Between the Land and the Sea

Chapter TWENTYONE

HARBOR

It must have been the pain that woke me up.

I was in a dark undersea cavern one second, and the next thing I knew I was standing on the pavement leading up to the pier. It was a moonlit night, and I glanced down to see my bare feet standing in a pile of broken beer bottles. I looked around, but found myself alone. As I came fully awake the horror of my situation began to crystallize in my mind.

Blood started pooling around my feet as I hobbled to a nearby curb to sit. At least I had pants on this time. I tried to pick the glass shards out of my feet in the moonlight but the dark blood obscured everything. For a second I was tempted to go and wash them in the sea, but the prospect of crossing over the sand made me shudder. I was going to have to get home like this, and I walked painfully on the sides of my feet, leaving a bloody trail on the pavement. I passed a garbage can where I was able to find some old newspapers.

Paper sticking to the bottom of my feet, I climbed each step in excruciating pain. Clinging to wooden rails silvered by moonlight, I fought back waves of nausea as I tortuously made my way back home. When I got to the bathroom I looked in the mirror to see a face so pale it was ghostly. I think I was starting to go into shock as I rinsed my feet in the bathtub, wrapped them in towels and limped into my room. The desk and chair had been shoved aside; I tried to imagine myself moving them unconsciously.

It was four in the morning when I found myself digging tiny pieces of glass out of my feet with tweezers. Now I was almost grateful for the pain; it kept my mind focused on the task at hand and away from what might have happened. I dressed my wounds as well as I could with cotton balls and masking tape, and curled up in bed.

I tossed and turned for a while, nodding off for a few minutes here and there. I wondered if I should call Ethan and cancel our plans. I knew he’d think I didn’t want to see him, and I couldn’t bear the thought of that. I spent the whole day in bed, and when Abby came to say goodbye I pretended I was reading. I showered and redressed my swollen feet, putting socks on over all the tape.

I arrived at Ethan’s to find him waiting out front, leaning against the rail. It was starting to get dark and I hoped he didn’t notice how gingerly I was taking the stairs. He greeted me with a big hug and a lingering kiss, making me forget all about my throbbing feet.

“Let’s go for a walk,” he said. Going down the stairs hurt even more than climbing up and I bit down on my lip to keep from crying out. Ethan took my hand and led me along a dock. He noticed I was trailing him as we walked and he turned back to look at me.

“Are you alright?” I nodded and tried to smile, but he looked skeptical.

“I’m just tired– can we sit down somewhere?” I asked hopefully.

“Sure, there’s some benches up here.” As we went farther down the dock the crowd thickened, and all the benches were taken up. I followed along behind him numbly, each step opening up more cuts.

My mind wandered, and I was reminded the classic fairy tale about the little mermaid who traded her tail for legs. She could dance and walk, but every step she took came with agonizing, stabbing pain. I couldn’t help but wonder if my mother had made a bargain like that. I recalled that the story had a tragic ending.

I paused, “Uhm, I really need to stop.” He looked at me strangely. “My feet hurt,” I added feebly.

“OK, c’mon.” He led me down from the main dock to a locked gate where he typed a code into the keypad, standing back as the gate swung open. We walked along a row of darkened boats. We came to the end of the row and he turned to me in the dim light.

“We’re not really supposed to be here, but the view will be great.” He helped me up onto the deck of a beautiful white yacht facing out to the harbor. We sat down on a comfortable padded bench, looking out over the lighted boats. I sighed with relief as the weight came off my feet.

“I’ll give you a foot rub,” he said, as he swung my feet onto his lap.

“No!” I cried, trying to pull them back. But in a flash, he had hold of my ankle, and already pulled off a sneaker.

“Are you ticklish?” he teased, and then stopped short. Even in the dim light you could see a dark blood stain seeping through my white sock.

“What the...” he pulled off the other sneaker and there was even more fresh blood. “What happened?” He looked shocked, and he peeled back the sock to see my makeshift bandages.

“I stepped in glass,” I said. Even in the near blackness I could see his eyes widen. “By accident,” I added firmly. I pulled back my feet, and reached across him for my shoes.

He grabbed my wrist, “On both feet? How? When?” He was upset.

“Promise me that you’re not going to freak out,” I said, pulling my hand back. He just looked at me.

“What did you do?” He sounded intense.

“I was sleepwalking last night,” I said, and it sounded weird. “There were some broken beer bottles down by the pier and I walked over them in my sleep...”

“Down by the pier?” He raised his voice.

“I can’t help it. I tried to stop it...” I grabbed my shoes and put them back on. “I told you I haven’t been sleeping...”

“How long has this been going on?” he asked.

“The first time was the night you got hurt,” I admitted.

I tried to explain myself, but as the story tumbled out I realized how crazy it sounded. I told him about how I had found myself, half dressed, outside in the middle of the night. I described finding myself going down the stairs to the beach, explaining how I’d been afraid to sleep, and started sleeping in my clothes. I told that I’d been barricading myself in my room, that it was getting worse, and that last night I’d somehow managed to move the furniture in my sleep.

“Why didn’t you tell me what was going on?” he choked out.

“You stopped talking to me,” I said. He looked agonized.

“Oh God, I’m sorry,” he groaned as he pulled me into his arms. He felt warm in the cool night air and I rested my tired head on his shoulder.

“It’s not your fault, I don’t like to talk about it anyway,” I mumbled, exhausted.

“You shouldn’t be going through this all alone.” He kissed my forehead, “Let’s go back to my house and look at those cuts– they should have stopped bleeding by now.” We stood up to go when a bright flash of light blinded us.

“Trespassers! I’m warning you– I’m armed!” a man’s voice bellowed. He was shining a flashlight into our eyes, “Don’t you move! The harbormaster is on his way!” Ethan stepped in front of me and held his palms out to his sides.

“Whoa– take it easy! We were just sitting here,” he squinted into the light.

“Amy– get the lights!” The man called out to someone else on the boat. Floodlights switched on and we stood there blinded for a moment.

“Miss Vanderpool? Marina– is that you?” I looked up to see one of my father’s colleagues. I recognized him from a Christmas party at the university last year.

“Professor Milton? Is this your boat?” I looked into his surprised face. He was a small man with a gray beard and goatee. I think he was a professor of economics. I tried to explain, “I’m staying with my aunt in town and, well... I’m sorry... we were just looking for a place to watch the parade...”

A much younger girl who I took to be Amy rounded the corner. She had on a short nightgown. The professor cleared his throat.

“This is my research assistant Amy Purvis. Amy, this is Marina, Martin Vanderpool’s daughter.”

Amy came up and shook my hand, “Congratulations, you must be so proud! The whole faculty is thrilled.” I looked over at Ethan and he was speechless.

I was confused. “I don’t understand,” I said.

A figure came hurrying down the dock with a flashlight, and Professor Milton rushed over to intercept him, “Sorry to trouble you, false alarm, it’s just an old family friend! Nothing at all.” The harbormaster looked annoyed and grumbled something to the little man as he turned and left. Professor Milton returned to us.

“You haven’t heard the news?” he asked.

“What news?”

“The prize? Your father?”

“What prize– what happened?”

“Martin has won the Nobel prize! It was announced today. He was nominated for his work fighting hunger in Africa and he’s won! We’re all absolutely over the moon about it! Of course they’ll be a major gala when he returns from Afghanistan. We’re forming a committee to select a delegation to attend the award ceremony in Oslo this December.”

“Wow!” I said numbly, still in a state of shock, “That’s great news.” I started backing away,

“My friend and I should really get going... I’m so sorry to have disturbed you.” Ethan and I beat a hasty retreat.

“Tell your father congratulations!” he called after us.

Once we got past the gate Ethan looked at me, shaking his head, “Never a dull moment with you,” he said, deadpan. He bent down, “Jump on.” He carried me on his back down the dock, weaving through the crowds of spectators. I wrapped my arms around his neck and went limp with relief.

“Thanks,” I said, “That was weird.”

“Yeah, I thought I was going to get nailed for sneaking around and get my dad in trouble.

What’s he going to say to your father?” he asked me.

“Oh, I doubt he’ll be saying anything about this little incident,” I said.

“Why?” Ethan asked, surprised.

“Because Amy,” I tried to suppress a snicker, “Is not Mrs. Milton.” He laughed about it as he carried me back to his apartment.

Abby and Dutch were out on the boat, so we had the place to ourselves. Ethan sat me down on the couch and took off my shoes to inspect the damage. Peeling back my socks and bandages, he blanched.

“Marina, some of these cuts need stitches!” He looked at me incredulously, “There may still be glass in them... you have to see a doctor.”

“Oh,” I said meekly, “I was hoping they’d just close up...”

“Are you crazy?” he said, “What were you thinking coming over here like this?” Tears welled up in my eyes as my hard facade began to crack. My voice was shaky as I groped around for my shoes and socks, “I’m sorry, I’d better go home. I guess I’m just so tired I’m not thinking straight. I didn’t want to worry you...”

“Stop,” he said, “Wait a minute.” Ethan got up and headed for his room. He came back with a fresh pair of socks and put them on me. He scooped me up off the couch and carried me down to his truck.

“Marina, you’ve got to stop worrying about everyone but yourself!” We drove a short distance to an emergency medical clinic and he carried me in. He stood by my side trying to distract me, while they injected painkillers and cleaned my wounds.

“So,” he said, smoothing back my hair and taking my hand, “A Nobel prize. That’s a big deal. How come you didn’t know?”

“I didn’t check my mail today,” I said, “And he didn’t call. My dad’s more into his work than awards and stuff.” I smiled up at him from the table, “He’s kinda crazy that way.”

“I think crazy runs in the family,” he said, squeezing my hand.

All I could feel now was a tugging sensation as they sewed up the two main cuts. I was given some antibiotics to take and Ethan was sent out of the room.

The doctor sat down and lectured me about waiting so long to seek medical attention. He told me I was lucky I came in before an infection could set in, and said that I needed to stay off my feet for a few days. Then his tone became serious as he handed me a brochure about teen drinking and drug abuse. He suggested that I join a support group. He left and Ethan came back in.

“That’s just great,” I said sarcastically, “First they think I’m suicidal and now I’m a substance abuser.” I waved the brochures at him. Ethan laughed at me and picked me up again.

As we drove back to his house he gently questioned me.

“They were convinced you had to be high on something to have withstood the pain. How did you get all the way home from the beach like that?” he asked.

I described what happened to him, pausing when I noticed how upset he was getting. I told him how I could barely see to pull the glass out. How glad I was that I had pants on. I told him about using the newspaper and taking some of the stairs on my knees. I told him about washing up in the bathtub, and how freaked out I was that I had moved the furniture like a zombie to get out of my room. We pulled up to his apartment.

“Wait here,” he said, leaning over to kiss me. He paused, “You’re a lot tougher than you look.” He came back with my things in his duffel bag, “Give me your keys. I’m driving you home.”

“How are you getting home?” I asked.

“I’m not,” he said, “I’m your new bodyguard.”

He told me he was going to watch me that night to make sure I didn’t sleepwalk. As we drove he said it didn’t matter if he had to stay up all night, he would figure out a way to keep me from getting out. I was relieved that he was going to help me but I was nervous at the thought of having him in such close proximity. We pulled up in front of my house.

“I don’t know if this is such a good idea,” I said.

“I think it is,” he replied.

“What about your dad?” I asked, “Won’t he miss you?”

“He won’t check up on me tonight,” he told me. “Besides, Abby has him so distracted lately that I’d be surprised if he even notices I’m gone.”

I laughed, “Yeah, Abby’s been going around the house singing for the past week. She’s even happier than normal, if that’s possible.” I shook my head, amused, “So you’re okay with your dad seeing her?”

“Absolutely,” he said. “My mom ditched us when I was just a kid. He deserves to be with someone great like Abby.”

Once again I didn’t know what to say. I reached out and took his hand and he leaned over to kiss me softly. He got out and came around to my side of the car, picking me up and carrying me into the house. He set me down on the couch. Cruz came into the room and did a double take when he saw my bandaged feet.

“What on earth happened here?” he exclaimed, looking back and forth at Ethan and me.

“Have a seat,” I said, “We need to talk.” I told him everything that had been going on. I tried to break the news to him gently, but with each new detail he became more and more agitated.

“Why didn’t you tell me!” he cried, “For God’s sake Marina– you could have been killed!”

“I know,” said Ethan, taking his side, “We have to figure out what to do.” Ethan told him about his plans to watch over me at night and the two of them started discussing ways to keep me from getting out.

“Hello– I’m sitting right here!” I said, offended, “I’ve been doing my best.” Cruz looked at me sadly, “Why didn’t you tell me about your mother? Don’t you trust me?”

“It’s not like that,” I said gently, “At first I didn’t know for sure... and then I was too freaked out to talk about it. I’m sorry.” I limped over and gave him a hug, “Forgive me?” He sighed and hugged me back, “This explains a lot.” He turned towards Ethan, “Megan and I couldn’t understand why she was so dead set on meeting with them. We’ve been trying to talk her out of it all along.”

“There’s nothing you could have said or done,” I said.

“She’s crazy that way,” Ethan said, looking at me sideways.

“You better go hide,” Cruz said, looking out the window, “Mom’s home.” Ethan picked me up and carried me to my room. Cruz followed behind us with our bags. “I’ll tell her you’re asleep

– we can talk after she goes to work in the morning.”

Alone in my room with Ethan, I was suddenly shy. I moved around in the tiny space, straightening up the clutter. We weren’t talking so Abby wouldn’t hear us, but I watched him look around, taking everything in. It felt a little too personal, as if I were an open book he was reading. He sat down on the little chair in the corner.

“Sit down!” he whispered, pointing to the bed, “You need to stay off your feet.” He looked down and his eyes widened. I realized I had shoved the gruesome bloody towels aside and forgotten them. They were ruined, so I gathered them up and threw them in the garbage. I’d have to remember to get Abby some new ones. I sat on the bed and put my feet up. The anesthetic was wearing off and they were beginning to throb.

Ethan came over and sat down next to me, “Do you think you have enough shoes?” He whispered in my ear, his dark blue eyes lit with humor. I shot him a dirty look.

“Mind your own business,” I looked down and smiled. He chuckled. There was a scratching sound at the door and Ethan looked at me, alarmed. I reached over and cracked the door open.

Charlie the cat came barreling in and planted himself between us on the bed, purring loudly. I was glad he arrived when he did. He broke up the tension between us. I yawned.

“You need some sleep,” he said.

I got up, “I’m gonna go brush my teeth.” I put some socks on over my bandages and grabbed a pair of sweatpants to change into, limping out of the room and down the hall. When I got back Ethan was moving the chair, which he took to position over by the door.

“I’m sitting right here tonight,” he said quietly, “Just go to sleep.”

“But–”

“Get in bed,” he said, pointing sternly.

I was too tired to argue, so I slid into bed and Charlie snuggled up to me. Overcome with exhaustion, I fell asleep before I even had a chance to thank him.