Always Chloe and Other Stories Page 5

  Hard to say which of the three of us is most surprised.

  Then right away, he decides this was not a good idea. So he dives again. And he goes right under Blue. Right under us. I can see this great big rush of bubbles. More like an explosion of bubbles. They come up and break right where my paddle is halfway dipped into the water.

  Ethel starts barking like a maniac. I guess she was too surprised to bark before. She’s watching the bubbles, too. And she leans over farther and farther. Watching.

  If Ethel was a big dog, she would flip us over, doing that. But she’s not so big. So she just falls in.

  She bobs up right away and starts dog paddling (now I know why they call it that!), and then she tries to climb back into the boat. I grab her behind her elbows and pick her up, only this time I am very careful about how far I lean over. I shake her off a little and then put her back in her seat. Or at least where her seat would be. If Blue Boat had two seats.

  She doesn’t even shake herself. Just sits there with her ears down. I think she’s trying to pretend it never happened. Ethel is like that. I think she’s part cat. She tries to smooth over anything she doesn’t like.

  I’m trying to learn it from her. But it’s hard.

  We go back to paddling.

  I’m having fun unless I think about what Kevin said. About getting his stuff and coming back.

  I say to Ethel, “Maybe we’ll get lucky, and his truck will break down.”

  But I never really know what Ethel is thinking. She looks over her shoulder at me, but that’s all.

  When I get home, I stash Blue Boat behind the restaurant dock. I tie it up there, so the current doesn’t take it away. Guess what? I need the handle to tie it to the dock. I hate it when Kevin is right.

  I go upstairs.

  I’m not sure where Kevin is.

  Jordy says I got a letter from Dr. Reynoso. I can tell he wants to know why. But he doesn’t ask. He’s pretty good about things like that. I guess we both are. We usually find the right times to leave each other alone.

  I take it in the bedroom and close the door, so I can read it with nobody looking over my shoulder.

  Here’s what it says:

  March 10th

  Dear Chloe,

  What a treat to hear from you. I thought I had at least seventy more years to wait!

  In answer to your question, wouldn’t it be nice if we could flip a switch and feel what we think we’re supposed to feel? But it never seems to work that way. Our feelings just are. They seem to have minds of their own, and we can’t control them.

  But there are things we can control.

  For example, I can understand that Jordan having a boyfriend, especially an old boyfriend he’s loved for a long time, would feel scary to you. Because you don’t want to lose him. But I know you want him to be happy. So maybe on the inside you’re not happy about it, but maybe you can support him on it anyway.

  Sometimes we have to do things we’re scared of. The trick is not to wait until the thing doesn’t scare us anymore, because that day might never come. The trick is to do the thing scared.

  So you have my permission to be unhappy about it, but I hope you’ll give Jordy your blessing all the same.

  Best wishes for you both,

  Elinor Reynoso

  After I’m finished reading, I have a lot of thoughts. They try to come in all at once, and I have to wrestle with them to make them take turns. I hate that.

  First I think, Dr. Reynoso’s name is Elinor? Why didn’t I know that?

  Then I think, Blessing? Give him my blessing? I’ve heard about blessings, and I sort of know what the word means, but it sounds like a churchy word. And Dr. Reynoso doesn’t usually talk in a churchy way.

  Then the bad one.

  Lose him? I could lose him?

  I had no idea I could lose him. I just thought it was irritating to have to share him.

  I could lose Jordy?

  I had no idea, until this exact moment, that something so horrible was even a possible thing.

  OLD BEN

  This is my paddling story for today.

  Did you know that birds run? I didn’t know that.

  Until today.

  It’s early. Really early. Only barely light. The Embarcadero is still asleep. Somewhere, the fishermen must be stirring. Fishermen get up early. But I can’t hear them from here.

  Ethel and I paddle out straight toward the ocean. Almost to the breakwater, but not quite. Because I’m a little scared by that sign that says that the waves can break inside the breakwater and get small boats in trouble. Blue Boat seems big to me, but I figure from watching the boats that motor by our apartment every day, on their way out to sea, that it’s probably not.

  So then we turn and head back along the sand spit. The water is so shallow here that I have to remember not to dip my paddle down too deep. I accidentally hit the bottom all the time. Then I have this little crescent moon of mud on one blade of my paddle, which I don’t like. But after ten or twenty strokes, it gets clean again.

  It’s foggy this morning. Really foggy.

  I don’t see the birds until they’re only a few feet away.

  They’re standing at the very edge of the sand spit, with their webbed feet almost in the water. Some are cormorants, those black seabirds with the long necks. Some are those Pacific brown pelicans that look very graceful flying, but when they’re standing on the sand spit in the fog, they look positively silly. I’m getting better about my bird names, I think. Except I still don’t know what the gray ones are, the biggest ones. The ones with the long legs like in the pictures you see of flamingos. And they’re my favorite.

  If you add all the different kinds of birds together, there are probably about fifty standing on the sand spit.

  Ethel doesn’t bark. She never does with birds. Just whimpers. And shakes like she’s cold.

  The birds look up but don’t move.

  I try to paddle without splashing.

  Then it’s like one of them gives a sign. Like they have a spokesperson or something. I mean, a spokesbird. And the spokesbird says, “Okay, that’s close enough.”

  And they all take off running. Running. On the water! It’s the damnedest thing. I never saw anything like it. I never knew there was anything like it around to be seen. And I have seen some things. Believe me. For a person my age, you just about can’t believe all I have seen.

  Good and bad, both.

  But I have never seen birds running.

  Until now.

  They stretch out their wings, but meanwhile, their webbed feet are running on the water. They remind me of little kids playing like they’re airplanes. Running down a pretend runway with their arms out wide, like they can take off.

  Only, these are birds. So they really can.

  For a minute, the whole world is just the sound of those running feet splashing across the surface of the bay. Estuary. Right in front of the blue nose of Blue Boat.

  Then the ones in the front lift off, and after a minute, they all do.

  Then there’s nothing but the most amazing silence.

  I see a feather that one of the birds left for me on the water. A big wide flat white feather. But I don’t take it.

  I really want it. But I’m afraid to lean over too far.

  We cross over to the Embarcadero side and paddle past the ugly power plant with the three ugly smokestacks. It has a sign on it welcoming people to Morro Bay. I guess if you come in by boat, it’s the first thing you see.

  Too bad.

  It also says on the sign that Morro Bay is a state and national estuary. So I guess Jordy was right about that.

  We paddle past the Coast Guard pier, where they tie up the Coast Guard boats and the big game-warden boat. One of the boats is running its motor, and it smells and sounds really bad. So I paddle as fast as I can to get away. Besides, I think maybe you’re supposed to wear a life vest. And I don’t have one.

  Right around the time I’m passing that
dock where people buy gas for their boats, I hear somebody calling out to me. At least, I guess it’s me.

  “Ahoy there, young lady!”

  It’s still early. I don’t think there are too many other young ladies around.

  I look up to the gasoline dock, and there’s an old man up there. He has a bushy white beard and snow-white hair and a big belly, and his skin is all leathery-tough from the sun. He looks like he must be at least eighty. He has some kind of power tool in his hand. And he’s looking right at me.

  I say, “Who, me?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Wonder if you could do me a favor. See that black plastic cap floating on the water?”

  “Where?”

  “Right over there.”

  He points, and then I see it. Bobbing over near one of the dock pilings. (Jordy taught me that word—pilings.) Like the cap off a can of black paint, only heavier, and about twice as big.

  “Oh. Sure. I see it.”

  “If you could take a minute to fetch that for me and toss it back up here, you sure would be improving my day. Otherwise, I’ll be breathing fumes all morning. Dropped it right into the water. I know better, too. I could kick myself.”

  “I’ll get it,” I say. Paddling over there. “I just have to be careful not to lean over too far.”

  “Tell you a trick. You reach out with one blade of your paddle and nudge it over till it’s right up against your boat. Or even if you can’t reach it, you can use your paddle to make a little current that brings it in close. And then you don’t have to lean to get it.”

  I do it like he says, and it works fine. It’s easy. Then I’m really glad I met him, because now I know what to do when I want to pick up a feather.

  I paddle over until we’re right underneath where he’s squatting on the dock.

  He says hello to Ethel. He says, “Good morning, Mr. Dog. Or Ms. Dog, as the case may be. You are certainly a fine specimen of an animal, aren’t you? Just beautiful.”

  “That’s what I think!” I really yell it out. I hope everybody on the Embarcadero is awake. “You’re the first person I ever met besides me who thinks so!”

  “Beauty from the inside out,” he says. “The most trustworthy kind.”

  So now I already like this guy a lot.

  I toss the plastic cap up. He almost misses it. His hands pop it back up into the air three or four times, but then he finally gets it before it ends up right back in the water again.

  I look over at the shop next door to his. It’s all boarded up and empty. I knew that from walking by the other side. The Embarcadero side. On my walks with Ethel. But I never saw it from this side before, so I didn’t know what it said.

  On one of the window boards, in red paint, somebody has painted a little poem. It says:

  All men should strive to learn before they die

  What they are running from, and to, and why.

  —Thurber

  I think I might know what it means, but I’m not positive I’m right.

  The old guy sees me looking.

  “Words of wisdom,” he says.

  So I feel funny telling him I’m not sure if I get it.

  “What’s a Thurber?” I ask him.

  “He’s not a what, that Thurber. He was a who. He was a humor writer. It’s a quote.”

  “I don’t know what a quote is.”

  He squats there a minute. Looking down at me.

  This is that moment I always hate. When people start to catch on that I’m not quite like them. Not quite like everybody else. I hope he’ll like me anyway. Sometimes people like me anyway.

  “It just means those are his words.”

  Still don’t quite get it. But I keep it to myself.

  “So, if he’s a humor writer…I guess that’s supposed to be funny?”

  “Nope. Not at all. Dead serious.”

  “But you said he was a humor guy.”

  “Even the most humorous among us have our serious moments. And the most serious among us have an occasional moment of humor.”

  “If it’s supposed to be funny and I don’t get it, you can tell me. I won’t mind. Lots of times I don’t get jokes. I’m not funny at all.”

  “How do you know? Maybe you’re funny, but you just don’t get yourself.”

  Now he’s making my head hurt. I like how he thinks Ethel is beautiful, but the rest of this could really give me a headache if I let it.

  “What about women?” I ask. Because I think I will take us someplace easier.

  “Now there’s a question for the ages. I give up. What about them?”

  “Should they strive, too?”

  “Oh, yes. It doesn’t really mean just men.”

  “It says men.”

  “In this case it’s more like…just like…mankind. Think about it. Men. Wo…men. See what I mean?”

  “I think so.”

  “Tell you a little secret. But you gotta promise not to tell. Tommy…the guy who used to work on marine motors in that shop…he up and took off in the night one night. Boarded the place up and flew away. I happen to know he had some debts. Gambling problem. But not too many other people around here know that. So I let ‘em think Tommy painted that on before he left. That way they picture him out somewhere finding himself in the most romantic way possible. Not trying to outrun a loan shark. Makes a better local legend, you know? So that’s our little secret—about Tommy’s gambling debts and about how I painted that on there myself. Always wanted to put those words up somewhere, because people need to read ‘em. Little sneaky, but maybe the ends’ll justify the means.”

  I don’t say anything.

  The only part of that I understand is that he painted the little poem on the window board himself. Fortunately, he doesn’t stop to see if I follow.

  “Well. Back to work. Thank you kindly, young lady. You’ve saved my morning. Not to mention my sinuses. I owe you a debt of gratitude.”

  He snaps the black cap onto the back of his power tool with a big click.

  “No, it was fine. It was good for me, too. You showed me how to pick up feathers.”

  “It’s an ill wind that blows no one good,” he says.

  I don’t think it’s just me. I think most people wouldn’t follow. I think he is a very hard guy to follow. I still like him a whole lot. I just don’t understand most of what he says.

  I go back for the feather.

  When we get home and back upstairs, Jordy is getting ready for work. Kevin is in the best place possible. Somewhere else. I think he might have been leaving today. But if not, I’d be so disappointed, I could hardly take it. So I haven’t been able to bring myself to ask.

  “Look, Jordy,” I say. And I show him the feather.

  I’m leaning in the doorway of our tiny little bathroom, watching him brush his teeth. He looks over quick at the feather. I can tell he’s not paying very good attention at all.

  “There were these birds, like fifty of them, and they all ran away when they saw me coming. I know you think I said that wrong, but I didn’t. You probably think they flew away, but they ran. Well, first they ran, and then they flew. Anyway, one of them left me this feather.”

  “That’s nice, Chlo,” he says around the toothbrush.

  I can see all the foamy toothpaste in his mouth when he says it. It’s sort of gross.

  I know now why he’s not paying attention. He’s nervous about something.

  “What are you nervous about, Jordy?”

  He looks at me, then back at the sink.

  “What makes you say I’m nervous?”

  “Because you are.”

  He spits out the toothpaste. Rinses off the brush. Rinses his mouth by taking a double handful of water and slurping from it. Spits again. I hate spitting. But a person brushing his teeth doesn’t get much choice.

  He wipes his mouth on the towel by the sink. He’s looking at me, only in the mirror. It works out the same.

  “Kevin went home this morning,” he says. “Took a cab to the air
port.”

  Every bit of me wants to jump up and down and dance and cheer. And throw confetti. And have a party to celebrate. But I’m supposed to be blessing Jordy on this whole Kevin thing. Not that I have any idea how. But probably not by celebrating when he’s nervous.

  I wait. To see where the nervous comes in.

  “I’m just a little worried,” he says.

  “About what?”

  “I just keep thinking…I mean, he was with this Mark for a reason. He must have some feelings for the guy. I keep thinking that…maybe when he gets home and looks right into Mark’s eyes…he’ll…change his mind.”

  Wow. I never thought of that. That would be even better than his truck breaking down. But then I try to erase that thought. Forget I ever had it. Because it’s not exactly what you might call a blessing. But it feels so good to think about Kevin changing his mind about coming back.

  So far, the only thing I’ve really figured out about this whole blessing thing is that if it feels really good and happy and like a huge relief, that’s probably not it.

  “But I know I’m being silly,” Jordy says. “I know Kevin. And he loves me. And he’ll come back.”

  Yeah. He’s probably right. Just my luck, he’ll probably come back.

  I go to say something. But I do that thing where I start to talk before the words are there to get said.

  “So….”

  After he gets tired of waiting, he says, “So?”

  “So, it’ll just be like this forever? Like it’s been this past week? It won’t ever go back to just you and me? Ever?”

  Jordy’s eyes get sad and soft. He takes hold of my hand and pulls me out to the living room and sits me down on the couch. He’s holding both of my hands in both of his, and his eyes look really, really sad. So I figure this is going to hurt a lot.

  “Things are going to be a little different,” he says.