Ask the Waves Why by Kaighla Rises

Author:Kaighla Rises [Rises, Kaighla]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Independent
Published: 2024-01-30T00:00:00+00:00

18

Chapter 18

FIVE YEARS LATER

“Go, Jamal!” Caroline screamed. “You’re almost there!”

The air was thick with chlorine and anticipation as Jamal and the other boys hurtled through the water. Caroline’s eyes followed his every stroke, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Hassan sat next to her, rooting for him.

Even at such a young age, Jamal was a great swimmer—had been since Caroline took him to his first swimming lesson when he was still a toddler—but the competition that day was fierce. Jamal touched the wall mere seconds after the kid next to him, his chest heaving as he looked up at the scoreboard. Disappointment washed over his face.

Caroline and Hassan met Jamal as he climbed out of the pool.

“I lost,” he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes were brimming with tears, his lower lip quivering.

Hassan knelt down, bringing himself to Jamal’s eye level. “You swam so well, habibi. We’re so proud of you!”

“That’s right. And you finished, baby! That’s not a small thing,” Caroline said, smiling, as she handed him his towel and pulled him in for a hug. “We just have to work on shaving a few seconds off your butterfly stroke and you’ll be set.”

“How about some ice cream on the way home?” Hassan suggested as they followed Jamal to the locker room door.

Jamal nodded, a smile breaking through his disappointment. “I guess,” he said, sniffling.

* * *

When they arrived home later that afternoon, Jamal headed to the shower and then collapsed in bed, exhausted. Audrey was out with some friends and Hassan had gone to the gym, so Caroline decided to take advantage of the time alone to get some writing done and enjoy a glass of wine.

Caroline had tried to get sober after her conversation with Audrey, she really had. But every time she would get a few months of sobriety under her belt, something would go terribly wrong—or terribly right—and she’d be back on the bottle.

On the bright side, she’d finally developed a writing routine after years of struggling to stay on track. When she was ready to write, she’d head into her office, close the door, light a candle, turn on some music—whatever inspired the type of writing she was working on that day—and then, of course, pour herself a large glass of wine. This little ritual helped coax out the artist in her and she looked forward to it, in some ways even more than the actual writing.

And so that’s what she did that night, while the summer heat gave way to the cool of the evening outside her windows. Lost in the world she was spinning on the page, she didn’t hear Hassan come in until he was standing directly beside her.

“Holy shit!” she cried, removing her noise-canceling headphones and clutching her chest. “You scared the hell outta me!”

“I called your name several times,” Hassan said blithely, sitting in the reading chair in the corner. “What if I’d been a burglar? Or what if Jamal needed you, huh?”

Caroline rolled her eyes and poured the rest of the wine into her glass.

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