Page 43 of Oceansong
Bàba blinked and put the book down. “I’m not sleeping well. Speaking of which, can you bring it to me? If you’re going into the kitchen.” Quietand reserved, the Bàba she always knew.
“Sure.” She stopped halfway to the kitchen. “Why didn’t you tell me you were back on your meds?”
Bàba jolted as though he’d just been electrified. “It has been a lot.”
“I understand. I just wish you–”
“I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to think about the docks. The war. The mer.” His sharp tone cut her off, and he turned away, effectively closing himself off.
Angie’s head lowered as she entered the kitchen. From the overhead cabinet, she swiped her bottle of multivitamins and Bàba’s sleeping pills.
She swallowed two vitamins and then gave Bàba his medication. The pills sat on the table in front of him, but he didn’t touch them. Angie breathed in the scent of earth and tobacco, and her heart jumped. They came from the cigars he favored when he was younger.
Mama hated his smoking and the woody, mossy aroma, so he finally kicked the habit to keep her happy a decade ago.
Angie didn’t blame him for smoking again. After all, she wanted a drink each time she worked late or fretted over the odd feelings she was developing for Kaden.
Speaking of Kaden. Were they becoming friendly? And what did that mean for them, and for this war they waged?
She would deal with her emotions instead of burying them under a drunken stupor, even if the latter would be easier.
Bàba scratched his stubbly chin. “We also found two of our men and women, drowned and speared. Their dead bodies were thrown back to the coastline.” His voice pitch dropped, somber and low. With a listless swipe, he closed his book without bothering to mark the page he read.
Angie’s upper lip curled in disgust, reminded of what Kaden said, that the mer would not attack unless the humans did first. The temporary peace was short-lived. “Wait. Were there more mer killed? Before that?”
Bàba sat his book down. “Yes, Nick told me that he and a small group caught another merman, who he said tried to attack them. So, they shot him.”
Angie bristled. Unable to stomach anymore talk of dead mer or workers, she put a hand on Bàba’s forearm. “Want to get a little fresh air?”
“Mmm, why not.” Swallowing his pills, Bàba stood, chair scraping against the floor as he pushed it back. Angie winced at the grating noise. Now she knew he was discombobulated. He wouldn’t be caught dead scratching their hardwood floors.
She followed him to brew tea, a cup of strongpu’erfor him, and hot,white tea with a dash of fresh honey and a sprig of mint for her.
“If you’re trying to sleep, that won’t help.” One of Angie’s eyebrows moved into a high arch, and she pushed the porch door open.
“It’s either this or bourbon. I’ll wake up in a better place if I drink this,” he replied, voice gruff.
They sat side by side on rocking chairs, facing the beach and watching the sun cast a golden halo over scattered foam-capped peaks. Since she first became entranced by the sea, the view from the porch was Angie’s favorite part of the house.
During her childhood, she and her family would gather on the spacious porch after dinner for conversation and games or movie nights during warmer months. A pang of nostalgia struck of how their gatherings used to be, and a sense of closeness to her Bàba overtook her, knowing she only had a month left in Creston before she returned to the lower forty-eight for school.
At the corner of her eye, Bàba rolled a Cohiba cigar between his thumb and forefinger, staring at it like it held the answer to ending this war, as if contemplating whether or not to light it. He stuffed it back into his pocket.
Angie sighed with relief. Bàba certainly didn’t need more detriments to his health with all the stress at the docks and with the war. She crossed her legs and sipped her tea, subtle apple notes and sweet honey rolling smoothly down her esophagus, followed by the aftertaste of cool mint. Beside her, Bàba quietly sipped his own tea.
“Emily and Beau asked to meet me on Friday. They’re coming to the docks. Said they wanted to talk about the mer.” His voice cut through the silence a moment later.
A thought rolled through Angie’s mind. Today was Tuesday, and to her knowledge, the mayor never stopped by on such short notice, except when their son was found dead.
Then again, there were no rules in war.
“Can I come to the meeting, too? I’d like to hear some updates for myself.”
Bàba nodded. “Sure. They will be there around zero eight hundred.” He rocked his chair back and forth, creaking against the boards. “Are you ready for your PhD program? You worked hard to get here.”
“I hope so,” Angie murmured. “Haven’t had much time to research, there’s been too much going on. I guess I’ll have to go on the first day of class and wing it.”
A long silence followed. Where Angie normally found such silences awkward, now it felt natural and relaxing.
