“Why? Why should I do it? Give me one reason.”
“Because this is probably the only chance you’ll ever have to pet a bat ray. And because it’s an amazing thing that they let you touch them. That they’re not even afraid of us. And because it’ll make your world bigger. And you keep saying you want that.”
Bea wrinkled her nose. She could feel it.
“I said one reason.”
“Get over here.”
Bea moved closer to the tank and looked down. There was a bat ray just a foot or two away, gliding under the water in her direction. Somehow Bea knew the key would have to be an utter lack of preparation. Of anticipation. Once she allowed space for doubt, she would never overcome it. She would have to move faster than the doubt. She yanked the left sleeve of her sweater up to her elbow with her right hand, then stuck her left hand in the water and touched the bat ray as he swam by. It was satiny soft, just like the girl had said. But it was wet, living flesh, not fabric. It was unlike anything Bea had ever touched before.
She yanked her hand back before any part of the stinger could touch it.
“Oh my!”
“Now aren’t you glad you did that?”
“I think maybe I am.”
“I’m getting hungry. Are you getting hungry? We’ve been here for hours. We could get our hand stamped and come back in and see more after lunch.”
“I could eat,” Bea said.
“We can’t always eat in restaurants,” Bea said as they settled at their table. She picked up her menu. Looked at the right side first. Pricey. Everything was pricey. This was a tourist area, Cannery Row, and nothing came cheap. “It’s just wasteful. Think how much food we could get at the supermarket for this kind of money.”
Bea could see the disappointment written on the girl’s face. Truthfully, Bea felt disappointed, too. The old Bea had returned, and issued an old Bea proclamation. It seemed both inevitable and sad.
“But we have no way to cook it.”
“Not all food needs to be cooked. We might not be able to afford a hot meal three times a day.”
“Okay. I get it. But we decided to have this one. So let’s enjoy it.”
“Good point,” Bea said. “I’m sorry.” Then she tried to stop talking. To leave it at that. But something about her simple apology—the very entrance of the word “sorry”—seemed to open a door that Bea was not strong enough to slam shut again. “Actually, I’m sorry for a lot of things.”
Allie looked into her face. The girl seemed guarded. A little suspicious.
“Like what?”
“I guess I’m sorry I didn’t believe you when you said you’d gone through that terrible experience. Which I now see you really had. And I’m sorry I was so quick to want to put you out of my van again. I was just being cautious, I guess. And about the money. Thank you for going back and getting your things from your house and using them for food and gas so we can get by until my next check. I wasn’t being very appreciative about that. I was acting like you owed me all that and more. But it’s generous. So I’m sorry I wasn’t nicer about it. Money is a tricky subject for me. I’m always scared about it, and when I get scared I suppose I get rather . . . tight. And maybe not my very nicest self. I’ll work on that.”
“Wow,” Allie said.
Bea expected her to say more. Instead a brief silence fell.
“Wow what?”
“I don’t know. I just didn’t expect all that from you.”
“Don’t be so surprised,” Bea said, feeling herself bristle. “I can be nice.”
“I didn’t say you couldn’t. I just—”
The waitress arrived, wanting to take their order. Which seemed strange to Bea, because she hadn’t even taken a simple drink order first. High prices and they push you through fast, she thought.
Truthfully, Bea had barely glanced at the menu. But she knew what she wanted. It was a lunch choice that would be hard for Bea to order. Things being what they were. Bea being who she had always been. A day earlier it might have been impossible. But Bea felt she knew how to do it now: the same way you pet a bat ray. Without hesitation. Without creating a gap that doubt can wedge its way into, to create an even greater hesitation.
“I’ll have the Dungeness crab,” she said.
Allie’s eyebrows looked strangely high in Bea’s peripheral vision, but Bea did not openly turn her head to look.
“It was what I wanted,” Bea said under her breath.
“I didn’t say a word,” Allie whispered back.
An hour or more after lunch they stood in a dim room of the aquarium filled with tank after tank of jellyfish. Bea found them mesmerizing.
She would never have imagined jellyfish as a thing of beauty. But these were brilliantly colored and patterned, veiled, glowing. They moved—pulsed, drifted—with astonishing grace. And something almost akin to serenity.
“I think we should find ourselves a good campground tonight,” she told Allie. Quietly, because the room and its creatures inspired reverence. “With nice hot showers.”
“Ooh,” Allie breathed. Equally reverent. “That sounds great.”
“Doesn’t it? I haven’t taken a hot shower since I left my home. What I really like is a nice deep bathtub. But I only had a skimpy little one in the trailer. I’ll probably never take a hot bath again. But a hot shower will be the next best thing.” Silence. Bea looked over to see the girl staring at her in the dim light. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“You’ll take a bath again. Why would you even say that? You don’t know that you’ll always be homeless.”
“I don’t see what’s going to come along to change it.”
“I’m not assuming I’ll always be out in the world like this.”
“You have parents.”
“True. But when they get out of jail and I get to go home, you’ll come take a bath at my house.”
“Oh, I’m sure your parents would love that.”
“After everything they’ve put me through, I doubt I’m going to put it like a question. I don’t think I’d give them much choice.”
But that’s easy to say, Bea figured, when you’re not looking said parents straight in the eye.
Bea sat on the front bumper of her van while the girl used the shower. Bea had showered first, and the feeling of cleanliness filled her with an exhilaration that would have seemed almost silly had she stopped to examine it.
They were at a state park campground, most of or all the way to Santa Cruz, camped just a few yards inland from a white sand beach that Bea had to admit was lovely. There was a pier. At the end of it a huge, ancient-looking ship sat broken apart and sunk in the shallow water. The setting sun made it look orange. The setting sun made everything look orange. And someone was flying a kite, all long tails, in front of that setting sun.