Read Online Water Steps by A. LaFaye - Free Book Online Page A

means the most to me, really.”
    â€œThat I get taller?” I teased.
    She spun me over in her lap to tickle me. “That you get stronger and smarter and prettier every day!” I squirmed and laughed and she gave me nose kisses until I believed every word and went to bed happy.

WAVES
    W hen the snap of the screen door woke me up, I figured Mem and Pep were headed for their nightly swim. Walking toward the front of the house, I could hear their laughter as they ran down the steps that lead to the shore. Made me think of their first night swim together in that cove near Dublin. Seemed so unfair that they loved something I feared so much. That made their nightly swim as private and unreachable as the memory I could never share. I stood in an empty house afraid to go near the water, knowing Mem and Pep laughed and splashed and jumped from the rocks like a couple of first graders.

    Loneliness opened up inside me like a yawn. If I ever hoped to swallow that terrible feeling, I had to force myself to go near the water. Get inside it even.
    Doing nothing meant standing alone in an empty house. Avoiding other kids who might ask me to swim. Never going to birthday parties during pool season. Turning into a loony if someone even mentioned something that might make me think of going under water. Like the Halloween party last year.
    Bobby Clarkson came up with the stupid idea of bobbing for apples. He kept saying, “See it’s easy. Look.” He plunged his head in. My lungs shrank up and my muscles went as hard as one of those apples as I closed my eyes and prayed he’d come up. He threw his head back, flinging water everywhere. It splashed me and felt like hot sparks against my skin. I brushed it off and screamed as I ran for the door.
    Then came the waves of laughter, all the kids in my class shouting and taunting, “Kyna’s afraid of water! Water baby!”
    I ran straight down the hall and right out the front door. I didn’t even stop to catch my breath until I’d run the six blocks home. And as soon as the ache in my lungs stopped, I charged up to the top
floor of our house and hid under my own bed. So much for fourth grade. I never wanted to go back.
    Mem and Pep went to the school and talked to Mrs. Morton, who had the brilliant idea of telling my whole class how my family died. Every kid wrote me a letter to apologize. In the lunch line, Bobby Clarkson gave me his P.S. saying, “Too bad your parents are dead,” like it was nothing worse than losing a library book. I hate that kid.
    And I hate always having to be scared. Afraid of a flushing toilet. Or a bubbling fountain in a park. Or of going with my own family to a stupid farmers’ market just because it’s cozied up to a stupid lake. The more I thought about it, the madder I got. Mad enough to pound rocks into dust.
    Water wouldn’t chase me out of my own life anymore. I’d chase it. Push it back. Watch it dry up in the sun. Yeah, I’d face that stupid lake.
    Stepping outside, I stood on the porch, Kippers winding his way between my legs. Felt the moistness of the night air on the wood of the railing. Didn’t let it bother me, just walked down to the wispy grass.
    Standing there, I listened to the water. Heard Mem whisper in my ear, “Just think of it as a nice, smooth swing rocking in the wind— up, then back,
up, then back . Nothing to fear. You always know it’s coming.”
    Up, then back, up, then back. I imagined myself on our patio swing back home, Mem beside me, her arm over my shoulder, keeping me safe.
    Inching my way to the top of the first step, I wished the railing came into our yard. I grabbed the rail as I eased my foot onto the next step. Then a wild wave froze me halfway between steps as it crashed into the rocks below. I imagined Mem saying, “Just the swing getting a little riled.” But I hated the lurching twist of a swing pushed too hard.
    Taking a deep