Drowning Is Inevitable (17 page)

I stayed two paces behind her, never catching up to her, never wanting to. The sound of the leaves crunching under our feet was loud in the quiet of the night, and the wind blew her hair behind her, toward me. Once she was at the water's edge, I knew I should close my eyes and cover my ears, so I wouldn't have to see or hear any of this, but I couldn't move.

My mother stayed still for a moment and then walked into the river. My chest burned as I watched her wade out until the water came up to her knees. Once she was in up to her waist, she turned her face back toward my grandmother's house. She looked right through me. She was crying, and she looked so lonesome, like she already missed us. Her face was so much like my own.

It started to rain, and it was warm. I turned my face to the sky. It fell softly at first, gliding across my face and down my body. I looked back out at the river, but there was no Lillian, just me and the river and the rain. She'd gone under. Even though it was only a dream and it wouldn't change anything, I ran down the bank after her. The rain turned the dirt into mud; my running turned into sinking and slipping. The rain came down harder, and I fell and went into the river headfirst, the river's fingers, wet and lapping, pulling me out farther. Then the current had me, and in no time I was almost completely submerged, only my face still above the water. I opened my mouth to scream for her, but I just swallowed river. The rain pushed my head under, beating at my face, and the current pulled me from below, the rain and the river coconspirators.

I was dying, I knew it. But right before I died, I felt the ground against my feet. I'd somehow found my way back to the bank, only it wasn't the muddy bank my feet touched but concrete, and it was warm. Sound flooded my ears, but it wasn't the river. It was car horns.

I heard my name, and the voice was loud and scared. Then Max was running to me, flying down the steps of Steven's front porch, his shirt open and flapping. I was in the street. He was running. Cars were coming, but everything played out in slow motion.

I woke up one part at a time. I turned my head toward the cars trying to stop, their horns hurting my ears. Max crashed into me, knocking my head back, making me look at the sky. It was bright blue, cloudless. Then his arms pulled me into his body. He spun us around, the cars' honking not stopping this slow dance as he carried me to the other side of the street without putting me down.

His heart was beating fast against my side, and his voice matched its rhythm. “What were you doing? What were you doing?” he asked.

I wanted to answer, but I didn't know what I was doing standing in the middle of the street when only a moment ago I'd been drowning in the Mississippi River. I sometimes sleepwalk, the only discernible trait I inherited from my dad. But the only place I had ever walked to before was my tree. Maybe that was where I was headed, but I was a hundred miles from my tree.

The people passing in the cars squinted at me through their windows and shook their heads slowly, like they were chalking me up as yet another person not able to handle the effects of too many days in New Orleans. Max still hadn't let me go. Did he not trust that I wouldn't dart back into the street? I looked at his face, but he wasn't looking at me; something up at the street corner had his attention. I followed his stare.

At the intersection policemen were lining up barricades, preparing to close off the street. We looked down to the other end of Oak Street and saw that another policeman had started directing traffic away from the street.

“Is it over?” I breathed.

My eyes shot to Jamie and Maggie, who were standing on the porch. Max pulled me closer in to his body, like there was a way to tuck me inside him, to shield me from their eyes. I was terrified, but also grateful that Max was on my side. I'd never seen anything fiercer than the look in his eyes.

“It's not over,” he spit out.

J
amie and Maggie looked at the cops and then back at us. For some reason the cops weren't making a move for us, they just continued closing off the street at either end. Max slowly released me, but he grabbed my hand and pulled me tight against his body. He never took his eyes off the policemen standing closest to us as we made our way back across the street. Once we were on the porch, Max herded all of us inside. We split, two of us at each of Steven's front windows, looking out.

Steven came into the living room. “Are they closing the street off?”

He took in our panicked stares and said, “Calm down, the police aren't going to come bursting through the door. Well, probably not.” He laughed. When he saw that we weren't going to join him, he continued, “There's a festival today and a street dance tonight. The setup starts pretty early, because people here love an excuse to start drinking before noon.”

Steven went through the house, pulling art from walls and stacking the canvases up in the living room. Apparently he had plans of setting up shop somewhere on the street. He came back into the living room, his arms full.

“Will you boys go around to the storage room in the back?” he asked. “I need my easels. You'll see them as soon as you open the door.” He didn't wait for an answer before going into the kitchen.

Maggie said, “I'll go.”

“I'll go with you,” Max said.

They walked out and slinked around to the back of the house, then returned a few minutes later and helped Steven set up his display down the street, not too far from the house. He brought a folding chair and a bottle of wine with him, his provisions for the day. The street was completely blocked off now, and we were trapped in the house.

A couple of hours later, people started filling the street. I watched from my spot in the window. This festival wasn't so different from the festivals in St. Francisville, in that it had art, food, and people, but there was a different flavor to this one. It had something to do with the variety of people crammed into one narrow space. I'd never seen so many faces, and even though it wasn't likely they knew each other, they seemed to trade smiles and laugh together like old friends. The policemen were at every cross street, walking around and talking to each other and the people passing by. They laughed, and some even danced to the music floating in and out from different places. After a time they became less scary and more like decoration.

“It's time to go meet Beth,” Max said. “And I'm coming with you.”

We'd been watching the festival for so long that it was hard to peel my eyes from the window. I was scared it would turn into something else if I turned my back on it, like a police raid. I knew it was irrational, but I was worried the festival was just a front to lure us into feeling safe enough to walk outside.

Jamie looked back out at the street and then back to me. “I wish you didn't have to go. Be safe.”

“I will.”

Max took my hand and pulled me to him “Relax,” he whispered to me as we went out the front door. We walked against the stream of people and had to hold each other tight to keep from being pushed apart. Once we were off Oak Street, we both breathed a sigh of relief. Three cops were standing next to the trolley stop. One of them pointed in the direction of Oak Street. Max grabbed my arm, and we ducked down a back alley.

“We'll have to go the long way around,” he said.

Our detour brought us to the riverside. The Mississippi River spread out before us, wider and more imposing than I was used to, making the stretch we had in St. Francisville's look like its little sister. I stopped and leaned against the railing that ran along the length of the boardwalk. The breeze felt good, alleviating the sticky humidity of the day. Max stood behind me, caging me in with his arms, his head lowering to kiss my shoulder.

A song came from the direction of the water. It was one I'd never heard before, and I couldn't make out the lyrics—something about a boy and the river. The tone was sad but beautiful, and I couldn't help myself from humming along.

“Are you worried about seeing Beth again?” he asked.

“No, not really,” I lied. “Are you worried?”

“What if it's a trap? What if she called your dad or the police?”

“All I can do is hope she didn't.”

Wanting to put off the possibility of Beth failing me, I ducked under the railing. I wanted to get a closer look at the river. Maybe I'd be able to hear the song better. I walked to some steps leading down to the water's edge. I took them carefully. I watched as the river moved and lapped against the rocks at its shore, my eyes stopping on the elaborate riverboats docked next to it. They were huge, lining up along its edge like ladies in waiting.

Max followed me down the steps. “What are you doing? We need to go.”

“Do you hear the music?” I asked.

He frowned and cocked his head toward the water. “I don't hear anything.”

The wind gusted. The music seemed to be coming from the river, its melody seeping out of the water, rolling along the current to me, drawing me forward. It was like the dream of my mom sitting in her bedroom window, turning her head to a sound coming off the river. Was it a sound only I could hear? Did it mean I was going crazy like my mother? Instead of being scared, I was curious.

Even though the music was muffled by the sound of the current and the barge now moving down the middle of the river, I was hypnotized by the song. I walked closer to the water, but Max stopped me.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

It was the third time he'd asked me that today. And I still didn't know how to answer him. I tilted my head toward the music. There was a lullaby quality I hadn't noticed before.

“You really can't hear that?” I asked.

“I can't hear any music.”

Maybe hearing the music was proof I was getting closer to finding my mom.

The wind shifted again, and the song drifted away. I tilted my head again, trying to catch its sound, but it was no use. Soon I couldn't hear it at all, and I was forgetting its tune.

Max took my hand and squeezed. “We need to go. Beth will be waiting.”

“Okay. Sorry,” I said.

His eyes looked worried, and I hated it.

“I'm fine,” I lied again.

He led me back up the steps and onto the boardwalk. Fifteen minutes later we were standing on Napoleon Avenue across the street from the café. Beth Hunter was sitting outside on a bench, her back to us. Max looked around cautiously, like there might be cops hiding behind the bushes, ready to jump out and get us. He looked at me like he wasn't sure what I was going to do next.

“Wait here. I'll be right back,” I said.

I left Max standing under the street lamp and went to her. When she saw me, she clutched her bag to her chest. She motioned for me to sit next to her. I sat down and looked over my shoulder at Max. Beth followed my gaze.

“Is that Judy Stephenson's kid?” she asked.

“Yeah. He was with me yesterday, too.”

She turned back to face me. “He looks kind of … intense.”

“He's worried I can't trust you.”

“I see.” She put the bag in my lap. “You can, though.” She fiddled with the straps “That's as close to five thousand dollars as I could get you.”

I put my hands on the bag. “It's too much. We found out we need two thousand for the passports. I don't want to take more than that.”

She put her hand on top of mine. “I want you to have all of it. Please, take it. You'll need it.” She looked so sad all of a sudden.

“Okay,” I said.

“Are you sure you can trust this guy who's doing them?”

I thought about Maggie's mom. She wasn't the most trustworthy person.

“I'm not sure,” I said. “But we don't have a lot of options. We need to leave the country, and this is our best bet.”

“Please be careful. I plan on sticking around New Orleans for a while. So maybe when you get where you're going, you could email me or write me a letter. So I know you're okay.”

“I can do that.” After reading her letters all my life, I loved the idea of writing her one.

“Maybe you could let your dad know you're okay, too.”

I'd been trying not to think about what it'd do to my dad when I didn't come home, what it would do to him for me to leave him, too.

She dug in her purse and pulled out a small bag. “I have something for you.”

In it was a necklace, its chain silver and delicate. It was a name necklace, with
Olivia
spelled in a pretty cursive font.

“I wanted you to have your own,” she said. “I got it at the Riverwalk” She unclasped it and reached around my neck to fasten it. My name sat on top of Lillian's.

“Thank you,” I said.

I tried to think of another excuse for her to touch me, or something to ask her. All my life I'd wanted to talk to her, and now I was running out of time and things to say.

I reached up to take off Lillian's necklace. “You should have this.”

Her eyes lit up, and she reached for it but then hesitated. “Are you sure?”

I nodded.

She wasted no more time and put it on. “There,” she said and then took a deep breath in and out, like Lillian was finally where she belonged.

I glanced at Max, and he looked back at me impatiently. “I need to go,” I said.

Beth nodded, but before I stood, her hand went to the side of my face, stopping me. “I thought I had more time,” she said. “With Lillian … I thought there'd be more time to figure it out. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I waited until it was too late, and I'm sorry I didn't come see you.”

Tears pricked my eyes. “Me too.”

She dropped her hand from my face.

“Do you think I'm like her?” I asked. “I mean, do you think I'll be like her?”

“You look just like her, but you know that.”

That wasn't what I wanted to hear. “I don't know why I asked you that. It's not like you know me well enough to know if I'm like her.” I rolled my eyes. “Well, maybe you do. I am a fugitive from the law. That's probably not the best evidence that I make good choices.”

“I wouldn't say that,” Beth said. “Besides, the situation you're in now, that's not something Lillian would've done. This has your dad written all over it.”

I must have looked at her like she was crazy, because she smiled.

“You have a lot more in common with him than you think,” she said.

“How so?” I asked.

“You love like him. You wouldn't be here if you didn't. You're loyal like him. Your friend Jamie is lucky to have you. But be careful. That kind of love can eat you up.”

People walked by us, some of them paying attention to us, others not, and I held the money to my chest and worried about being eaten up.

I knew I needed to leave. I wished I'd taken a picture of her, too.

“Goodbye, Beth.”

“Bye.”

I stood and walked away from her, leaving my mom's childhood best friend behind.

I didn't cross the street back to Max, but walked down the sidewalk, my head down and full of everything Beth shared with me. The bag swung from my shoulder like it was an ordinary bag, not the thing that carried what Jamie and I needed to survive.

I didn't hear Max come up to me. He didn't say anything, just took my hand. I'd miss his hand in mine. When we got to the river again, he held it tighter, like he was keeping me from the water. The river was quiet this time.

I looked into the crowds of people standing on the street corners, and that's when I saw someone I recognized, someone who didn't belong in New Orleans. It was my dad, his face tired and sad. At first I thought it was because Beth had just talked about him. That I was seeing my dad in some other man's face. It couldn't be him. He wouldn't come looking for me. He wouldn't leave St. Francisville. He never left home. But then Max saw him, too.

“Holy shit,” Max said as he pulled me behind him and we ducked down an alley.

We ran, our bodies close to the building. We didn't stop until we came out on the other side, and I was dizzy again.

“Does your dad know Steven?” Max asked. “Will he know to go to Steven's?” He grabbed my hands and shook me. “Olivia, did you hear me?” He took my face in his hands. “Are you okay?”

No, I was not okay. “He came for me,” I said. “I can't believe he came for me.”

On the way back to Steven's, I saw my dad's face everywhere. It was burned into my brain. A couple of blocks from Oak Street, Max stopped me.

“There's something I need to tell you. You should know that my dad will be here tomorrow.”

“What? Why?” I asked. There was already one dad too many in New Orleans.

“I talked to him again. He wants to be here so he can be with me and Maggie when we turn ourselves in.”