“You’ll see Miles again tomorrow,” Dr. Levy says. “How does that make you feel?”
“Happy, I guess. I’m pretty nervous, not going to lie.”
“I’m sure it will go more smoothly than you expect. You can update me on your progress after the summer. And Olivia, if you do decide to try swimming again at any point, please make sure an adult is there.”
I’m seventeen now, I want to say, but Dr. Levy means well. “Don’t worry, there will be adults. And probably lifeguards too.”
“Good, you can’t be too careful.”
“I know.”
The buzzer on the desk dings. “That’s our time,” Dr. Levy says. “Let’s leave it here.”
I sling my burlap purse over my shoulder and stand. Dr. Levy holds her hands together.
“I’m proud of you, Olivia. You’ve come so far.”
“Thanks.” I smile, unsure if I believe her.
New York City is beautiful, but it isn’t where I belong. It’s pigeons, high rises, and concrete, instead of seagulls, sand, and the sea. I’ve felt like a fish out of water in this place since we moved here after the accident, but up to now, I’ve also always been too scared to visit home. After this summer, I’ll be a high school senior. It’ll be my last chance to join the swim team. To go to a pool party and not freak out. Maybe, if I’m lucky, I could even feel like myself again.
I never used to be able to imagine living anywhere but our old house in Maine. Our bungalow had white paneling, green shingles, and a garden full of azaleas native to the area. Afternoons were spent dancing in the sprinkler on my front lawn with Miles and Keely, or digging holes in the backyard to bury the pretty stones I liked. Studying wildlife used to be fun, and I was obsessed with the unique birds and fish that populate the state.
Here, everything is different. I get off the 7 on Eleventh Avenue and climb out of the station, avoiding the piers as I head straight for Tenth and blend into the sidewalk’s heavy traffic. The air is humid and heavy, thick with the smell of frying hot dogs and salty pretzels from the food cart. I barely see any animals here other than squirrels and rats, and we’re far enough back from the ocean that the sweltering heat has no cool breeze to mediate it. The long streets, darkened by shadows of tall buildings, trap me in. But when I was a little kid roaming the shores of Caldwell Beach, I didn’t hide from the sun, I bathed in it.
Now I unlock the front door of an apartment building above a fried chicken shack in Hell’s Kitchen. The vestibule stinks faintly of mildew and cat urine. I haul myself up the cramped stairwell to the third floor. Rent isn’t cheap, but the apartment is within walking distance of my parents’ thrift shop.
“Livvie, is that you?” Mom calls when I get inside.
“Yeah, it’s me.” Tossing my keys on the console table, I drop my bag and kick my Vans onto the mat. So much has changed since I was a kid—I’ve moved, switched schools, lost and gained friends, but I’ve always had this style of dark blue shoes.
A warm light emanates from the living room, and my dad’s laughter bounces off the walls as Seinfeld plays on our small flat-screen TV. Mom’s bead kit is scattered on the coffee table, and she looks up from the necklace she’s stringing. My mom and I both have wintry-pale skin and straight, dark brown hair, but I have my dad’s blue eyes. And unlike Mom, both Dad and I can absorb tans instead of turning into lobsters.
“Hey, kiddo,” Dad says.
“How was your appointment?” Mom asks.
I leaned on the arm of the love seat. “It was good. Dr. Levy seems more confident that I’m ready.”
Mom hooks an emerald gem to a gold chain. “That’s bad news for me, because you know how I feel about this trip.”
“She’ll be all right, Carrie,” Dad says. “Roger’s going to watch her the whole time.” My best friend’s dad is a cop, and when Keely’s parents agreed to take me in for the entire summer, my parents finally gave in.
“I’m allowed to worry, Allen.”
A picture hangs on the wall of them holding me when I was a baby. As the only child, I’ve always been the center of their worries and disagreements, especially when I was younger. But since the accident, I’ve become that kid who’d rather watch a movie with her parents than go to a party. The thought of being away from them for an entire summer terrifies me, but that’s why I need to go. I love my parents, but sometimes when I’m with them, I feel like a total loser.
Mom says, “And I have a bad feeling about that thing they found downtown. It’s very disturbing.”
With a sigh, Dad mutes the television. “I talked to Roger about that. The police don’t think it’s anything to worry about right now. There’s been no sign that anyone’s in danger.”
Caldwell Beach hasn’t had a known murder since the ’60s, but last month, someone scattered half a dozen butchered and skinned squirrels around town, strategically placed for people to find. On church steps, the fountain by town hall, even one at the elementary school.
“We lived there for years and it was always safe,” Dad says. “For all we know, there could’ve been another reason they were there. Maybe another animal dragged them in.”
“And skinned them alive with a knife?” Mom shudders dramatically. “It gives me the creeps. They say that’s how serial killers start out.”
“Roger’s the cop, and he says there isn’t any danger,” Dad says.
Mom faces me. “Are you sure you want to go, Livvie?”
The news report creeped me out—but if Roger Myers isn’t worried, I shouldn’t be. “Of all the things I’m scared of in Caldwell Beach,” I say, “that’s a little lower on the list, not going to lie.”
“Cheeky monkey,” Mom says, focused back on her beads. “We need to pick up the rental car first thing in the morning to beat traffic. Are your bags all packed?”
“Yeah, think so.”
“Go check, please. Make sure you have your medication, and don’t forget to pack Aqua.”
“Come on, Mom. I’m not a little kid.”
Annoyed, I go to my room and shut the door behind me. Of course I’m bringing Aqua, my childhood stuffed animal. She’s already packed. But after hearing Mom say that, I don’t want her. I shouldn’t need a freaking toy with me; I’m way too old for it. Ripping Aqua out of my suitcase by her chromatic scaly fabric, I toss her on my bed. She has buttons for eyes and stuffing bursting from the seams, but she’s been a constant in my life since the day I was born. Dr. Levy thinks it’d be good to bring her too. Two sessions ago we spent a half hour discussing how it would be helpful to have something that holds memories of a time before the accident.