Strong Like the Sea, стр. 26
By the time Dad drops Jack off at his house by Wahinepe’e Street, I’m already making a list of things I need to tell Mom on our call tonight. I can’t tell her I finished the challenge, but at least I can show her the bottle, the Morse code from Uncle Tanaka’s house, the rebus picture puzzles, and the lemon writing.
In my room, I arrange the copper shell on my desk so she can see it first thing when she joins our video chat. Will she be surprised I got this far? Or disappointed I wasn’t further?
The clock in the corner of my screen reads 5:57 p.m.
I move the shell from one side of the desk to the other so it catches the light. Can she see the shine all the way on the other side of the world? Maybe.
5:58 p.m.
I tap the sides of my papers, the stack straight, lemon message on top, picture words under that, and my latest notes on Mavis Batey under that. Should I arrange my pencils straight like Mom likes? Probably she can’t see them from the camera angle anyway.
5:59 p.m.
I smile at the screen, my own faint reflection grinning back at me.
My nose itches but I don’t move to scratch it because I want my smile to be the first thing she sees.
Wiggling my eyebrows helps keep my mind off the itch.
6:00 p.m.
In a constant loop, I check the time, the little bars that say the internet is working, the screen where Mom’s face should be, the clock, and round again. I know the second I look away, she’ll be on, because Mom is always on time. She’s never missed. Ever.
6:01 p.m.
Cheeks burning, I hold the smile even with eyes watering from trying not to itch my nose.
6:03 p.m.
I rub my nose with my arm, refresh the page, and line a pencil straight with the edge of the desk.
6:10 p.m.
Dad peeks in. “Did Mom call?”
“Not yet.”
He checks the screen and then his phone before pursing his lips. “Okay. I’ll be in the kitchen. Call when she comes on.”
“Okay.”
Dad walks into the kitchen and turns on the news. The local weather jingle plays before Dad turns the volume down.
Heel bouncing against the wheel leg of my chair, I set a pencil in line with the rest of the row and refresh the page again.
And again.
6:30 p.m.
Dad brings in a steaming bowl of udon noodles, sets it down, and glances at the line of pencils marching across my desk, each sorted by size, length, and color. He pats my shoulder and murmurs, “These things happen sometimes. Don’t let it worry you.” Except the extra lines between his eyes tell the truth of his worry even if his lips can’t.
With extra tabs open for email and maps, I click through news articles as Dad murmurs to Auntie on the phone in the kitchen, his voice too low to hear the words. I walk to the door to see Dad better, but he sees me coming, holds up a finger to stop me, and pulls the phone to the side to whisper to me. “I’m sorry, I need to make a few calls, but I don’t want you to worry, okay? I’m sure everything is fine, and we’ll hear from your mom soon. Understand?”
I nod because he wants me to, but I’m not sure he believes the words coming out of his mouth.
“Maybe work on your report, okay? I’ll check on you later.” He flashes a quick smile—where his mouth forms the shape but none of it reaches his eyes—steps into his room, and shuts the door between us.
“Well, okay then. That was weird,” I whisper, retreating to my desk. There really wasn’t a reason to shut me out. I wasn’t going to listen in—well, maybe I was. But only because Dad’s voice sounds sorta off, like he’s real mad at someone. Mad, or maybe worried.
I listen for his door to open again, but he doesn’t come out. I guess I can knock or yell for him when Mom calls. Because she will call. Of course she will. Dad says she will.
7:10 p.m.
For real. The most punctual person on the planet is an hour late. What’s going on? Where is she? I try to remember everything Mom mentioned about where she was, but there’s not much. She’s west of here, so maybe off-shore near Japan somewhere? I mean, she can’t tell me exact locations in case spies hear, but it’s a start at least.
Seems like the Sea of Japan’s been on the news lately, but there’s no way to know if Mom’s there, right? She could be anywhere. Subs like hers can circle the whole earth, but she can’t tell us where she’s been—not even after she gets home. She has rules for all the secrets she carries. I learn more about where she’s been from the hats she brings home than from anything she says. I’m used to not knowing where she is. Everything’s fine—normal even.
My fingers tap from one to the next and back again.
7:40 p.m.
Dad’s words are clipped as he argues with someone on the phone with his bedroom door shut tight. “What do you mean you don’t know? Then get me to someone who does.”
My breaths come shallow as I sit quiet as stone and wait. A cold hollowness bores through me, swapping my insides for caverns of ice. I can’t think—don’t want to think what it all might mean.
Dad’s a farm kid, a veteran, a diver, a teacher, a collector of perfect spirals, and a math guru. He’s laid back but in control. Always.
I don’t recognize the voice spiked with worry and frustration that spills through the keyhole and pools in the space between us. Dad never loses his cool—not like this.
“. . . yes, Elizabeth Force. No, she’s not an officer. She’s civilian. What? That’s right, civilian . . .”
The murmuring from inside Dad’s room comes and goes, but the door doesn’t open.
8:00 p.m.
Cold,