Crys

I ran my hand through the water, cold as ice, in the predawn gray. Milagra, lying flat on her surfboard, was just ahead of me, weaving through waves too small to notice. I followed her, aching for my moment. We waited. And waited. And then, the ocean took a breath. We rode it out, whooping at the top of our lungs until we were breathless.

Milagra looked drunk on adrenaline. “WOOO! Crys, how do you like mi novia?”

I laughed. She treated the ocean like it was her girlfriend. “Yup, I’m gonna miss her.”

She wrinkled her nose as she bobbed beside me. “Oregon waves are nothing like Cali’s though. El agua es una puta fria.”

Milagra only speaks the language of love when she’s in the ocean. “¿Verdad? Oregon’s waves can’t be as cold as Cali’s in the morning.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Just wait. You won’t know what hit you. You’ll be alright though. You’re practically a mermaid anyway.”

“Really? That’s kind of extreme,” I said, laughing then glanced at the sun streaked horizon. “I should head out. My dad’s already going to kill me for sneaking out this morning.”

As we turned our boards in the direction of shore, something caught my eye - a tail fin silhouetted against the pink skyline. It was gone before I could blink.

“Did you see that?” I asked Milagra.

“See what?”

“I - nevermind.” I shook my head. It was too early for hallucinations.

We didn’t speak until we splashed onto the sandy shore, still breathless. As we stripped off our wetsuits, she said, “I’ll miss this. Now I’ll have to surf with boys again. If you’re ever back in Santa Rosa, look me up.”

“Sure thing,” I promised, knowing I would never keep it.

~

Orange slices waited for me in the kitchen along with a pissed-off Dad. “Today, of all days, you had to go surfing?” he said as he wrapped the last of our dishes and put them into a box.

“Today is exactly is the day I needed to go,” I said, not looking at him as I walked into the kitchen and devoured the orange. “I needed to say good-bye.”

He paused from his frantic, last minute packing and softened. “To Mom or Milagra?”

“Both,” I said. The orange turned sour in my mouth but I chewed and swallowed anyway. It’d been two years since Mom drowned and her absence was still a gaping hole between us. “Why do we have to move again?”

“You know why,” he replied, renewing his frantic packing.

“But I like it here.”

He sighed but at least looked a little guilty. “I’m sorry, mija. I know it’s hard but it’s my job.”

I clenched my jaw then, reluctantly, growled under my breath, “What can I do to help?”

He handed me a broom and told me to start sweeping. Before the accident two years ago, Dad owned a busy antique shop in Vallejo, our hometown. After her death, he decided he couldn’t stay in the same place she died and sold the shop. Now he worked for an auction house as a roaming antique researcher. They procured cheap, old houses and Dad searched them for old letters, diaries, jewelry, etc, dragging me along with him.

By nine a.m., the apartment was swept and the car stuffed full with all our junk. I threw my backpack onto the floor and slid into the front seat.

“Ready for our next adventure?” He grinned and gave me a cheesy thumbs up.

I faked a smile just for him. “Sure thing, Dad.”

~

The setting sun followed our car as it climbed higher and higher up the mountain. Huge pine trees lined the curvy road, making me feel small and insignificant. Finally, we reached the gravel driveway of an old mansion that sat on a bluff looking over the Pacific Ocean.

“Bienvenido a nuestra casa nueva,” Dad announced with a sweeping gesture as he got out of the car.

“This is where we’re living?” I gasped and stood next to him in front of the magnificent but dilapidated house.

“Claro que si.” Dad grinned and flicked the brim of my Lakers hat, sending it tumbling behind me. “Instead of renting one of those cheap apartments, we’re living on the job.”

“Thank God,” I said, punching him in the shoulder before snatching my hat off the ground.

This was an improvement. For the past two years, every apartment we lived in had the same dirty walls, leaky faucets and broken windows. It was like the buildings grew legs and raced to our next destination. I ran through the front door, Dad just behind me.

Inside, I felt along the wall until I came across a switch. A chandelier blazed to life, revealing a grand foyer with stained, cedar floors coated with a thick layer of dust. With a quick look around I saw a second-floor balcony that circled the rim of the foyer. On the left side of the stairs were twin archways. Rich, chestnut double-doors took up most of the right side of the foyer.

“Mija, look over here,” Dad said. I followed him into the first of the two archways and entered a parlor. It was empty except for a few dusty side tables, some folding chairs and a cobblestone fireplace that still retained some of its former glory.

We wandered through the next archway and found ourselves in a large dining room with floor to ceiling windows. Although it was getting dark, I could still make out the mountains and a slight glimpse of the ocean through the windows.

“This is amazing,” I breathed.

“I know. Check that out,” Dad said, pointing up at the balcony that looked over the dining room.

He walked through a door at the end of the room that opened into a huge kitchen. An old, cast iron stove dominated the room, still gorgeous in spite of the cancerous rust. It contrasted greatly with the modern white sink, fridge and marble countertops.

We crossed back through the foyer to explore the room behind the oak double-doors. Tall shelves overflowed with faded books and Dad immediately went to inspect them. My eyes, however, were drawn to the window and the sparkling ocean beyond it.

After tearing myself away from the view, I ran up the creaky stairs, leaving Dad to fawn over books. I peered into each of the six bedrooms, looking for the one with the best view. Most were shabby except for one that was unusually clean. Some realtor must have attempted to show it off.

The best part though was the perfect view of the ocean and the huge rock sticking out of the water like a giant haystack. The room even had a window seat that jutted out and made you feel as if you were suspended in midair.

“Mija, ¿Dónde está?”

I jumped and ran back to the top of the stairs. “Up here.”

“Ven aqui, come get your stuff out of the car.”

“Sure thing,” I said and threw my leg across the banister. Just as I started to slide, I thought I heard a bird’s shrill squawk.