Danielle had said he liked the broken ones. Mrs. Anderson was proof of that—wasn‘t she? Well, maybe. Not everyone wears their scars on their skin. Perhaps Mr.
Anderson hadn‘t known right away or been able to help her enough once he did understand.
For all I knew, he was really sensitive now to how people hurt inside, where no one could see, because of what she‘d done to herself. That would explain why he tried so hard with someone like me. Maybe Danielle, too.
But . . . really? Who cared? Mrs. Anderson wasn‘t here, and neither was Danielle.
Mr. Anderson was the first person in what felt like forever to give a damn about me. Fine, he liked to help people who were hurting. So BFD, you know?
It was all so push-me-pull-you, Bob. Like I was in this game of tug-of-war with myself.
Because the other problem was how could I tell him that it wasn‘t a question of just one thing? If this was only about dirty old Dr. Kirby, that would be easy. But there was Matt and my parents and Grandpa MacAllister, the psych ward, the thoughts I still had. The urges to cut—and I couldn‘t tell him that the kissing knife was kind of keeping me from doing that either because then I‘d have to admit I‘d stolen it. And there was also school, trying to fit in, wondering if I should even bother.
Thinking about all that was exhausting. Despite the hours I‘d spent getting shrink-wrapped, I still wasn‘t sold that talking did a whole heck of a lot except let everyone else know what was going on inside your head. It‘s not like talking ever made anything go away.
The other thing was . . . I didn‘t know what the rules were, not yet. Come on, Bob, you know: some friends you only talk to about clothes, while others keep your secrets and vice versa. Every relationship has rules. Ours was just beginning. No, that‘s not right. My relationship with Mr. Anderson was turning into something different than it had been.
Yet, whatever his motives, who cared? I liked the change. I liked him just for who he was. He made me laugh and feel more comfortable in my own stupid skin. No way I wanted to blow that.
―Thanks,‖ I said, finally. ―For the offer. It‘s nice knowing there‘s someone who . . .‖
I wanted to say cares but settled for something not so loaded. ―Someone who wants to listen.‖
―Always,‖ he said.
b
As he washed and I dried, he asked what my plans were for the rest of the vacation.
I told him about my English project, which he‘d heard about from other students, and Alexis. It turned out that he‘d read her book a while back, when he was in college.
―And had great ambitions.‖ He gave a rueful laugh. ―I was going to save the world.
I really got into all that Jane Goodall, Dian Fossey, Alexis Depardieu stuff. Born Free was one of my favorite movies.‖ I‘d never seen it, so he told me about Joy Adamson then said,
―Look, before we go, remind me to look in my study. I think I have something about Depardieu you might not have stumbled across.‖
―Were you going to be a marine biologist?‖
―Mammalogist?‖ He hunched a shoulder. ―Maybe. It was a dream. When I was a sophomore at Stanford, I did a summer internship with this guy who studied dolphins. We ended up in Japan. We were trying to document this massive dolphin hunt, but we got caught. Believe me, there‘s nothing worse than spending a couple nights in a foreign jail.‖
―Wow. Were you scared?‖
―Yes. I believed in what we were doing, but I was still just a kid in college. All I could think of was what my dad was going to do to me when I got out. The guy from the American embassy came on the third day and sprung us in two more. Then he packed us on a plane and that was that.‖
―What did your dad do?‖
―He pulled me out of school and sent me to Madison. Don‘t get me wrong. It‘s not like Madison is a bad school, but California . . .‖ He shook his head. ―People are so different there, much more open. The light‘s different, too, and the air in the mountains is cleaner and you feell. . . bigger somehow.‖
―What made you get interested in dolphins?‖
― Flipper. And I thought the fourth Star Trek movie was a heartbreaking work of staggering genius,‖ he said, so seriously that I cracked up. He grinned. ―Honestly, cetaceans are so cool. Those stories about how they rescue divers and swimmers? I saw it happen my freshman year.‖
―Really?‖
―Dead serious. There was this one guy, a sophomore, who had this fascination with great whites. He must‘ve seen Jaws a hundred times. We took diving lessons together and we surfed. So, one day we‘re out with another friend and he‘s on his board, and this baby great white just wallops him. They do that, you know, this head-butt thing where they try to knock out their prey. Then, while you‘re unconscious, they eat you. So my friend, he‘s paddling along and then.‖ He slapped his hands together. ―Just wham. His board kicked into his face and then he was flying one way and his board was going another. I heard him scream and I jerked around just in time to duck as his board shot over my head. I saw him in the water, maybe thirty, forty feet away. At first, I thought he‘d hit a rogue wave and gotten thrown, but there was blood on his face and in the water—and then I saw this gray torpedo closing in fast, and I just knew.‖
My eyes were probably as big around as saucers. ―What did you do?‖
―After my heart stopped? My other friend and I stayed on our boards and hauled ass, screaming our lungs out.‖ At the expression on my face, his lips twisted in a grim smile. ―I don‘t have a death wish, but the reality is that a shark won‘t go for multiple targets. They‘re completely fixated. They‘re really remarkable engines of death. Besides, I had a knife. I always wore one just in case my kook cord got fouled. By the time we got there, the shark had Ken by one leg up to mid-thigh.‖
Like that scene in the movie, where the shark has Quint. I shuddered.
―I think the only reason Ken didn‘t die was because that shark was still young. His mouth just wasn‘t quite big enough. Anyway, my other friend jabbed with Ken‘s board, and then I stabbed the shark right behind the dorsal fin and ripped. I guess if I‘d been in the water, I would‘ve gone for the eye, but . . .‖ He ran a hand, wet from dishwater, through his hair. ―Anyway, the shark let go and then we tugged Ken out of the water and onto our boards. Blood was gushing from his leg. By that time the lifeguards were coming, but there was all that blood and you could see the color just draining out of Ken‘s face. So I grabbed my surf leash, slipped it onto his leg and cinched it down tight. That stopped the blood. The lifeguards finally got there, but there wasn‘t room in the Jet Skis for my friend and me. We watched them rooster-tailing it back to shore with Ken, and we‘re still in the water with all that blood.‖