Читать книгу Love, Lattes and Mutants - Sandra Cox - Страница 9

I hurry to my truck with more speed than grace. Big, rusty and ten years old, it doesn’t elicit any vehicle lust among the other students. It’s a gas-guzzler, but it serves its purpose for trips down the coast. Hunching over the wheel, I mutter as I drive. “It was the voice.” Mortification assails me. I’ve never slipped up since I started the charade four years ago, when I went through puberty. That’s when my voice and eye color changed. Who’d have thought dolphin and human DNA would mix to give me the voice of a sea siren? The blowhole on my back I’d been born with. Luckily, from a distance it looks like a birthmark.

Lowering my voice from its normal melodic tone to a deeper alto is second nature to me, or was till I looked into a pair of sea-blue eyes.

Grinding my teeth at my loss of control, I rip off the offending barrette. My hair flies around my shoulders as I shake it free. Tension rips through me. I’ve spent too much time on land breathing in smog-filled air. I desperately need the soothing waves of the sea, the song of the whales and the swaying, jewel-like glitter of coral on the ocean floor.

I’m on my way home before I remember Gramps mentioning yesterday he was almost out of oatmeal. I do a U-turn, stop at the local grocery store, and then head home again.

Finally. I turn off the paved lane onto a dirt road. At the top is a cliff with the best view in California.

Eight minutes later, I kill the motor and just sit there, my arms resting on the steering wheel.

I toss my glasses on the seat, the better to enjoy the view. They are oversized, pink tinted, and do a good job of hiding my unusual turquoise eyes. The problem is they distort my vision.

Waves lap below. I’ve gotten home later than usual. Lights across the bay have already begun to glisten like stars. My taut muscles loosen. I will never lose my fascination for the ocean. It’s my existence. I can’t imagine living anywhere but here.

I take one last look at the isolated outcrop we live on before getting out of the truck and entering the cottage. The aromas of spaghetti and garlic bread waft around me, tickling my senses. My mouth waters.

Gramps stands at the stove in jeans and a plaid shirt, a plain white apron wrapped around his lean middle, stirring a pot.

A wave of love engulfs me. This man is my family. He looks like an aging tree, tall and stooped with a shock of white hair. He worked the coast as a salmon fisherman until the salmon were nearly decimated from overfishing. Now he takes the occasional tourist junket out. With its location, Gramps could sell our cottage and live the rest of his life like a king, but not only does he love it, the location is paramount to me.

I come up behind him and hug his ropy waist. “Sorry I wasn’t home to take care of supper.” I lay my cheek against his back.

“What, you think I can’t cook?” It’s a standing joke between us. Cooking isn’t either of our fortes but Gramps is far better than I am. He glances at the clock. Five o’clock. Suppertime at the Dunn household. “Sit down and eat before you dart out to save the world.”

I know better than to argue, especially the way my stomach is growling. “I’ll set the table.”

I hum as I put out plain white plates on the little table. The kitchen is homey, all pine and yellow paint, with white curtains at the window. Encompassed in the warmth of the room, I momentarily forget my need for the sea.

Gramps pauses to listen, a look of pleasure on his face. I have no need to disguise my voice here.

I fill our glasses with iced tea. Moments later we eat, my fork loaded with slippery pasta. I break a piece of hot bread apart. Steam, tinged with the aroma of herbs, rises and tickles my nose. I shift and glance up.

Gramps pauses; his gnarled hand circles his iced tea glass. “You look so much like your mother,” he says softly.

“Tell me again, how you found her,” I urge. I’ve heard the story a hundred times, but since I’ve lost her, I never tire of it. She and my dad were killed in a car wreck when I was four. There’s some mystery surrounding their death. Dad was speeding and took a curve too fast. Gramps maintains he would have never driven that fast with my mom in the car without a darn good reason.

I miss my parents. It breaks my heart that my memories of them are fading. My clearest recollection is swimming beside my mother, her hair rippling in the water like silk, her body as supple as a seal’s, laughing and chattering like an otter.

I shake myself back to the present and focus on Gramps.

A faraway look in his eyes, he leans back in his chair, takes a deep breath, and begins. “Richard and I were out fishing. The night before there’d been a terrible storm. We found her clinging to the side of the boat.”

My mind drifts while he tells the story, remembering the parts he’s leaving out. That mom was a lab rat. She never knew where the lab was or whom it belonged to: the government or a private investor. She was either stolen or an orphan. They altered her germ line by adding dolphin DNA. The germ line that was passed on to me.

Without thought, I rub the blowhole between my shoulder blades. I focus on Gramps.

“She was fourteen and your dad was seventeen. They looked at each other and that was that. I don’t know who fell in love with her first, Richard or your grandma. We raised her like one of our own. The only one who never considered her a family member was your daddy and he married her.”

“And they were happy,” I prompt, my elbows resting on the table, my chin in my hands.

“I’ve never seen anyone happier.” He rolls pasta on his fork and pops it in his mouth. He chews and swallows before saying softly, “We were all happy.”

Poor Gramps. I know he misses Grams and his children. Grams died five years ago. She went to sleep one night and never woke up. I reach over and squeeze his hand. “You still got me, Gramps.”

He rolls his hand over and grasps mine. “I sure do. You’re the joy of my life. I’m a lucky man.” He drops my hand. “Now finish eating and get out there and save the ocean world.”

“Why do you think they picked Mom?” I asked around a mouthful of pasta.

He taps his fingers together and looks into the distance. “I don’t know. But if I was to guess, I’d say at some point they saw her swim when she was little more than a toddler. Whoever did that to her would have wanted someone with an affinity for the ocean.” The faraway look in his eyes disappears and he slaps his palms against the table. “Get going, girl.”

I wolf down my food and carry my dirty dishes to the sink.

“Leave them. I’ll take care of it.”

“Thanks, Gramps.” I hurry to my little room at the end of the hall and step out of my offending clothes. Under them, I’m wearing a bright turquoise two-piece. I take a quick look in the mirror. Satisfied, I trot out of my room and down the hall. “Bye.” I let myself out the door and jump off the deck into thick blades of grass that tickle my feet.

A few yards behind the house is the edge of the cliff. I wrap my toes around the rocky ledge and push off. The wind pulls at me as I bullet through the air. The water barely splashes when I hit it and go straight down. I pull into a ball, turn in a circle then stretch out my arms and cut through the water. It ripples around me, warm and smooth as a lover’s caress. I push to the surface and chuff to blow water out of my crescent-shaped blowhole, before diving back down. My eyes adjust to the clear dark water. My hair floats out around me.

Multi-color coral catches my eye. Entranced, I circle it. Water ripples. I whirl sharply. That’s when I see the fins.