The sound of a door slamming makes me flinch, and I rush out of the bathroom, only to find him seated back at the desk, shoulders rigid with anger. He spins around as I approach and slams a thick stack of papers into my stomach.
“Thisis who she is, Alex!Thisis what she did for me!” he shouts.
Another fistful of papers hits my gut, more symbolic than force. His hands are trembling. The blows land like whispers.
Dirty-blond hair flops over his eyes, and his pretty pink lips quiver. Papers scatter across the floor like pieces of a broken truth.
I grab him by the arm, yanking him out of the chair, and pull him against me.
“I’m sorry, Noah,” I whisper, brushing the hair from his face so I can see him. “But you need to understand who she really is. She’s manipulative. She doesn’t care about anyone but herself. You think the rain saved you—but it only blinded you.”
The words barely leave my mouth before he rips himself from my arms as if I’d struck him. He storms to the bed and yanks open a drawer with so much force it skids off the tracks and crashes to the floor.
“If anyone knows her, it’s me!” he snaps, breath ragged. “I grew up with her, Alex. I saw her struggles—just like she saw mine. We lived the same pain. The same trauma. The same goddamnnightmare. And we both spent time in the rain… but she found a way out!”
He snatches a pair of powder-blue briefs from the drawer and pulls them on, followed by loose-fitting shorts. Every movement is tight with emotion, each breath a battle he’s barely winning.
“She only cares about herself,” I say again, dragging my hands through my hair, refusing to fold under the weight of his tantrum.
“She cares about me too,” he mutters, voice thick as he collapses onto the bed. His face disappears into his hands.
I sigh—long and tired—and drop down beside him, the mattress dipping between us.
“Alright, Noah. You win,” I say softly, staring up at the ceiling. “Tell me about Meera.”
33
NOAH: Age 5
I scream soloud it burns my lungs. I’ve never screamed this loud before. Actually, I’ve never screamed at all. Not until now.
It’s the second night this week he’s come into my room. He’s not my dad. I hate him.
Outside, it’s raining. Again. The water slaps angrily against the sides of our giant boat, waves crashing like they’re trying to get in. He crawls off the bed and zips up his pants. I curl into a tight ball, hug my knees to my chest, and through a maze of tears, I watch him open the door and slip back into the dark hallway.
A minute later, America sneaks into my room. She closes the door gently behind her. I swipe at my eyes with the back of my hands and slide along the wall, making space for her on the bed. She knee crawls over and wraps her arms around me, pulling my shaking body into hers.
“Help me,” I whisper, sobbing into her shirt. She rocks me slowly, planting soft kisses on top of my head.
“You’re okay, baby,” she murmurs. “You’re safe with me.”
I hiccup and sob, my face wet with tears and snot, while she strokes my hair and blows cool air across my sweaty forehead.
“Do you hear the rain?” she asks, and I’m glad it’s a simple question.
“Yes,” I whisper, listening?—
To the rain, and her heartbeat.
“The rain is your friend, baby. It will protect you. But you need to walk into it, Noah… even when there’s no rain to walk into.”
I look up into her green eyes, one darker than the other, and nod, even though I don’t understand a single word she’s saying. The salty air stings my throat as I breathe in the sea, holding on to her like an anchor. My fingers smooth down the winding braid that trails over her shoulder, tracing it like a path I don’t know how to follow.
“Will you come with me?” I ask, tugging gently on her hair. “Into the rain?”
“Of course, I will,” she says softly. “I’ll be the only one you see.”
“Okay.” The word slips out like a ghost.
