Voir Dire: Ken Remembers

"Ms. Lewis, I think I've heard enough"--

"I have one more thing to tell you," I say, and I hate the tremor I hear in my voice.

She hesitates, nails me with a stare as cold as ice. "And what is that?"

"Sara O'Neill is asking for custody because she is experience with the foster care system."

"Yes, that's correct."

"That experience was me."

The judge's head jerks up, her lips tightening. "Is that true, Ms. O'Neill?"

"Yes, ma'am," Sara says smugly, rising and nodding pompously.

"She was also my dance instructor," I say, my voice gaining power. "She pushed me to dance for her, and this case? It's because she wanted me to move back in with her and dance for her."

"Because she felt you needed someone?"

"Because she needed me."

Vivien Anise raises her eyebrows. "Is that so?"

"Yes," I say firmly, looking down from the stand at Sara, whose face darkens. "Yes, she needs me because I draw other students in. And she needs me because the only time she is recognized as a good coach is when she can show me off."

"And when exactly did she ask you to move back in with her, Ms. Lewis?"

"She didn't ask," I say fiercely. "She threatened me. She told me if I didn't break things off with Trace and move back in with her, she would make me pay."

"Those were her words?" Vivien Anise asks sharply, looking from me to Sara, who opens her mouth. "Ms. O'Neill, you've had your turn," the judge snaps.


"I don't remember her exact words, but she threatened that she would sue my mother for custody or worse," I say. "And I told her"--

"Yes, Ms. Lewis?"

"Among-- other things-- I told her I don't dance for anyone, especially her."

"I see. And can you tell me what life was like as Sara's foster child?"

I pause, stare at the ground.

I feel the gazes of everyone in the courtroom, feel my nails biting into my palms, feel every ounce of courage in my body seeping away. I look out over the crowd-- my mum, her face white, Kinley and Ari, holding her up, Brock, Justin, Trace, Drew, Rory, Adie.

And then I see her.

Gia Kudel, frail and petite in her pale blue jumper, staring at me with eyes wide. And she gives me the tiniest of nods.

"Hell," I say. "Pure hell."

I stand. Feel the earth of the mainland firm under my feet, listen for the beat of the ocean only a few miles from where I stand.

I am strong.

I am angry.

And I will not allow my family to fall.

In one motion, I pull my shirt over my head and toss it to the side, ignoring the gasps from the crowd as I stand, sure and strong, in nothing but my bra. I turn my back to the judge.

"Look for yourself."

Vivien Anise sucks in her breath sharply as she looks at the faded red lines crisscrossing my back.

"This one," I say loudly, tracing my finger down one on my right shoulder, "Was for performing poorly at a competition. This one"-- I gesture to one farther down my back-- "Was for saying I missed my mother."

I turn around to face Vivien Anise.

"This is"-- she clears her throat, blinking rapidly. "This is very, um, irregular. Thank you, Ms. Lewis. I suppose I must ask you, are you sure this is the product of-- of Ms. O'Neill?"

"Damn sure."

At the "damn" she flinches slightly, but doesn't respond.

"And how can the court be so sure Karinne is telling the truth?" Sara shouts, jumping to her feet.

Vivien Anise pauses, looking down at me as I stand in my bra.

"Because I saw it happen," a small voice announces, and I look down.

Gia. Standing. Miniscule amidst the Kudels.

"And who are you?" Vivien Anise asks a little too sharply.

"Gia Kudel," she says softly. "I'm his daughter"-- she points to Adam-- "And Sara lives with us."

Adam yanks her back into a sitting position, hissing something into her ear.

"Ms. Lewis, you may get dressed and take your seat. Ms. Gia Kudel, would you step forward to be sworn, please? Mr. Kudel, you will restrain yourself or face removal from this courtroom."

Sara is shouting objections, and Adam is on his feet, but Adie's gruff bailiff intervenes and guides Gia up to the witness stand.

Somehow I had stumbled into my seat beside Trace, and he pulls me into his arms now, clutching me tightly as if I will slip away from him at any moment.

"Gia, right?" the judge is asking.

She nods.

"What can you tell us, sweetheart?" Vivien Anise asks more gently.

Gia looks at her father, at Sara.

At me.

"Nothing."

Then she stands, looks straight at Vivien Anise, and pulls her jumper over her head, tossing it to the side just like I did. "I can show you," she says, standing there, tiny and alone in a faded pink bra I recognize as my first bra once upon a time. And as she turns, I see the scars, newer than mine, crisscrossing her shoulders.

"This one," she says slowly, her hand shaking as she traces a finger down a particularly long scar along her spine. "Was because I couldn't dance as well as Ken Lewis. Because no one can."

I stand, before Trace or anyone else can pull me back into my seat, and walk straight forward to that little girl.

I say nothing, just wrap her in my sweater, and then in my arms.

She sags against me, this brave little girl with scars that match mine.

I look up at Vivien Anise, and there are tears shining in her eyes.

And I know we've won.

Voir Dire: Ken

"Ken Lewis."

I stand.

Breathe.

Take a step.

I can barely feel my legs. They weren't supposed to be questioning me this wasn't supposed to happen Trace is looking at me Adie is looking at me everybody is looking at me and oh dear God I cannot mess this up.

I sit down, place my feet against the floor, and pause.

"Miss Lewis?"

I look up, grit my teeth to push away the fear. "Yes."

"You live with Trace Cain and his family?"

"Yes."

"For how long?"

"Three months."





 "Why?"

"Because I love him." I say the words bluntly, almost harshly, but Trace looks up slightly, and I realize it is the first time I have said the words aloud.

Vivien Anise raises her eyebrows, then nods, ever so slightly. "Now Ms. Lewis, I am told you have not always known care yourself?"

I stiffen. "My dad left when I was young."

In the back of the courtroom, Brock stiffens, and I hate this, hate that my family is hung out for the whole world to see.

"And you were in foster care for a few years?"

"Yes. My mum was in rehab."

"Did you feel you were well cared for during those years?"

"No."

She looks appraisingly down at me. "But you feel you are qualified to help care for these children?"

"When you know what it's like to be alone, it's easier to make sure that the people you care for don't go through the same thing," I say fiercely, clenching my fists and trying to breath.

The judge pauses, looks at me as if she's seeing me for the first time. "I suppose it would be. Can you tell me what life at your house is like, Ken? On a daily basis?"

"Good."

"Can you provide any detail, Ms. Lewis?"

"Umm...Trace and I work and Rory and Drew and Adie are in school. After school, if I'm off work, I pick them up. Otherwise, Kinley picks them up and takes them home, or Miles helps out, or Mauri sometimes."

"Is Mauri your mother?"

"Yes."

"Do you feel she is qualified to care for children when she left you for several years?"

Mauri sits bolt upright, and I realize that I hate this Vivien Anise more than I have hated anyone in my life. "My mother is the most capable woman I know. She went through hell so she could come back and be a mum to me. She lost a daughter and a husband and a best friend, and she fought through recovery so she could come home to me." I realize my tone is more of a snarl, so I cut off abruptly.

Sara is smiling triumphantly at my outburst, and Trace looks fearful.

And then I know.

I know what I have to do.

Rory

"Rory Cain, could you come forward please?"

Rory doesn't look at Trace as he walks by, and Trace bows his head, then glances over at me.

And we both know Rory could break this.

"Rory, what can you tell me about life with Trace?"

"And Ken."

"Ken?"

He points to me.

"Karinne?"

"Yea. Ken."

The judge smiles again, that hint of a smile that just tugs the corners of her mouth. "So what is it like living with Trace and Ken?"

"It's good," he says noncommittally.

"Do you feel like you get along with them?"

"Yea." He looks down, and I know she's suddenly skeptical at his attitude.

"Ms. O'Neill mentioned you have gotten in some fights in the past. Can you describe the context? And what did Trace do about them?"

I scowl up at the judge, momentarily forgetting that we should be keeping up an image. These personal questions are not something a kid should be forced to answer in front of a room full of people. Certainly not a kid like Rory, who is a Cain all the way through, taciturn and uncomfortable in large groups, warm and open only in groups of two or three.

"You want the truth?" Rory lets out a bark of a laugh. "Her son started them."

"Her son?" Vivien Anise narrows her eyes. "I wasn't aware she had a son."

"Carey. It's Adam Kudel's son, but she's with Kudel, so it's all the same."

Vivien stiffens. "I see. And can you tell me how Trace reacted to these fights?"

Rory's expression softens just slightly as he glances at Trace. "If it was my fault I was grounded. But he always-- made sure I was okay first. And he listened."

"He listened?"

"If any of my friends had gotten into fights, they'd be grounded off hand," Rory says, his face impassive. "But Trace listens, cause it isn't as simple as everyone thinks."

Vivien Anise looks straight at Trace, her face blank but her eyes fierce, and she nods, just slightly. "Thank you, Rory. You may take your seat. Before the verdict, I would like to ask one more witness to step forward." Her eyes fasten on me and suddenly I'm terrified. "Ms. Karinne Lewis, would you come forward to be sworn in please?"

Drew

Adie jumps down carelessly from Vivien's desk, and the judge attempts to catch her. Fortunately, the waiting bailiff, an older, heavyset man who had looked bored up until now, catches her, and Adie grins up at him.

"Thanks, mister. Do you like cookies, too?"

"I love them," the bailiff says seriously, placing her gently on the ground in front of Trace. "You take care of her," he tells Trace gruffly, in a tone low enough that the judge can't hear. "You take care of that little girl."

Trace nods fiercely, and then buries his face against Adie as he holds her tight.

"Andrew Cain, can you come forward please?"

Trace squeezes his shoulder encouragingly, and Drew tries to smile bravely.

"Give 'em hell," I whisper, and he actually grins this time.

"Andrew?"

"Drew," he says quietly, shifting in his chair.

"I'd like to ask you a few questions about your oldest brother, Trace."

"Okay." He looks nervous.

"Drew, can you tell me what it's like in your house? What is it like to live with Trace and Rory and Adie?"

"Well, Adie's crazy," Drew says immediately, and around me the people are laughing. "She asks everyone for cookies, so you're not the only one."

Vivien laughs, and the sound surprises me. It sounds like Kinley's laugh, throaty and infectious, but fierce like the sea.

"Drew, what can you tell me about Trace? Do you feel like he's around, or does he leave you alone often?"

"Oh, he's around," Drew says, rolling his eyes. "He's overprotective, if you ask me. Aaron's dad lets him walk on the island by himself, but Trace never lets me, even during the day. Trace is anal about it"-- he looks guiltily at Trace. "Sorry, he worries, I guess."

Vivien Anise is trying to bite back a smile. "He doesn't leave you alone?"

"Sometimes it's just me and Rory and Adie, but never for very long. Usually just for an hour after school while Trace is still at work. One time, Rory got detention, and Trace wouldn't even let us walk home by ourselves so he left work early."

"He left work early to walk you home?" Vivien looks over at Sara, who purses her lips. "And that was okay with his boss?"

"Yea, I guess, but Trace doesn't like to leave work early cause we really need the money," Drew says, and Trace shifts uncomfortable, not liking their need to be so publicly broadcasted.

"Okay," the judge says kindly. "Is there anything else you can tell me?"

Drew shakes his head. "Trace is a good brother," he says stubbornly. "I want to stay with Trace and Ken."

Adie

"That's my big brother, Trace, and he is the strongest person in the whole world," she announces boldly, pointing down at him. "And that mean lady was just telling stories, because Trace always takes care of me."

"Does he ever leave you alone for a long time?" Vivien Anise asks quietly, and I can see she is trying not to be swayed by a four year old.

"No," Adie says. "Sometimes Trace has to go to work, and then Ken takes care of us. Sometimes she gives me cookies," Adie pauses, smiling. "Do you have cookies, Mrs. Lady? I like the kind with chocolate chips best."

"I do like cookies, Miss Cain," the judge says seriously, and Adie relaxes.

"It's okay, Trace," she announces. "She's a nice lady after all."

Vivien Anise almost smiles, then redirects Adie back to her question. "Does Trace ever leave you with just Rory and your other brother, Drew?"

"Sometimes when he has to work late at Evans," Adie says, her tone a little sad. "And Rory won't let me do anything, cause he's afraid that I'll leave the house."

"Do you ever leave the house alone?"

Adie hung her head. "One time when I was naughty," she says. "Trace was in the shower after work, and Rory and Drew were doing homework, so I sneaked outside to play in the snow."

"What happened?" Vivien Anise asks, and Adie kicks her feet against the chair.

"Trace was mad," she says quietly. "He said I must never go out by myself, because the island was too big even for sea angels to be wandering around."

"Sea angels?"

"I'm a sea angel," Adie tells her seriously. "They sing about the sea and sometimes they dance on the rock and Trace paints them. He won't let me dance by the cliff, though, even though Ken gets to."

I blush furiously, and I catch Vivien Anise's look, surprised but not as dark anymore.

"You can hear the sea angels in the thunderstorms, did you know? When the sky shouts and is dark and scary, and I used to hide under Trace's bed, but then he told me that the sea angels are out on the cliffs, dancing in the storm and keeping us safe. I'm going to be a sea angel when I grow up."

I look around, and everyone in the court is smiling except for Sara and Adam. Beside Adam, his daughter Gia, who couldn't be more than eight or nine, is smiling shyly up at Adie.

"Thank you, Miss Cain. I don't have any more questions."

"I have something to say, Mrs. Lady," Adie says seriously, folding her arms. "I do not get into fights. That meanie boy with red hair"-- she points to Adam's son Carey-- "said I was a bastard because I don't have a Daddy."

Vivien Anise raises her eyebrows, and I can hear people behind us muttering angrily.

"But I don't need a Daddy," Adie says proudly, her chin jutting out fiercely. "Or a mommy. Do you wanna know why, Mrs. Lady?"

"Why?" Vivien Anise asks encouragingly.

Adie stands up in her chair, climbs over the barrier before anyone can stop her, and climbs up onto the judge's desk. "Mrs. Lady, I don't need anybody because I have Ken and Trace. Daddies and mommies leave sometimes, but Trace is never ever ever going to leave."

Court II

I remember how Trace appeared to me when I first met him-- cold and hard and angry, and I am praying, desperately, that this Vivien Anise will see the truth.

Trace stumbles through his explanation that Rory is almost 13, that he himself cared for his siblings since his parents that the fights never last more than an hour or two and are simply, like the sport of boxing or football, a sport, one which he only engages in to put food on the table.

But his testimony is weak, shaken, and I am beginning to think it would take a miracle to stop Vivien Analise from taking Rory, Drew, and Adie away from us.

He takes his seat, his hands shaking, and I try to smile encouragingly. Rory scoots away from him, still angry, and Trace looks almost ready to break, his hands clenching and unclenching.

"I realize this is irregular, but I would like to speak to each of Mr. Cain's siblings before a decision is reached," Vivien Anise is saying, and her words cause something to shift inside me, from nerves to terror.

"Would Adrian Cain please step forward?"

"It'll be okay, sweetheart," I tell her, but Adie is already climbing down from my lap, her shoulders squared bravely, her tiny chin set in determination.

Vivien Anise looks down at her, her expression softening only slightly. "Adrian, I'd like to ask you a few questions, okay? Can we do that?"

"My name's Adie," she says brightly. "And I have some things to tell you, okay? Can we do that?"

Vivien Anise looks taken aback, and then her lips twitch. "That would be wonderful."

Trace and I exchange worried looks.

And then Adie breaks out hearts.

Court

Drew is still complaining that he feels sick from the ferry ride, but I think the pallor of his face is more nerves for the upcoming hearing than anything. Rory is pale, too, still angry at being grounded.

Trace had asked me, early that morning when the three of them were sleeping. "What if I fucked everything up?" His voice is tortured, terrified.

"What were you supposed to do, Trace? Let it go? You can't let him get away with treating Drew and Adie like that."

"But what if he really wants to leave? I mean, I've fucked up so many times. I was never supposed to be raising a bunch of kids. Maybe it would be better for all of them."

"He said that because he was angry and because he's twelve, Trace. It would break him-- it would break any of them-- if they were separated from you. He'll figure it out, love. He'll understand."

But Rory is still not speaking to him, and though I haven't said anything to Trace, it's worrying me, that his hostility will show in court today, that he will make an impulsive decision on the stand that will lose this case for us.

"All rise for the Honorable Judge Vivien Anise."

We stand as one, Trace holding Adie so tightly she squirms in his arms.

I am numb, terrified, as the proceedings begin. The attorney on the opposite side presents his case, calls Sara.

The judge is an imposing woman, and under her wig is a mass of graying dark hair, piled neatly into a bun. Her eyes are fierce when she glances over at us, and she would remind me of Mauri if she didn't look so coldly at me as if I were responsible for all of this.

"Ms. O'Neill, you state that you have observed neglect on the part of Trace Estlin Cain, the older brother and guardian of the three children in question?"

"Yes," Sara says smugly, and I recognize the self-righteous gleam in her eye as she looks down from the stand on us. "Mr. Cain is rarely at home, often leaving his younger siblings alone after school, while he engages in brutal fist-fighting or various amorous flirtations with the young women of this island."

Trace's face is impassive, but I am so furious that it takes everything I have not to stand up and scream at her.

"Do you have personal knowledge of this, Ms. O'Neill?" Vivien Anise asks sharply. "Or is this simply your guess?"

"Oh, personal knowledge, ma'am," Sara says smoothly. "The entire island knows that Trace Cain spends his weekends at the Devon Hall, engaging in fistfights."

"So you mean an island activity, not rogue fighting like you implied earlier?"

Sara flushes. "Of course, ma'am. And he makes no provisions for childcare for his siblings during these weekends."

"And how do you know this?"

"Because I have visited their home at various times, and seen Trace and his current girlfriend, Karinne Lewis, arriving home late to find only the oldest child, Rory, left in charge of the other two."


"And how old is Rory?"

"I believe around 11 or 12, ma'am."

Rory, who will turn 13 next week, stiffens angrily, and Drew, who is 11, snickers into his hands. Trace elbows him to be quiet, his eyes focused on the front of the courtroom.

"Do you have anything else to add to this?"

"Yes, ma'am, I have personally observed Trace and his girlfriend leave the children alone for long periods of time while they take long walks alone on the island," Sara says coldly. "Furthermore, Rory is known at school for getting into fights and abandoning his younger siblings if he is in the mood, while the youngest, Adie, who is only four, could not even be allowed in Sunday school because she was too prone to fighting."

The injustice of this claim astounds me, and Adie looks up with eyes full of tears. "Tell her she's wrong, Trace," Adie pleads, her lower lip trembling.

Trace brushes a kiss across her forehead. "It'll be alright, little lady. We'll have our turn."

Sara takes her seat, and the judge turns towards us. "Mr. Trace Cain, please step forward to be sworn in."

Adie clings to him, but he gently detaches her and places her in my arms.

"You can do this, Trace Cain," I whisper as he leans down, my hand lingering close to his. "For our family."

Her Vow

"I can't." Trace says numbly. "I can't win this."

Trace has been sitting motionless at the table for the past hour. Adie cried herself to sleep on my lap, and Drew, who stopped throwing things at the closed door a while ago, is curled up on the couch. Rory is standing numbly near the window.

"Where would we go, Trace?" Rory asks, but his words fall flat against the lifeless air in our tiny home.

"Sara," Trace says. "Or a foster home on the mainland."

I stand, place a sleeping Adie into Trace's arms. I grab Rory's elbow, spin him around so he's looking at me. "Well, I'm not," I say fiercely, turning and gripping Drew's face in my hand so he is forced to look up at me, too. "I'm not going to let that happen."

Trace laughs mirthlessly. "And what can we do to stop them?"

"I don't know," I say honestly. "I never have a plan, and that's what has always scared Sara O'Neill. All I know is she fucked with the wrong family."

Trace looks up at me finally, a smile twisting the corner of his lips for half a second. "But what if you can't, Ken? What if I lose them?" And then I see the absolute terror take over his face.

"I'll find a way to save us, my love," I whisper, dropping a kiss on his lips. "I'll find a way to save us all."

Silence

Rory is in his room, and Trace is seated at the kitchen table, head in his hands.

"What the hell was I thinking?" he groans, and I lean in to massage his tense shoulders. He jerks away from me, and I step back quickly. "Don't touch me. Why are you even coming near me?"

"I'm going to talk to Rory," I say quietly. "And there will never be a time when I don't want to touch you, Trace Estlin Cain, so get used to it."

He doesn't laugh, doesn't even smile.

I knock on Rory's door.

"What do you want?" he snaps.

"It's Ken," I say quietly.

"I know it's you," he snarls. "Trace would've just kicked in the door."

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Trace flinch at the words.

"Can I come in?" I ask Rory gently.

"Fine," he snaps. "But he can't."

He opens the door, and looks up at me defiantly, but he is like Trace, and I know Trace, and I can see that he has been crying.

"Hey," I say softly, stepping inside.

"You can't fix it," he says harshly, stepping back. "You can't fix us, Ken."

"I wouldn't even want to try," I say truthfully, reaching out to touch his face.

Rory tries to scowl at me, but I shake my head. "It's okay," I tell him, and then he is crying and I have my arms around him.

"He hates me," he manages, and I know, I know Trace must hear this through the thin walls of the house. And I can almost see how it is breaking him.

"No," I say firmly. "Trace doesn't hate you. I don't think it's in him to hate you."

"But it's my fault," Rory mutters, clawing at the tears on his face. "He said so. It's my fault that Adie got hurt."

"He said that because he blames himself, not you," I say softly. "And he was wrong, Rory. Sometimes things happen and nobody's to blame. Sometimes you can't do anything to stop the people you love from getting hurt."

The door slams open and Trace is standing there, his eyes red and wild. He pushes forcefully into the room and wordlessly pulls Rory into a hug.

Rory says nothing, just leans against Trace, who pulls me into the embrace.

"I'm sorry," Trace says, and I hear how the words cost him, see how heavy his shoulders are. "I'm so sorry, little bro."

Rory says nothing, just holds onto Trace as if his older brother is the only thing holding him to life.

Ar Hyd a Nos

It's dark.

So dark.

"I did this," I say dully, staring at Trace, who stares blankly back at me across the table. "I did this to us."

"Fuck," is all he says, as if he can't comprehend what just happened to him. "Fuck."

He shoves the papers off the table in a violent burst, and then buries his face in his hands.

"Ken, what's fore-forecl"-- Adie attempts to ask.

"Foreclosure, stupid," Drew snaps, chucking his math book at the door Adam Kudel just closed.

"He can't do that, can he, Trace?" Rory asks, his face pale.

"He is," Trace says dully.

"I'm going to kill him," I say. "I really am."

"That's not all," Trace says, holding out another paper. "Custody fight. Neglect charges."

"What?"

"I'm not a capable guardian," he says bitterly, looking up at me. "That is, unless you move back out."

"I'm going to kill her, too," I announce, and Rory laughs harshly.

"You're both the same," he snarls. "You think that you can solve everything, god fucking damnit you fucked this up by trying to fix it!" He whirls away from his, but not before I can see the tears shining in his eyes, and then slams the door behind him.

Adie starts crying, and Drew kicks his backpack so hard he sends his pencils and notebook flying.

And in all the years I have known him, I have never seen Trace Cain so broken.

Extinguish

"Come here." Trace grabs my hand, and I yank back. Hard.

"Don't touch me," I snarl.

"Good god, you practically sleep on top of me and then you bite my head off when I touch your hand," he says, lip curling into a sneer as he looks back at me.

"Fuck off."

"Feisty tonight?" he smirks, and then he's stepping so close to me I can barely breathe. I can't step back, there's only a rock wall behind me, and I bare my teeth and practically growl at him.

"You could dance," he smirks. "You're best when you're angry, you know?"

I place both hands on his chest and shove him as hard as he can. I'm not weak, that we both know, but it barely moves him. "You can blow yourself," I snap, trying to squeeze past him.

His grin broadens. "Come on, Ken. You're actually pissed at me?"

"Was 'fuck off' not clear enough?"

He steps back, and he's actually angry now, I can see it in the set of his jaw. "It was very clear, sweetheart."

"Call me sweetheart again and I will personally rearrange your face."

He looks at me for half a second, and then his face softens just slightly.

I stare at him suspiciously.

"You're crying," he says softly, stepping towards me again.

I jerk back so quickly I nearly smash my head against the rock wall, and then I'm clawing at my face, my eyes, making sure there's no tears standing unnoticed on my cheeks. "I wasn't crying," I snarl. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Ken."

His voice is so gentle it breaks me, so I turn away.

His hands are gentle when they turn me back around to face him. "Hey." He's so close to my face now that I can see those goddamn freckles and the mark on his upper lip. "What happened?"

"Nothing," I try to snap, but it comes out closer to a sob, and fuck, why can't I stop crying? "Nothing happened, Trace."

He wraps his arms around me, tight, and I push him off. Trace doesn't let go, and I know I don't want him to, no matter what I say.

"I don't want to fall apart," I sob into his shoulder, hating that he is strong and I am not, hating that I will make him pay for it later.

"It's okay," he breathes into my neck, repeating my words back to me. "It's okay to fall if you have someone to catch you." And then he's kissing me until neither of us can breathe.

Untitled

For the dancer

You sang your song to me, long ago,
Ula Kai Anahita,
daughter of the sea,
goddess fierce and kind.
You say I hated you:
but I tell you, it was fear you saw,
fear and nothing else.
I feared your strength,
your courage,
your compassion, even.
And when I saw you unfold your silver arms
and fly into the storm
and call it dancing,
I think I almost wept.
Perhaps it was that alone that frightened me,
or perhaps it was your eyes,
grey against the storm and the rock, and fiercer than the sea.
But that was not when I loved you first,
Vivien Nawfar,
daughter of the sea,
lily of the raging waters.
I loved you when your tiny, fragile arms
kept your sister from falling,
when you screamed all day and night for your father to return,
but in your pain, still you saw my tears in the rain,
and you did not hesitate to reach out
and wipe them away.

By TC

Untitled

For the fistfighter.

The sea was screaming my name on the day I met you,
and my sister was shaking in my arms.
Your brothers were crying, and you held them in your arms,
close to your heart as if your strength
could keep everything from breaking.
Everyone knew your name,
everyone on this tiny, godforsaken rock,
because you had fought your way, with fists and blood and tears
(not your tears, not ever)
all the way to the top.
But to me you were that boy,
thin and wiry,
the only one who understood anger
and grief, too.
When I lost my sister, you were there.
You pushed through the crowd and led me outside,
and away from the sobbing masses
and the broken adults who forgot their children
two children screamed at the cloud-scudded sky.
I shouted and cried and screamed
and you stood there, taking it,
even when I beat my small fists against your wiry chest.
You stood there, and you hummed a song, ar hyd a nos, all through the night,
and held my hands
to your warm, beating heart, and we stayed like that, silent,
until morning.
After that day, we did not speak for three years,
and when we did,
it was only to fight.
I hated that you had seen my weakness, my tears,
hated that I had never seen yours,
and you hated that I seemed to have forgotten.
And then, one day, when I elbowed my way into a world full of men,
and you looked up from your bitter fight,
I saw your eyes
and I knew.

By KL

Resurrectus

The doctors and nurses on the mainland are warm with sympathy, but unresponsive when he asks, his voice ragged, how she is doing.

"Can I see her?" he asks hoarsely on the morning of the third day.

It's a nurse this time, her hair dark brown, but wild like Ken's. "I'm sorry, sir"--

"Please," Adie peeks out from behind his leg, her black hair tangled because she has refused to let anyone but Ken touch it. "Ken'll get better if he's there, I promise. I need her to get better and come braid my hair and make Trace laugh when she whispers in his ear."

The nurse's face softens, and she looks back at Trace.

"I suppose it won't matter now," she says softly, placing her hand on his arm. "But you have to prepare yourself, Mr."--

"Cain," he murmurs. "Trace Cain."

"She's not doing well, Mr. Cain."

"I know," he mumbles, the words clumsy on his numb lips. 

The nurse leans closer so Adie can't hear. "It's very likely that you'll be saying goodbye, Mr. Cain." 

Goodbye?

Trace nods, and she steps back, allowing him to pass.

He stumbles as he walks, and vaguely he realizes that she catches him and guides him through the door.

Mauri is sitting beside the bed, and when she looks up at him her eyes are dark and empty. Kinley is beside her, and when Trace enters, she gently pulls Mauri to her feet.

"Come on, girlie," she murmurs. "You need some rest."

"I want to stay with my baby girl," Mauri protests, but her words are feeble and she can barely stand as Kinley leads her out.

"I'll stay with her," Trace says, and then he sees Ken and everything else disappears.

She is tiny in the hospital bed, and there are tubes of some sort in one arm. The screen above the bed is issuing a succession of steady beeps, and it gives him hope, to see the jagged lines every time her heart beats. 

He kneels beside the bed, takes her hand in his.

It's limp, clammy, as if she's still in the sea. As if she'll never be able to leave it.

"Ken," he says, and the word is lost in a ragged sob. "Ken Lewis"--

Goodbye, the nurse had said. You'll be saying goodbye.

But he can't. 

Not to Ken.

And because he can't manage the words, he closes his eyes and rests his head against her cold hand.

Stay, he had asked her, and she had said yes.

He remembered the day, bright and clear and cold, the first day of spring. She had told him she wasn't going to uni, after all; that she was going to open a dance studio near the cliffs and teach girls Adie's age. That he was going to work there with her, paint every wave that crashed against their cliff, and sell the paintings to Aron and Mia like he had promised. 

Ken, he is sobbing now against her hand, his tears the only warmth against the cold shroud of death that already envelops her hand. Ken, I need you to stay.

Ken Lewis, you asked me what hope looks like, and I never answered.

I never answered, because I didn't know. But I know now.

It looks like you.

But there is no answer but the steady beeping of the machines that are keeping Ken Lewis alive.

We need you. I need you.

Please please please.

Ken.

And then because Trace Cain cannot even form a coherent thought, he unclenches his free hand and places it over her heart, feeling the faint beat, and breathes her name like a prayer.

Ken.

Do you know what I want, she had whispered to him one dark night when she had slept pressed into the curve of his body. I want to hear you say my name like that for the rest of my life.

Hear me now, Ken. Please. Here me now.

Numb

He hears the words, but they don't make sense.

Water in her lungs. Massive concussive damage from the rocks. Not expected to survive.

But it is not her, could not be her.

Not the girl who danced fiercely and defied the sea with every breath. Not the girl with a sharp tongue and ready fists. Not the girl who gave his brothers hope, who taught his little sister to dance, who saved him.

She could not die, this girl who had brought him back to life.

And so he cradled his unconscious sister in his arms and pulled back his screaming brothers, and prayed to all the gods he had never believed in that he would not lose Ken Lewis.

The clinic is buzzing with activity now, surrounding his dancer.

A nurse takes his sister, murmurs "Thank God you got her out in time."

But I didn't, he wants to tell her. It was the sea angel, the girl who saved us all. She rescued my sister.

 But he doesn't say anything, just stands there numbly and lets Kinley wrap a blanket around his shoulders, lets Owen take care of his brothers.

Mauri arrives, screaming, and Trace cannot comprehend the words she is saying, cannot understand, because Ken will be alright, of course she will.

"Where is my girl?" she screams. "Where is my baby girl?"

And he has no answer for her.

Finis

I knew the wave was coming before it hit me. Knew there was no coming out of this storm.

And I dove-- into the chaotic, frothing abyss of the sea, straight for the place a small, dark head had disappeared.

Rory, first, I tell myself. I feel his arm, cold, shove him.

Someone pulls him away from me, someone standing on the slippery rock. Trace? Dad? Mum?

It doesn't matter anymore. Words unspoken are left unspoken forever now.

I strike out through the cold sea, but my arms are going numb. I flail, wildly.

She cannot die tonight, not my sea angel, not the child who brought me hope.

My arm brushes hers, small and feeble, and then my hands are around her waist and I'm dragging her, pushing against the rock and the wild, wild sea, because this is a battle I will not lose. Not this time, not ever again.

The ocean screams at me, raging as I rob her of her prey. And so I whisper, "Take me instead," and the sea relents, allows me to use every strength left in my numb arms to shove her towards the safety of the rock and her brothers.

I hear Trace scream my name, hoarse and rough above the storm, but I do not fight towards him.

Not anymore.

The wave hurls my body, limp now, towards the rock.

I have learned to kiss the wave that hurls me against the rock of ages.

My body absorbs the impact, vaguely I feel the pain as I begin to choke on seawater, and I think of Adie.


Take me, instead.

Another wave, brutal and cold, filling my nose and mouth.

Oh God our help in ages past, our hope for years to come.

The waves pull me under, I see nothing but dark water, dark and beautiful and bitter, like every brief day when I danced above the chaos, every brief minute it took to find my way back to my mum, every brief second I spent with the fistfighter whose hands were gentle.

Our shelter from the stormy blast...

The waves sweep me towards the rock again, and I close my eyes.

And just before the rock and the waves overtake me, I see her again, my sister, standing at the cliff's edge. But she's not jumping, not falling away from me, not today.

Today she's singing.

"And our eternal home," she cries for me, finishing my song and the words echo in my ears, and then she is running to take me in her arms.

Another wave.

And it is finished.