Read Online Rising Tides by Maria Rachel Hooley - Free Book Online
Authors: Maria Rachel Hooley
Tags: Fiction, Contemporary Women
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gently combed it.
I ran until my left side hurt and I doubled over, cramping. I gasped air and savored the saline smell of ocean and sand. Walking toward the dry sand, I sat and grabbed a handful of the sand that quickly spilled though my fingers. At that moment, I thought about the difference between sand and soil, that one could be held onto and the other spilled away as though it had no substance without confinement.
I was the sand. I had always been without realizing it. All my life I had painted people and things without realizing some part of me had gone with them, too. Somewhere in Florida, a woman had hung a painting of her daughter I’d done last year. Another man in Georgia had taken home a memory I’d painted of a full moon with a howling coyote ghost superimposed over that yellow orb.
There were pieces of me everywhere. It was my body dying, not my soul. I threw sand into the wind and watched the grains scatter and dissipate in the air. I had been the sand, and Gary had been the earth.
A movement to my right caught my attention, and I spotted Larkin, darting in and out of the waves, barking at a gull flying close by. The gull lifted higher, and Larkin bounded into the air, snapping at it. When he came down, he landed in deeper water and quickly ran from the waves toward me. He stopped right in front of me, cocking his head to the side, and shook away the water dripping from his coat. It spilled all over me, and I lifted my hands as though that would keep me from getting wet.
After Larkin had finished, he sat and peered at me. “Thanks a lot,” I muttered, wiping droplets from my face. “Are you happy now?”
As if in response, Larkin lay down and closed his eyes. I reached out and touched his thick coat, stroking. I glanced at my watch and realized it was 11:55, and if I didn’t get a move on, I would be late for my first sailing lesson. I didn’t count my first experience on the catamaran as a lesson because the only thing I’d really learned was not to fall overboard, and I thought most people probably knew that wasn’t a wise idea.
Giving Larkin one last, soft scratch behind his right ear, I stood and said, “Sorry to break this up, boy, but I’m supposed to be somewhere.” As I jogged down the beach, Larkin followed, skirting in and out of the water’s path.
A breathless five minutes later I’d walked up Tyler’s stairs carrying the shoes I’d abandoned on the beach. I started to knock but noticed the patio door was open, so I wiped my feet on the mat and walked in. As I saw Tyler standing in the kitchen, my fingers quickly rose to my hair, probably wild from the wind. Dividing the wavy bulk into three thick strands, I quickly braided it, pulled the rubber band from around my wrist, and wrapped the end with it.
“Good afternoon,” Tyler said, setting a plate of sandwiches on the table, pausing as he watched me fooling with my hair. “You’ve got that down to a science,” he said, smiling.
“Yeah.”
He stood and walked toward me. With his left hand, he reached out and lifted a long strand from my back. “Except you sort of forgot some of it.” His fingers rested there, absently stroking the hair between his thumb and forefinger, moving downward and, reaching the end, moving upward again.
The world slowed to a numb speed, the hazy gauze which had always covered the world slipped away, and I saw with perfect clarity, just as I felt the blood pumping through my body. He stood so close that I could tell the top of my head would fit under his chin. Against the white t-shirt, his skin appeared golden. His calloused palms smelled of soap and pine. Veins rose on the top of his hands, mapping the life he had lived. Fine hair covered his tanned arms, and a light sheen of sweat glittered on his forehead. I visually traced the rise of his cheekbones across the broad face and the long curve of his blunt chin. Thick
I ran until my left side hurt and I doubled over, cramping. I gasped air and savored the saline smell of ocean and sand. Walking toward the dry sand, I sat and grabbed a handful of the sand that quickly spilled though my fingers. At that moment, I thought about the difference between sand and soil, that one could be held onto and the other spilled away as though it had no substance without confinement.
I was the sand. I had always been without realizing it. All my life I had painted people and things without realizing some part of me had gone with them, too. Somewhere in Florida, a woman had hung a painting of her daughter I’d done last year. Another man in Georgia had taken home a memory I’d painted of a full moon with a howling coyote ghost superimposed over that yellow orb.
There were pieces of me everywhere. It was my body dying, not my soul. I threw sand into the wind and watched the grains scatter and dissipate in the air. I had been the sand, and Gary had been the earth.
A movement to my right caught my attention, and I spotted Larkin, darting in and out of the waves, barking at a gull flying close by. The gull lifted higher, and Larkin bounded into the air, snapping at it. When he came down, he landed in deeper water and quickly ran from the waves toward me. He stopped right in front of me, cocking his head to the side, and shook away the water dripping from his coat. It spilled all over me, and I lifted my hands as though that would keep me from getting wet.
After Larkin had finished, he sat and peered at me. “Thanks a lot,” I muttered, wiping droplets from my face. “Are you happy now?”
As if in response, Larkin lay down and closed his eyes. I reached out and touched his thick coat, stroking. I glanced at my watch and realized it was 11:55, and if I didn’t get a move on, I would be late for my first sailing lesson. I didn’t count my first experience on the catamaran as a lesson because the only thing I’d really learned was not to fall overboard, and I thought most people probably knew that wasn’t a wise idea.
Giving Larkin one last, soft scratch behind his right ear, I stood and said, “Sorry to break this up, boy, but I’m supposed to be somewhere.” As I jogged down the beach, Larkin followed, skirting in and out of the water’s path.
A breathless five minutes later I’d walked up Tyler’s stairs carrying the shoes I’d abandoned on the beach. I started to knock but noticed the patio door was open, so I wiped my feet on the mat and walked in. As I saw Tyler standing in the kitchen, my fingers quickly rose to my hair, probably wild from the wind. Dividing the wavy bulk into three thick strands, I quickly braided it, pulled the rubber band from around my wrist, and wrapped the end with it.
“Good afternoon,” Tyler said, setting a plate of sandwiches on the table, pausing as he watched me fooling with my hair. “You’ve got that down to a science,” he said, smiling.
“Yeah.”
He stood and walked toward me. With his left hand, he reached out and lifted a long strand from my back. “Except you sort of forgot some of it.” His fingers rested there, absently stroking the hair between his thumb and forefinger, moving downward and, reaching the end, moving upward again.
The world slowed to a numb speed, the hazy gauze which had always covered the world slipped away, and I saw with perfect clarity, just as I felt the blood pumping through my body. He stood so close that I could tell the top of my head would fit under his chin. Against the white t-shirt, his skin appeared golden. His calloused palms smelled of soap and pine. Veins rose on the top of his hands, mapping the life he had lived. Fine hair covered his tanned arms, and a light sheen of sweat glittered on his forehead. I visually traced the rise of his cheekbones across the broad face and the long curve of his blunt chin. Thick
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