The House Above the Sea

19.

"You're insane."

It's a clear morning, the air crisp with cool sea spray, a few wispy clouds drifting overhead like spun sugar. Joey and Neo stand in the Irvines' driveway, Joey still in his bright pajama pants and an old Disney T-shirt, Neo dressed and prepped for work, his bike leaning against his hip.

Neo takes one last glance at the envelope in his hands, Elsie's name written across the front in Kit's close-knit scrawl, before he jams it into his pocket. "If by insane, you mean insanely genius," says Neo, meeting Joey's eyes, "then yes. I'm quite insane."

"She's just gonna yell at you again!" Joey says. He jumps forward, grabbing the bike's handlebars so firmly that they rattle beneath his hands. "And that's if she even shows, Neo. I mean, what makes you think she's gonna go there today, anyway?"

"Routine," says Neo. "According to Bernie, she comes every Wednesday to pick up something for her mom. She did that before I worked there, so why would she stop now?"

Now Joey just blinks at him in utter disbelief, the humidity frizzing the curls that hang in his eyes. "Gee, I dunno. Because she hates you, maybe?"

"Joey," Neo says, nudging the bike further down the driveway. Reluctantly, Joey lets him go, watching him with his arms crossed. "You've gotta trust me here, dude. And trust Kit, too. This is going to work; I promise."

"You can't promise that."

Neo rolls his eyes. Leave it to Joey to be practical only at the worst times. "Fine. I'm fairly sure. And if it doesn't work, all it means is that we have to do this ourselves."

Though Joey is silent, Neo can see something in his face, a novel concentration, as if he's piecing together a convoluted puzzle in his mind. Just as Neo's hopped onto the bike, flicking up the kickstand with his toe, Joey says, "You're very serious about this."

"About what?"

"Kit."

Neo pauses. He thinks of Kit's face, not, really, that he's ever not thinking of it: his round eyes, flecked with gold when the light hits them a certain way, the dark mole at his brow, the subtle pout to his mouth. Eight years. How long and agonizing a duration, Neo thinks, for that face to never see the world. How agonizing a duration, more like it, for the world not to know the soul behind that face.

"I can't not help him, Joey," Neo says, his grip on the handlebars white-knuckled. "I know he never asked me to, but I just can't not."

Neo expects an exhausted sigh, an annoyed huff. So he's surprised when Joey laughs instead, his green eyes going squinty.

Neo's face flushes. "What?" he demands, bristled. "Why are you laughing?"

"It's nothing," Joey says, already turning back towards the garage. "I just think that's so like you, Neo. It just makes a lot of sense."

The normally lackluster weekday hums with a new excitement. Though it could just be Neo's restlessly hopeful mood, everything seems brighter: the sun as it slides through the fish market's front display, the turquoise wall paint, the happy jingle of the bell above the door every time a new patron walks in. Though Bernie is still, in fact, being Bernie—going on random tangents about her youth back in Sri Lanka, or complaining about Neo's fish wrapping skills, even though he's sure they've gotten considerably better—Neo can stand it. His mind is miles ahead of here, after all, imagining the look on Kit's face when he sees his sister again. For that, Neo can stand anything.

He can feel Bernie's narrow, inquisitive eyes on him, a question at the very tip of her tongue, but just as she starts to say, "You know, Neo," the shop's door opens.