Apparitions at Sea

Gateway Review/January 2022

My friend Gabby’s father’s car speeds down the highway toward Avalon, New Jersey. Billboards, trees, exit signs whiz by in a blur.  An overcast summer day, my heavy mood sits like humidity, like fog over the bay.  To be honest, I feel guilty, leaving Mom alone. She looked like she was going to cry when I asked her if I could go on this trip with Gabby’s family.  But Mom talked to my therapist, Rachel, and Rachel said it would be good for me to get out of the house, the scene of a lot of sadness. 

I mean, Dad’s oxygen machine just got sent back yesterday. The pillow in his chair in his mancave still had his head’s indentation in it. I had to fluff it up to get rid of the dents, regretting it instantly. I smothered my face in the pillow and breathed in, smelled it, examined it for some hair, a flake of skin, some trace of Dad.  Gross, weird, I know. But everything is strange now. His sunglasses on the mantel, his wallet on the desk. So Mom said, “You know, Gracie, this might be just what you need, this trip.” Gabby reacted a little too positively, saying, “This will be so great!”  It’s ok, no one knows what to say to a 13 -year- old whose dad just died of cancer. 

We arrive at the house, a small white cottage about a block from the ocean. We throw our bags down and immediately jump into our swimsuits, run down to the beach. Kim, Gabby’s mom, chases us with sunscreen. I feel my heart race as I see the ocean. This feels right. I can sense the cloud over my brain shift a little.  Above us in the blue sky a biplane passes with an 

advertisement rippling out on fabric behind its tail. I look up and read, “Karaoke tonight at The Deadman’s Drift - 8 PM.” When I blink the letters realign, “Gracie, don’t forget I love you! Daddy.”

Saliva catches in my throat. I think of the letter he wrote me a few months ago, the one he read to me in the kitchen, at the counter, as though it was any other thing to do, with Mom in the background, pretending to be busy washing a dish. The letter where he told me he would always be with me and that I was the best thing that ever happened to him and Mom. The letter where I realized this was really happening. My dad was really dying. I purposely did not bring that letter to the beach. It’s hard to read it again, even though at home I find myself holding it, rolling it up in my fist as I sleep. I don’t want Gabby to know I do that, so I left it in my jewelry box on top of my dresser.  

*

Gabby’s dad, Pete, makes pancakes for breakfast the next morning, our first full day at the beach. Kim bustles around, setting the table, turning the sausages. They both jump a little when they notice me standing rubbing sleep from my eyes at the entrance of the kitchen. 

“How many cakes do you want, Gracie? Orange juice? Double macchiato espresso?” Pete jokes. 

I never told him he could call me Gracie. 

“Um two. Orange?” I sit at the table, hoping Gabby gets up soon. Kim puts juice in front of me and touches my hair softly. “Do you mind if I take my juice out on the porch?” I ask.

They both answer quickly.

“Sure. Absolutely. No problem! Make yourself at home!” a jumble of words that kind of pushes me out the door.  Situating myself in one of the two rocking chairs, I notice, without alarm, Dad sitting in the other one. He looks strange. Kind of small. He smiles at me. 

“How are you feeling?” I say. 

 “Good. So much better, sweetie.” 

I watch the rocker to see if it moves, but it doesn’t. I don’t question his presence. I know he’s there and I know not to say anything to anyone about it. I look out on the ocean and think how perfect Gabby’s family is, just because they are all alive. 

Later that morning, we meet Hannah, a girl from a neighboring house. She is tall, statuesque, but she is only one year older than us. She is busy burying her brother, Tate, in the sand. 

“Hey, girls, want to help make my brother disappear?” she asks. We run to join in. I push the flashes of Dad’s burial from my mind. Hannah asks us if we want to roast marshmallows with her later that night. I say yes a little too eagerly. 

*

That night, gathered around the fire in front of Hannah’s house, as I extend my skewer into the heat, Dad’s face comes into the flames. I remember how he always roasted his marshmallows slowly and evenly.  I usually just let mine burn black, blow out the flame, and bite into the charred molten sugar. Tonight I try to do it like Dad, focusing on turning my marshmallow in small increments, keeping it a consistent golden brown. 

Hannah asks about our families. She has not met Kim and Pete, who easily agreed to us hanging out with her at night. They were seated together on the porch doing a puzzle when we told them where we were going. 

“My parents are engineers.” I say too quickly. 

Gabby jerks her head up from staring at the fire. 

I shoot a look back indicating, Don’t say a word. 

“My parents are spies,” Gabby says, giggling. We all crack up.*

Mom calls late in the afternoon on the third day of our week at the beach. She sounds alright, maybe a little weepy. 

“You ok, Mom?” 

“Just missing you. I was thinking we should get a dog,” she says. 

“Uh ok, but Dad hates dogs,” I remind her.

She is silent, then says, “I know.”

When I get off the phone I feel like ten pound weights are strapped to my legs. 

*

Downstairs, I find Gabby, Kim, and Pete playing Twister, shouting and carrying on. Kim removes herself from the cluster of limbs.

“How’s  your mom?” she says breathlessly. 

“Fine,” I say. 

Turning away, I see Dad sitting at the breakfast bar, still looking small, with a huge bowl of tortilla chips and salsa next to him. 

“Can I play?” I say. 

“Sure! Sure!” They all stand up straight as I move closer. Pete and Kim move to the couch as it becomes just Gabby and I playing Twister alone.  

*

It’s July 4th, the Thursday of our week at the beach. We are out in the sand and everyone has those light up gel necklaces and bracelets. Some people are illegally setting off small fireworks. We had a good day, playing this bowling game on the beach with Hannah and Tate. We all took our boogie boards into the water and rode the waves for hours. We made turkey sandwiches on rye bread for lunch, with lots of mayonnaise and salty chips, shivering in our wet suits as we ate in the cold house.

 I look up at the stars and remember Dad with his telescope. “I’m an astronomy nerd,” he always said. I would become instantly bored, unable to listen when he told me about the stars, but tonight I can’t resist gazing upwards. My eyes move from sky to sea, where I see Dad again. This time, he is just sitting in a small row boat, contemplating the night sky, as I know he would be, if he were really here. I watch the boat bobbing up and down. His body is so still, so peaceful.

Hannah arrives, bounding down the beach toward our group. “Woohhoooo!” she screams 

as she runs, her long, strong legs carrying her gracefully. I smile. She is so funny. So happy.  She 

extends this cool beach ball full of light toward  me.  

“Hey, Grace,” she says, stopping short, spraying sand on my shins. I take the ball from her, feeling warm inside and out, but when I look at her face, I can see that pity and fear that everyone else has. I feel so angry. Gabby, blabbing about my business. I drop the ball of light and run into the house. Drama.

*

No one runs after me as I expect, as I kind of hope. They are all partying on the beach, not noticing me. I call Mom crying.  

“I’m sorry. It’s so hard,” she soothes. 

At one point I break through both our tears and say, “And Daddy is here!”

“What?” Mom says.

“Daddy is here. I saw him on the porch and at the fire and in the ocean.”

Silence.

 “Yes. He is. He is in all those places,” Mom says. I am so relieved she does not argue. I ask if she will stay on the phone as I go to sleep, without brushing my teeth, with crumpled wet tissues all around me. 

Gabby does not say a word when she comes in, just goes to bed. 

*

On our last day,  everyone seems so grumpy. Kim and Pete both have headaches. 

“We’re getting out just in time. A storm is kicking up,” Kim says. They snap at Gabby and me a few times about stripping our beds, collecting our towels, helping to load the car.  

Let Gabby clean up, I think. I am too excited to go home and see my mom to be bothered. 

I walk out to the beach one last time, pushing into the strong wind, letting it whip my hair. I sit down on the sand and stare at the sea. Dad has dissolved into everything—the foamy caps on the waves, the grains of sand sticking to my hands, the light burning through the morning haze.  I stand to run into the surf, the shock of cold not stopping me, my feet enduring the pain of protruding shells, worn by time and loss. Finding the part of the sea floor that drops off a little, I swim out, flip over, allow myself to float, ignoring Gabby’s faint calls from the shore. 

Just for a few minutes, I want to stay here with Dad, feel the soft movement of the sea beneath my back, my outstretched arms. I want to feel him surrounding me, supporting me. I want to enjoy the sun on my face before heading home.