What the Waves Know

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Authors: Tamara Valentine
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planet, you live the rest of your days haunted by the knowledge that the one you have left could follow at any time and then you will be alone for the rest of your life. Life becomes a wrestling match between holding on tight so they won’t leave, and shoving them away so your heart won’t dry up like a dandelion and puff into the wind when they do. It isn’t pretty and you won’t find it in any poem, but it’s the truth.
    I glanced at Mr. O’Malley, who was now also standing back and tracing the sea witch’s soft curves with his eyes. “This is Yemaya, the Great Mother.” With his toe, he nudged a stack of white sticks on the ground, sending them scattering apart. “Offerings. Fish bones and such. People come from all over to lay their dreams and secrets at her feet, hoping she can help them find whatever’s missing—money, health, love. Those were probably from some sailor going out for a haul.” He pointed with the barrel of his pipe to where several alabaster bones had become caught up in the stained blue and white folds of Yemaya’s skirt. “The festival starts in a week or so and ends with the Great Feast. The whole island turns out. Somethin’ to see.”
    When he turned quietly back to his paper, I looked up at Yemaya’s brown face, studying it so intently I never felt my fingers creep up to touch her hand. Her eyes were haunting as they looked out over the ocean. It was as though she, too, were searching for a thing lost. I could not help wondering what it was.

CHAPTER FIVE
    I was already in the backseat of the taxi sketching the wooden statue on the inside cover of my notepad when I saw Remy locate my mother at the ramp, taking Luke’s crate from her hand and setting it on the wooden planks. I cannot say how long they were talking out there, or about what. But it was long enough for my mother’s face to grow pale and her mouth to draw into a surprised little O. So I figured Remy had just told her about the three of us being neighbors. Up front, Mr. O’Malley flipped his pipe end over end with his fingers, studying my mother with interest, until they turned for the taxi and he unfolded himself to open the trunk for our bags.
    â€œMr. O’Malley.” All the bark had gone from my mother’s voice as she took his hand briefly.
    â€œThomas,” he corrected, taking her gently in his arms, as if he worried he might break her. He gave her a warm hug without letting go of her hand. “It’s been a long time.”I let my eyes ping up from my sketch long enough to trace the hint of sadness in his eyes, wondering what he meant by that. “Welcome back.”
    â€œIt has.” My mother nodded, patting his hand. “Too long. How have you been?” A gentleness moved over her tone in a way I hadn’t heard in a very long time, and I believed she really wanted to know.
    â€œDisobedient. Ornery. A generalized pain in the ass,” Remy interjected, dodging Mr. O’Malley’s free hand when it shot out to rumple her hair.
    What felt like an awkward hour passed before Mr. O’Malley dropped my mother’s hand. Both of them stood motionless for a moment, and I couldn’t help but wonder at the familiarity that seemed to pass between them. Remy’s back was turned to the cab, but I could make out her hand touching Mr. O’Malley’s right shoulder briefly before she dropped down to pick up Luke’s crate.
    â€œI’ll ride with you,” Remy interjected, tossing a bag in the truck. “I’ve got too much to get done for the festival to sit around waiting for this one to wander back around for me in three hours.” She gave Mr. O’Malley a pointed glance. “You can drop me at home after we get these folks unloaded.”
    â€œHave it your way.” Mr. O’Malley grinned. “But paying passengers sit up front.” He tossed my mother a wink, swinging the

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