“Why?” I don’t understand—the shoes made sense, sort of, but a dress?
“Because… you’re naked? Last time, you wanted a towel?”
I hesitate, look out over the water. For a moment, I get lost, wondering what my sisters are doing beneath the waves….
“I wanted it?” I ask, turning back to her.
She nods. “You don’t have to. I just thought, if someone were to see you, they might think…”
“Of course,” I say. “Right.” I take the dress from her hands and struggle to slide it over my head. It feels strange on my skin, uncomfortable, like it’ll hold me back from moving all the ways I want to. I’m certain I don’t look like Celia in it, that I just look like an ocean girl in a dress, every bit as awkward as it would look on a dolphin or a fish.
I suppose it’s something, though. Celia rises and walks away, back toward the church. I follow, stumbling a little against the searing pain in my feet, longing for the moment we sit down. If the people on the pier think anything is strange about me, they don’t show it—their eyes skim over Celia and me, instead staring out at the ocean, to where the stars are starting to shine. It looks odd from here. When you’re in the middle of the ocean, the stars are everywhere when you look up. But here, I see them stop, the dark line where the water begins and the sky ends. I stare at the horizon for a moment when we finally sit by the church.
“I saw Jude today,” Celia says awkwardly, drumming on her knees. “The boy from the water, the one you saved?”
“Oh.” Jude. He has a name. Naturally he has a name, but for some reason I always just thought of his eyes, not the name, the mind, the life behind them. “He’s alive?” I can’t pretend it isn’t a relief to hear.
“Yes. He… he remembers you, I think,” she says, looking away.
“What does he remember?”
“Your hair. And… did you sing to him?”
I pause. “No. Another one of us did, though.” Celia still looks confused, but I’m not sure I could phrase an explanation in a way she could understand. She couldn’t possibly understand what it’s like to be one of us.
“Well… he’s nice. He’s really nice,” Celia says, words a little stilted. I look at her, at the expression on her face—it’s different, tried.
“Does he love you?” I ask.
Celia’s eyebrows shoot up. She stumbles over the beginnings of several sentences before landing on one. “No, of course not. We just met. And he… it’s just that he thinks I saved him, which he shouldn’t, because it was you….” Her face turns red with something like guilt.
“But he might love you?” I ask, ignoring the rest of what she’s said.
Celia seems surprised. “I… no. My sisters say he does, but that’s just because they don’t know what love is. They think it’s a game….” She drifts off, sounding embarrassed. We’re silent for a few minutes, listening to the ocean. She moves a lot, I notice, brushing her hair back, flitting her eyes across the water, like the tiny fish that stay near the shore. “Are you… right now, what’s your name?” Celia asks, like she’s confused.
“Lo,” I whisper. Lo, the ocean girl, the girl who can’t be loved. I open my eyes, tilt my head toward her. “I want to remember Naida.”
“That’s why I came,” she answers. She inhales, looks at her hand, eyes softening like she’s praying. Then she slowly, carefully places her fingers over my forearm.
I can feel Celia in my mind, almost. I try to understand what she’s looking for. She suddenly grips my arm tighter; I flinch as her fingers dig into my skin.
Something in me moves, changes. It’s like a wall in my head is crumbling. I inhale, realize I’ve been holding my breath. Tiny bits of memories swarm me—trees, light, silverware, rocking chairs, little things—I can’t hold on to them long enough, I need help. I look up at Celia, who pulls her hand away and smiles at me shakily.
“There was a rope swing in your backyard, tied to a tree. Do you remember?” she asks.
My lips part, a soft sound escapes them.
“Yes…”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Naida
I picture the swing, the honeysuckle vines that grew up one side, then turn to Celia. “Do your sisters think you’re with Jude right now?” I ask. Everything feels light and perfect, like the weight of billions of drops of water has been hoisted from my mind, and that asking about Jude, living a little vicariously through Celia, will remove the tiny weight that remains.
She smiles, looks almost relieved by my question. “I think they do. I told them I was going for a walk alone, but they weren’t buying it. Oh well. It’ll mess with their heads, drive them crazy….” She smiles but sighs a little.
“Are they both older than you, then?”
“Technically they are, by a few minutes. We’re triplets.”
“My sister was three years older,” I say, leaning my head back against the church. I close my eyes, inhale, and words emerge from my mouth as easily as if I were reading a book aloud. “She was the smart one, the pretty one, the perfect one. It was like no matter what I did, I wasn’t her.” I stop, inhale. How did I know all that? I look at Celia, who smiles as thunder rolls overhead—a storm is sweeping in from farther out in the ocean.
“You remembered that on your own,” she says.
“How, though?”
“The memories are still there, just buried. And I haven’t seen much of your sister in your memories, so I know I didn’t tell you any of that. Maybe talking like this triggers them, forces them out of hiding.”
I pause, my lips part, I search for the book in my mind, the hidden recess where my old life lurks—I find it easier than the last time I met with Celia. “She… she had long brown hair, and she used this vanilla body wash, and we had to share this little room with a triangle ceiling that got hot in the summer. And her name—” I stop suddenly, like someone slammed a door shut in my head. The name is right there on the other side, but I can’t grab it—
“It’ll come,” Celia says gently. “And if talking doesn’t work, I can always try to read them for you.”
I swallow hard, over the thickness in my throat—how can I not remember her name? Thunder again—a few drops start to fall. I watch the way they splash against my skin. I see Celia jump when lightning cracks through the clouds above.