It is early morning, not long since dawn broke. The sun is beginning to spread its orange hue on the horizon, but the air is still brisk.

In one of the houses that line the cliff overlooking the beach, an elderly man rises and switches on the light in his kitchen. He is pondering whether it is a gift or a curse to wake at this ungodly hour every morning. It is peaceful, to be sure, but nothing else makes him feel more alone in the world.

As he fills the kettle at the sink, he looks out the back window, as he does every morning. There are few people out at this hour, usually only an intrepid jogger or dog walker. This morning, he peers closer. He squints his eyes and opens them again to verify what he’s seeing.

She is almost a mirage, the young woman dressed in white. For a moment, from the pull of her hair into a loose knot at her nape, he imagines it is his late wife, come back to see him. This thought, however improbable, makes him smile.

As the water overflows the kettle, he returns to himself. From this angle, he now notices her olive skin, her youthful face. She walks with intention toward the roaring waves. Something is not right: a young woman, alone in street clothes on the beach at this hour. He places the kettle in its cradle, picks up the kitchen telephone and dials the police.

Home

1 | Karina

2007

Karina sat outside the principal’s office, kicking her feet against the wooden bench. She knew the noise was annoying the receptionist, who glanced up periodically with a stern look from behind the tall barrier. Karina didn’t care. What else could happen to her? She was already waiting in the principal’s office; her mother had been called. The only redeeming part of this whole situation was that Prem wasn’t here with her. He was, with any luck, outside with the other first-graders, playing tetherball or four square.

Twenty minutes earlier, at the start of lunch, she’d been at the monkey bars with her best friend, Izzy, when she’d seen Prem across the schoolyard, sitting at the lunch table. Her younger brother, usually running around wild with his friends during this time, was cowering at the corner of the table, with an older boy hovering nearby. Karina crossed the yard and as she approached, she recognized Jake Potash from her grade.

“Man, that stinks!” Jake pinched his nose and pointed at her brother’s stainless-steel tiffin, filled with rice and vegetable curry. “Get that crap away from me!” He kicked at the table, causing the tiffin to rattle and Prem, his face seized by fear, to slide farther down the bench.

Karina, fueled by rage and protective instinct, marched up and grabbed the tiffin off the table. “You bother my brother again,” she spat out, “I’ll kill you.” The smirk lingered on Jake’s face, so before she could think, Karina raised her arm and hurled the tiffin at him. Jake yelped as the sharp metal edge struck him square in the face, and curry was left dripping down his cheek. Karina stared as he wiped his face, and Jake must have recognized the anger in her eyes, because even though it was an absurd threat for a scrawny eleven-year-old girl to make against the school’s biggest bully, he just spat on the ground and stormed away.