Lost At Sea
"Hey, little baby. What, are you looking at me?"
The baby blinks up at her. They hadn't understood, at the hospital, how he had been born with such green, green eyes. She'd read somewhere that all babies were born with blue eyes, but she'd known, in her heart, that this would be no blue eyed baby boy. His eyes would be green. Sea green.
"What are you looking for?" She frowns, rubbing his cheek softly. "What? What do you want?"
Of course, there's no answer. She runs her hand through the tufts of black hair and smiles. She knows that hair. She knows those eyes, too, but she won't say so out loud. She swore she wouldn't say it again. She can't remember why. To hurt him? Maybe. How do you hurt a god? To lock it all away? Yes, that was the more likely. She's good at that. Sally Jackson, Secret Keeper. And then she comes here, to Montauk, to wash it all away. She doesn't dwell on her thoughts. She either writes them down, or whispers them to the sea. It's safe there.
But she remembers the story. She remembers some old tale (probably Greek. Oh, the irony) about a man who whispered his secret to the grass, and then the grass begin to whisper it back. Soon, everyone knew. The grass had told everyone, and the secret was no longer kept safe.
Now, that was frightening thought.
"Are you looking for someone, hon? Is there someone missing?"
She glances away towards the ocean, leaving her hand at his cheek. Just in case. She isn't letting him go. She's let too many people go, over the years. Her mom, her dad. She hadn't even known them – she'd been too young, far too young to get to build some kind of relationship. Her uncle, though that hadn't been the most painful. Well, yes, it had hurt. It had been strange, she remembers, to see him so weak. He'd always been so strong. Strong and scary, like a monster. That's what she'd used to say. For a moment, she looks down at the baby beside her, and she gets this instinct to grab him and run, as if her uncle's stood over her shoulder again. He isn't, of course. They're all alone.
"Where's your daddy, babe?" she asks, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Where's daddy? Show me."
She can almost swear he looks out towards the sea when she says that. Or maybe she's just imagining things. Again.
Sometimes she pretends that he's coming back. She knows, in her heart, that he isn't, but it's nice to think that. She kind of understands why people believe in a god like that. Because it's a big and scary world out there, and it's nice to know there's someone who's looking down over you. It's nice to know that, when you die, they'll be something there, because it's too scary to try and get your head around it all ending at some point.
She doesn't believe anymore. She doesn't believe in miracles. She doesn't believe in God anymore. She misses him, but she doesn't believe in him.
"Daddy's not here anymore, babe." She runs her toe along the sand, tracing absent patterns that mean nothing and say everything. "He's gone. He's not coming back. He didn't want to leave, honey, but he had to, in the end. You know how when the sea rolls in, and then a few hours later it rolls away again? Well, Daddy's like the tide. Only, this tide's not coming back. Do you – do you understand?"
Does she?
"He's lost at sea. That's where he is." She likes that thought. Well, she doesn't like it. But she pauses, bringing her legs to her chest and rocking backwards and forwards. For a moment, she feels about twelve years old, and she's allowed to cry if she's young. "Lost at sea. So, it's just you and me. But that's okay. We can do this, right? We can make it. We'll find a way. You'll be my little hero, won't you?"
