Page 20 of Crashing Tides

“So,” says Jane, when we’re near the gardens, all alone except for the occasional passing student. “What was going on with your mom?”

I wipe water from my nose and shrug. “I think she was just neurotic,” I explain. “She really, really didn’t want me near water. Ever. I used to think maybe I was allergic, but I could, you know, shower and stuff.”

Jane wrinkles her nose. “That’s good. You weren’t a smelly little kid.”

“I probably should have bathed more than I did,” I admit. “I… She really scared me. When I got older, I thought that maybe she knew someone who drowned, but she wouldn’t admit it.” I groan, rub my temples. “I… I don’t know. I thought a lot of things over the years. Like maybe she had OCD or something. Or just, like, trauma. But she wouldn’t… She just refused to tell me anything.” A little laugh escapes me. “It, uh, got so bad that she tried to stop me from drinking water at one point. She sent me to school with a bunch of Pedialyte. We weren’t allowed to have anything but water in class, so it was kind of a big deal. The teacher was furious.”

Jane’s expression is somewhere between confused and alarmed. “You weren’t allowed to have water?”

“Well, it was only for a few days until the school nurse threatened to call CPS when Mom couldn’t prove that I was, you know, medically required to drink stuff other than water, so she dropped it.” My face heats. “It was like a full-blown phobia.”

“Did you have any other adults in your life?”

Shit. I don’t usually tell people about this. When I do, I try to make it all a big joke, something to prove that my mom’s quirky, maybe a little nuts, but not, like, abusive, exactly. Just kind of… weird? “I mean, I had aunts and uncles and teachers and stuff.”

“Did they know about this?”

“Yeah,” I admit, a little ashamed now. Maybe I should shut up. Mom’s dead. None of this matters anymore. I can jump straight into the sea if I want to and nobody can stop me.

(But that gnawing hunger that freaks me out, and I already know I’m not getting any closer to the ocean than I have to.)

Jane glares at me, exasperated. “OK, what did they think?”

“They went along with it?” At her expression, I add, “It was her thing, OK? Nobody ever disputed it because they knew she wouldn’t let up.”

“Any other weird rules?”

I wrack my brain. “Uh, no swimming pools, no oceans. I was specifically instructed to never, ever go on vacation near the sea.” A flash of anger. Even now, the control still gets to me. If it mattered so much, she should’ve told me why. Now she’s dead and her rules are haunting me, and I don’t even know why they existed in the first place. “No baths, either.”

“What about your dad?”

I kick a rock down the path in front of me. “No idea,” I grumble. “She said she didn’t know who he was.”

“Oh,” says Jane, her mouth puckering, like she realizes she’s made a mistake in asking, and also like she can’t keep her surprise (and probably judgment) hidden. “I… Um, OK. Do you believe her?”

“No,” I admit after a moment’s hesitation. I adjust the hood of my jacket, grateful for the rain and the encroaching darkness. Jane can’t see my expression. “But—Well, she was pregnant with me when she graduated Halea. Which tells me absolutely nothing about my dad, except that he might’ve been a student.”

Jane perks up at this. “Yeah,” she muses. “Or someone from the town.”

“Or a professor.” I shrug. “Anybody, really.”

“Doesn’t exactly narrow it down.”

“Why do you care?”

“Because,” hisses Jane, glancing around again, like we’re making a drug deal instead of pondering my dad’s identity. “The whole thing is just...” She winces. “Really weird.”

I try not to take offense, and fail. “Yeah, I know. I lived it. Hard not to notice.”

“Dominic,” she groans, pressing a hand to her forehead like she’s checking for a fever. “OK. One more question: Did anything… weird ever happen to you when you were a kid? Like, did you ever fall in any water?”

I shake my head. “Not that I’m aware of.” If I had, Mom’s freakout would’ve been epic. Of Biblical proportions.

Her next question catches me of-guard. “Do you want to go to the beach?”

I purse my lips, consider this. My stomach is suddenly hollow. “No,” I say, miserably. “I really don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not? You could just step into the water and put all this behind you. Never wonder again.”