I’ll Become the Sea Read online

  She waited until each child turned, faced forward and became still. Raymond shuffled down the hallway to meet them, joining the end of the boys’ line, keeping his eyes on the ground, the hood of his jacket up over his head.

  “Remove your hood, Raymond.”

  She waited while he pulled it off, then gestured for the class to move forward down the first flight of stairs.

  At the lunchroom, the students lined up for their meals.

  “I’ll be here,” Jane told Raymond and Tyrell. “Get your trays and meet me.”

  They dipped their heads, passing her, lining up at the counter. She went to the stairs to sit down.

  She’d stayed calm at least. She’d defused it; that was what mattered. No one had been hurt.

  Her boys came through the lunchroom doors and walked with her up the stairs, carrying their lunch trays.

  “Thank you for being quick.”

  “It’s all right, Ms. Elliott.” Tyrell began climbing the second flight.

  Raymond held his lunch in both hands. His knuckles were stiff and white around the cardboard tray.

  “Me and Raymond’s okay now.”

  “That soon?” She looked at Raymond. He kept his eyes on the staircase. “What happened?”

  “Tell her, Ray.”

  Raymond shook his head.

  “Look,” Jane said. “I’m glad you guys made up. But that doesn’t change what you did. You know there is no fighting allowed. Never. For any reason. I’m going to have to call your parents and let them know—”

  “But that’s just it, Ms. Elliott. You can’t call nobody for Raymond. Nobody to call.”

  Jane stopped walking. “What?”

  “His grandma, she’s in the hospital.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Jane was leaning against the school wall when David pulled up in his truck. A light wind blew strands of hair across her face. She chewed a fingernail and tapped her foot against the pavement. Headphones blasted music into her ears. She tugged them out when he opened the passenger door.

  “Hey.” She smiled at him and climbed in. “Thanks for picking me up. I was wondering how I was going to get there.”

  “Where’s your bike? I mean, hi.”

  “Hi. It’s up in the classroom. I’ll just take a taxi in tomorrow.”

  He nodded. “Any more news?”

  “No, just that she’s there. Raymond went home to his auntie’s house. He’s staying there for a couple of days. I think they might have brought him over to see her after school.”

  “Okay. What do you think? Should we stop for some flowers or something?”

  She took in the faint scent of his leather jacket, the dark red collar of his shirt, the gray jeans. The muscles moved in his thigh and hand as he shifted gears.

  “That’s a nice idea. There’s a florist on the way.” She listened to her own heart beating as he drove.

  * * *

  Jane led the way down the corridor. The air was close and sweet, a mix of antiseptic and dry heat.

  They turned the corner into Mrs. Johnson’s room. She was awake, watching talk shows, leaning back against the raised bed.

  Jane stepped in, bearing a bouquet of tulips ahead of her. “Mrs. Johnson, hello.”

  “Oh hi, Miss Elliott! Come on in. How nice of you to stop by. Aren’t those pretty?”

  She smiled as Jane placed the vase by the window.

  “And Mr. Casey. Hello.” She reached up to receive his hug and a quick kiss on the cheek.

  “How are you feeling?” He stood beside her. “What happened?”

  Jane leaned back against the window ledge.

  “Oh, it was terrible. I was sitting up watching TV. Raymond was in bed, thank God. I got up to go for a soda in the kitchen and before I knew it I was on the floor. Now, I know what a heart attack looks like because I saw Raymond’s grandpa have one, right in front of me. I got to the phone somehow. Called 911. Raymond was sleeping. When those medics came in, it scared him to death.”

  She looked from David to Jane. “I know he had some trouble in school today.”

  Jane stood. “I didn’t realize until later what had happened to you…”

  “He told me about the fight. Tyrell of all people. They didn’t hurt each other?”

  “Not really. He must have been terrified for you. I guess he didn’t know how to talk about it.”

  “Well, he’d better learn. I’m not going to be here forever.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “I have to say that. I’m not getting any younger in case you haven’t noticed. And this…” She trailed off, indicating with a wave of her hand the IV in her arm, the monitors beside the bed, the whole sterilized blandness of the room. She sighed, a long, deep sigh that had her wincing. The machine beside her beeped and whirred in the silence. “I don’t know how he’s going to make it if he can’t open up his mouth and tell someone he’s upset.”

  “Mrs. Johnson. He’ll be okay. He’ll figure it out.”

  A sound at the door made them all look up. Raymond stood, shoulders hunched, a can of soda in his hand.

  “I thought I told you juice, young man.”

  “They were out.” He shuffled in, head down. “Hey, Ms. Elliott. Hi, Mr. Casey.”

  “Out of juice. Well isn’t that something. Why don’t you just leave that can of soda here by the bed, Raymond. Maybe Ms. Elliott would like to help you find something a little healthier for a growing boy.” She turned to Jane. “You wouldn’t mind, would you, dear?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Mr. Casey will just sit here and keep me company. Pull up a chair, now, young man.” She beckoned him to her side. “Make yourself at home. Soda?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” David inched the seat closer to her bed and sat down.

  “Let’s see if she can talk some sense into the boy.” She winked at David.

  “If anyone can do it…”

  “I’m right here, you know,” Raymond said.

  “Shoo.”

  She waved them out of the room.

  In the hallway, Jane rested a light arm across Raymond’s shoulders. He wore a dark sweatshirt over loose, baggy jeans and a pair of scuffed sneakers. He gazed down at them as they walked toward the elevators, hands shoved in his pockets.

  “You okay?” Jane asked.

  He shrugged. “Sorry about today.”

  “It’s okay. I’m glad nobody got hurt.”

  “You’re not mad?”

  “Mad? Well, I guess a little. I wish you’d told me what happened. I could have tried to help you.”

  He pushed the button beside the elevator door, watching the lights that lined the numbers above. She waited for him to speak again on the ride downstairs, but he was silent.

  In the cafeteria they found a carton of apple juice and a bag of trail mix for Raymond, and settled down at a table under the harsh industrial light.

  “What about you?” she said finally. “Are you mad?”

  “At you? No.”

  “At anything?”

  He busied himself unwrapping a straw, wrestling open the juice carton and snack bag.

  “Let me help you.” She reached for the plastic baggy and he snatched it back out of her hands, ripping it open and spilling half the contents onto the table.

  “Shit,” he said, and his eyes snapped up at hers.

  “Sorry. That was my fault. And you can say shit if you want to. We’re not at school.” She caught a small grin under the shadow of his face.

  “Shit.”

  “Don’t go crazy now.”

  “Shit shit.”

  “Raymond.”

  He smiled, and she watched him sip his juice. After a while he began to look around.

  “Have you been in a hospital before?”

  “Yeah. Plenty of times.”

  “What for?”

  “When my ma would get sick.”

  “That happen a lot?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “D
id she have an illness? You’ve never told me about her.”

  “I don’t remember her much.”

  “When did she die?”

  “I don’t know. I was little.”

  “But you remember the hospital.”

  He dug in his snack bag for a fistful of raisins and peanuts. “Yeah.”

  “It must be scary being here.”

  He looked up at her but didn’t say anything.

  “It must have been scary seeing your grandma like that last night.”

  He nodded, chewing.

  “You gonna talk about it at all, or do I have to drag it out of you?”

  “I don’t really feel like talking.”

  “It might help you.”

  “You keep saying that.”

  “Saying what?”

  “I don’t need anybody’s help.”

  His face, so different from hers, looked out at her like a mirror: hard, defended, the cracks showing, the softness leaking out and then ruthlessly shoved back in. Her own eyes filled, watching the struggle in that face.

  “Honey.” Her voice was quiet. “Everybody needs help sometimes.”

  He shook his head, hands worrying the shed paper skin of his straw. “I don’t.”

  He stood up to throw away his trash, wiping the crumbs off his pants.

  “Raymond.”

  “Can we go back up now?”

  She stayed in the chair, watching him. He looked back at her and then away. Angry, he wiped at his eyes with the back of his sleeve.

  “Why you got to look at me like that?”

  “Like what?”

  “Everybody’s been looking at me like that, all day.”

  “I’m worried about you.”

  “Everybody asking about my mom.”

  “Who is?”

  “You, Grandma, Auntie. Trying to tell me how it’s different. I know it’s not different. I know what hospitals mean.”

  “What do they mean?”

  “She’s gonna die too. Don’t tell me she’s not.”

  She rose, reaching for his hand. Disgusted, he turned away, striding toward the elevator.

  “She’s going to be all right.”

  “You don’t know that. Nobody knows that.”

  He was right, and they both knew it. She searched for the words to comfort him and found none. She caught up with him at the elevator doors, squeezing in just before they closed. She put her hand on his shoulder and he brushed it away, crossing his arms over himself, head down.

  “You’re not alone, Ray.”

  The bell rang for his grandmother’s floor.

  “Yes I am.”

  The doors opened, and he bolted out.

  * * *

  Back in the room Raymond sat on the ledge by the window, staring out into the waning light.

  Glancing from him to Jane, Mrs. Johnson frowned. “What happened?”

  Raymond shrugged. “Nothing.”

  “We had a nice healthy snack.” Jane looked away while she spoke. “He should be fine until dinner.”

  Mrs. Johnson attempted to sit up, to turn toward Raymond at the window, and caught her arm in a tangle of IV wires.

  David rose from his bedside chair to help her. Taking her frail hand firmly in his own, he began to guide her out of the mass of cords. “It’s like a game of Twister.”

  Mrs. Johnson smiled. “Don’t get fresh now.”

  Jane bit the edge of her thumbnail, trying to will Raymond’s rigid back to relax. He took out a handheld game and sat on the window ledge to play.

  “You two have a nice talk?” David wove Mrs. Johnson’s arm through the IV wires.

  Jane stood staring for a moment at Raymond’s fingers racing across the game board.

  “Jane?”

  “What? Oh. Sure. How about you guys?”

  “We did. Mrs. Johnson knows a thing or two about botany, did you know that?”

  He gestured toward the game of Jeopardy on the television, chuckling.

  In spite of herself, Jane smiled. “Is that so?”

  David returned to his seat beside the bed. His hand rested on the white blanket draped over Mrs. Johnson’s thin frame. Jane’s eyes followed the sleek lines of his forearm, his biceps, his shoulder, his face. Forcing her gaze away, she met Mrs. Johnson’s eyes. The older woman was watching her with disturbing clarity.

  “You two are very sweet,” she said, after a pause. “Why don’t you go out and get yourselves some hot tea and leave me here to rest a while? I’m so glad to see you both. But I’m tired.”

  Jane came to her side. “I’m sorry. I hope we didn’t stay too long. You need rest.”

  “I’ll get plenty of that tonight, I’m sure. My daughter will be by soon enough to bring Raymond home. Ray, come say goodbye.”

  Raymond kicked himself down from the window ledge and came over reluctantly. Jane grabbed him into a bear hug, squeezing hard.

  “You take care of yourself, kid. I’ll see you in school.” She leaned down to give Mrs. Johnson’s papery cheek a kiss. “Mind if I stop by again tomorrow afternoon, bring you some decent coffee and a donut or something?”

  “Well now, that’ll be nice, dear. I’ll see you then. Good night now.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “You up for that tea?” Jane stared at the closed doors of the elevator. “I have a splitting headache.”

  “Sure. There’s a café across the street.”

  The sterile smell of the hospital was seeping into her clothes. She remembered how tiny her own grandmother had looked on the starchy bed at Atlantic General. How pale and fragile in her thin medical gown. It was the smell, though, that had gotten to Jane. The sickly sweetness of the cleaning fluids, or the food, or the equipment—whatever it was that made all hospitals smell the same. As if you would never breathe fresh air again.

  The elevator doors opened and they stepped in. Jane moved back against the wall, bringing her palms to her temples. The blood throbbed in her head and she tried to slow herself down, to let the pain go.

  David stood beside her, watching her. He reached up, tentative, and laid his hand on the back of her neck. She tensed automatically and then, feeling the pressure of his fingers, went still. His thumb kneaded into the sore muscles, pouring a quick warmth right into the pain. Sighing, without thinking, she closed her eyes and leaned back into his hand.

  “Oh. That’s exactly where it hurts.”

  She shouldn’t be letting him touch her like this, but she couldn’t help it. His fingers on her skin were warm and sure. She realized she’d been holding her breath all day, ever since Raymond’s fight. Now, with David’s hand on her, she exhaled long slow breaths from her abdomen. She felt her body loosening, the hard ice under her skin melting beneath his hands. The rich clean scent of him drifted over her. How hard would it be, she thought, to lean into him, to bring her body to his, to put her arms around him and let him hold her? How deeply could he make her relax, once she was pressed against him; how easy would it be for him to lower his mouth to hers and kiss her?

  She opened her eyes when his hand went still and found him closer than she’d remembered. Much too close. His face, his eyes. For one moment she returned his gaze, long enough to feel the tide of desire rise up and crash down through her body. Long enough to begin trembling, to have to turn away.

  Her face flooded with heat and she broke contact, reaching in her pocket for her lip balm, dropping it on the floor. Her lips were suddenly desperately dry. She knelt to pick it up and the elevator doors, mercifully, opened to let them out. She rose, avoiding his eyes, walking with him through the doors and out to the parking lot, headache forgotten. A new kind of pain beginning to spread through her body from where his hands had been.

  * * *

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” She tried for a smile.

  “You look pale.”

  Past her side window the lights went out in an antiques shop, the shades sliding down for the night. The tea in her hand was soo
thing, but it didn’t slow her racing mind.

  “Tired, I guess. It’s late.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  She touched her hand to her belly and bit her lower lip, considering.

  “Checking with the committee?”

  “It is getting kind of growly.”

  “How about dinner? There’s that good pizza place on Main.”

  She closed her eyes and felt his hand again, on the back of her neck, pressing down into the pain. She knew she should say no, but she was hungry, and tired, and she didn’t want to be alone. She nodded.

  They rode for a while in silence before she spoke again. “My grandma was sick like that, in the hospital, before she died.”

  David drove. He looked at her, then turned his eyes back to the road. “What happened?”

  Jane leaned back against the seat. “Nobody really knows. She had a stomachache. She was almost ninety. I guess things were shutting down. She’d been in a home by then for a few years, and it was a good one. But a nursing home is still a nursing home. It’s not your house, or your family. I don’t know why she found herself alone in that place at the end of her life.”

  David pulled over into the parking lot of the restaurant. He shifted into park and released the key, then turned his body to face her.

  “But you went to see her a lot.”

  She gazed out the window, feeling him next to her. “Yeah, I did. I was lucky to have so much time with her. But when she died I still felt like I’d been cheated.”

  In the silence, night began to gather around them. He waited for her to go on.

  “She was the only person in my family where things were simple. When I was little, she made me cookies and played with me and took me for walks. And when she was old, I made cookies for her and talked to her and took her for walks. There were no questions about whether…about loyalty or whether she cared about me or if she was going to hurt me. She was just Grandma. Cranky and funny. And loving. And just about as positive and optimistic as anyone could possibly be, even though she’d had a very hard life.”

  “A hard life?”

  She met his eyes for the first time since starting the conversation. “You’re a pretty good listener, for a guy.”