Beyond the Rising Tide by Sarah Beard Read Free Book Online Page A

honesty.
    “I don’t know.” I turn around to face Beth and lean against the counter, holding the big spoon in my hand. “I guess I feel … bad. I feel their pain. I think anyone who stands up to demand respect or rights does it only because they’ve been deprived of those things.”
    I think about my mom, how I used to wish she had the courage to demand more respect from my dad. But maybe it wasn’t courage she needed. Maybe she just needed someone to tell her she deserved better.
    “People need to know they’re worth something,” I say. “And if feminism teaches women that they have the right to be treated as human beings, then that shouldn’t threaten men; it should motivate them to be better.”
    I glance at Avery, and the way she’s looking at me makes me think I just earned some points on her trustworthiness scorecard.
    Avery’s mom slides her stool back abruptly and stands. Her eyes are wide and transfixed on some imaginary thing, as if she’s staring out a window at a UFO. Only she’s not facing a window.
    Without warning, she circles the counter, takes my face in her hands, and plants a kiss on my cheek. “Thank you. That’s the line I’ve been looking for!” Then she rushes down the hall and disappears into her office.
    I stand there baffled for a moment, and then look to Avery. “What was that all about?”
    Avery smiles and goes back to washing blueberries in a strainer under the tap. “I think your words are about to be immortalized in my mom’s latest screenplay.”
    “Seriously?” I think back on what I said, trying to figure out what was so profound about it.
    “Next thing you know, Jude Law will be repeating your words. You have to be careful with what you say around my mom.” She sets the washed blueberries on the counter and dries her hands on a dish towel. “Have you ever seen The Velvet Sparrow ?”
    I give her a blank look.
    “It’s a historical film my mom penned. There’s this scene where the main character dramatically cries, ‘If this is love, then I hate love. And I’d rather tear my heart out with a fishhook than feel love again.’”
    “Is that something you said?” I ask, intrigued and amused.
    She drops a handful of blueberries on one of the plates. “When I was ten, when my cat died.”
    “You must have really loved your cat.”
    She shrugs. “It was my first real-life experience with death. I didn’t take it very well.”
    The sandwiches are done, so I set the spoon back in the bowl and replace the tinfoil. “I don’t think anyone should have to take death well. I mean, it’s probably the worst thing that can happen to anyone, losing someone they care about.” I should know. Over the last six months working with Grim, I’ve seen more than my fair share of the effects of death. “Believe me. No one takes it well.”
    “You sound like you know from experience.”
    I move my plate to the bar and sit on a stool. “Death is part of the human experience. And I’m human.” Or was, anyway.
    She sets her plate beside mine, but before sitting down she grabs her mom’s plate. “I’m going to take this into her office.” She starts walking away, then twists and adds, “If she’s too immersed in her story, I may have to prod her to eat. So … sit tight for a minute.”
    She disappears down the hall, and I look at my sandwich, realizing that I don’t even know if this body is capable of digesting food. I’ve never seen Charles eat while materialized. But that doesn’t mean it’s not possible or even necessary. In fact, now that I think about it, the beginning of hunger pains are pinching my insides. Or maybe it’s nerves.
    Avery returns and sits beside me, plucking a blueberry off her plate and putting it in her mouth. I pick up my sandwich. Just to be safe, I start small, tearing off a bit of bread with my teeth. It tastes great, chewy and soft, like French bread should be. I take the next step and swallow, waiting for something to happen—I