But comforting someone is different than being comforted. I want to help him, to tell him I know how he feels.
What's left of him is trying hard to function without the missing piece, but it can't quite coordinate. There seems to be a part of Galen that belonged to Rachel, and she took that part with her. I know what it's like to have so much heartache you come to despise the air that keeps you alive. If they did, they wouldn't throw it in his face or use it against him. Maybe the others don't see the depths of it. One filled with anguish, torment, guilt, and the overwhelming need to say or do something to hide it.īut there is no hiding that Rachel's death mauled the deepest parts of him. It's a kind of silence I've come to recognize from him. Words like "loyalty" and "privacy" and "law." I cringe when I hear the word "grief." That word comes from Grom, and after it, no words come from Galen. I roll up my pajama pants and, letting the saltwater have its way with my calves, try to ignore the words I can make out between the squawks of seagulls overhead. The bellows of Galen and his older brother Grom taint the air with a rancor that repels me farther from the house and deeper into the water. But it doesn't look like we're getting one.īehind me, the wind hauls with it the occasional shout erupting from my house.
We deserve a break from it all, Galen and I. And then our breath was all but stolen away from us when Rachel drowned.
What with Jagen's attempt to take over the kingdoms, our near discovery by humans, me leading a wall of fish to an underwater tribunal-we barely had room to breathe. Which is all I want after this past summer. Each lazy wave licks my feet, then retreats as if beckoning me into the Atlantic Ocean, whispering of adventure. I DIG my bare feet into the sand, getting just close enough to the water for the mid-morning waves to tickle my toes.
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