and plunge into the water.
It closes over my head, black and biting. It’s so cold it burns. My muscles cry out with every movement, but I keep going. Stroke after stroke. Jessie swims beside me, nose pointed straight at Heath.
The wave crashes over him and he disappears beneath the surge, swallowed whole.
“Heath!” I gasp, choking on salt and panic.
The surface churns with white water and foam. I can’t see him.
And then, suddenly, he breaks through.
He emerges with a gasp, dragging air into his lungs like someone who wasn’t sure he wanted it.
Jessie reaches him first. She paddles up to his chest and he instinctively scoops her into his arms, holding her close. Water streams down his face. He doesn’t even wipe it away.
I stop swimming, bobbing in place as the ocean moves around me. Heath doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t blink. His eyes lock onto mine, blank and hollow, like everything inside him has been gutted. Like part of him is still underwater.
I know that look.
I’ve seen it once before, on the face of someone who did not make it back.
Someone who turned into a ghost long before their time.
And now I’m seeing it again.
This time, in my brother.
—
You’re not supposed to lightfires on the beach. Heath does it anyway. Always has. He makes his own rules. Jessie licks at the salt on her paws, watching me and Heath drag broken tea tree branches across the sand. He places seven rocks in a circle, then scrunches old newspaper into a ball while I hunt in the shrubs for more kindling. By the time I return to the beach, the fire is golden and glowing. I dump my armload of kindling to the side, and Heath and I sit quietly around the fire, watching it burn.
It’s stopped raining, but it’s still cold as hell. My jeans are soaked through, burning my legs with cold; the cuffs of my sleeves dripping wet. But the dark clouds are clearing, the stars are coming out. I keep looking over at Heath, not knowing what to say. We’ve been silent since I plunged into the water. Silent since he finally turnedaround and gave me that hunted look that reminded me of our mother.
I call for Jess, opening my arms. She drops into my lap, tucks her golden head under my chin. We stare at the waves and time slows down. There’s a rhythm to the water, the steady pull and crash, like the ocean is breathing. And I wonder if it’s remembering my father. It was Heath who told me about Dad nearly drowning here as a child. Heath who said,Minnow, I think when that wave took him under…not all of him resurfaced.
Heath was right. A few times a month, Dad would wake up screaming. Heath would disappear down the dark hallway, footsteps hurried and frantic. One night, I crept to the door, peered in. The room smelled of vomit and, faintly, of seawater. Dad was sitting up in bed, hands wrapped around his knees, rocking like a little child. Heath sat beside him, arm slung helplessly around his shoulders.
The wave took the best of him. The worst of him remained.
I think of Dad sitting quietly at the dining table, an undercurrent of violence swimming through him.
Heath keeps his eyes on the water, but I can see the agony on his face. Can see him grappling with the enormity of this week. I wonder if he sees Mum, cross-legged on the sand, shielding her eyes from the sun. Wonder if he sees himself, reeling in a fish, dragging it out of the shallows, straining with effort, while Mum shouts encouragement:He’s a big one, Heath! What a beauty!
“Did you know she was…dead?” I finally ask.
He takes a shallow breath, trying to steady himself, but his eyes never leave the horizon. His shoulders are heavy, as if the weight of the world has settled on them again.
“I didn’t wanna believe it…” He wipes at his face. “But she always came back after a few days. Always.”
Yes, she did. She’d emerge silently like a shadow, adopting her old routines until she disappeared again. We never said a word about it. We should have. Silence had a hold on our house. On all of us.
