Somewhere Between Water and Sky (Shattered Things #2) by Elora Ramirez Page A

pulls her legs under her and shakes her head.
    “ That ’ s where we ’ re different. I like to watch all the life happening — there ’ s a lot of it there, you know? ”
    I nod.
    Her face lightens. “ Oh. Watch this. ”
    She reaches her arm for a remote on the table next to her. Hitting a button, the top of the windows crack open and the sound of waves come crashing in around me.
    “ Shut the hell up. ”
    She giggles and settles herself deeper into the cushions. “ I know, right? Thanks daddy. ” And then she closes her eyes and falls asleep. I know I ’ m not far behind her. I feel my eyelids getting heavy and I rest my head against the pillow. Closing my eyes, I hear the waves and the belly laughter and the gleeful shouting of lovers and kids and friends.
    She ’ s right. I think to myself as my breathing gets deeper and deeper and I relax into the cushions around me. That is the sound of life. But what about those other sounds? The ones of hidden sheds and sterile hospital rooms? What do we do about those?
    There ’ s no one to answer my questions though, and as I drift into sleep I try to focus on the sun shining in my eyes instead of the clouds trying to take over my soul.
     
    .::.
     
    Within the hour, we wake up and find ourselves with massive cabin fever and munchies. Jessa makes her way into the kitchen to throw together dinner — a Mexican feast, she calls it.
    I ’ m still stretching out my nap-muscles and watching the waves.
    “ Want to go take a walk? ”
    I breathe in and out a few times before answering, just watching the movement beneath me.
    “ There ’ s a lot of people down there. ” I turn and walk back into the kitchen, sitting on a stool while she peels an avocado for guacamole. “ I don ’ t do well with lots of people. ” I grab a chip and dip it into the queso, enjoying the way the cheese melts its way into the crevices before I drop it into my mouth. She keeps peeling and chopping, this time turning to garlic and onions and tomatoes.
    “ Well. It is Santa Monica. ” She shrugs and shoots her eyes up to mine before darting them back down so she can pay attention to the knife slicing through onion. “ Kind of a tourist attraction around here. There ’ s even that god-forsaken song. ” She rolls her eyes. “ But we don ’ t have to do the pier. We can just take the route to the beach. It ’ s getting to be sunset anyway; people will be leaving. ”
    I turn my head around and watch the tiny people skirt around each other. Even from here I can see the umbrellas staking claim and the kids running to catch waves before turning around and skipping back to shore. I think about the feeling of waves around my ankles and smile.
    “ Sure. Let ’ s do it. I ’ ll help you put everything away and then we can go see. ”
    She tosses me a lime. “ Perfect. Cut that and then squeeze a few drops into the guacamole. ” She pivots and grabs the salt from above the gas stove. She places it in front of me. “ Throw a few dashes of salt on top for me. I ’ m going to go change into my suit. ” She stands back and looks me up and down. “ Wanna borrow one? I bet we ’ re the same size. ”
    I choke on a tortilla chip and move my arm up by my mouth, covering it with the crook of my elbow. Tears come to my eyes and I shake my head, and she reaches for the water. I grab it from her hands and take a sip. Taking control of the wheezing, I look at her.
    “ Sorry. No. I ’ m fine. I ’ ll just go down in this. ” I flick my hands down and up, over my standard leggings and over-sized shirt.
    “ Okay. Let me know if you change your mind. It ’ ll be hot out there. ”
    I call after her as she walks into the bathroom.
    “ 75 degrees is not hot, Jessa. ”
    She answers by throwing me her middle finger and then slamming the door in my face. I take the knife and cut into the lime, squeezing the juice over the bowl. Jessa ’ s out of the bathroom and completely changed before I can grab