(I’m reposting/resending this because the first time WordPress dropped the text when it sent out the email. Sorry about that!)
“No, darling,” Marina said, “that’s just a reflection.”
But it wasn’t, Arlo was sure of it. It had moved. Under the water. Like something alive. Something not a fish.
Some of his thoughts must have shown on his face, because Marina put on that really annoying voice she had when she was “explaining” something.
“See, darling,” (why was she always calling him “darling”? She seemed to think that would make him feel more like she was his mom. It didn’t.) “all this is is light bouncing off the surface of the water, and it creates wave lengths that bounce off each other, making it look like there is something there. But there isn’t, see?” She gave a tinkling laugh, as if to say, Only a silly child like you would think there was.
Maybe he was a silly child, so be it. But he had seen it. There was the creamy brown sand, the blue of the water – a bluer blue that he had ever seen in the water, blue like the little cream jug in the cupboard at his granny’s house, the one that granny used to serve him hot chocolate in when he was small. Hot chocolate with whipped cream on top. Creamy brown sand, the cream jug blue of the water rippling over it – and between them, it.
A white-pink streak like a cloud darting across his vision, from left to right. Streaking, undulating. And as it flashed by, it had turned its – its head? And it looked at Arlo.
He knew it had looked at him.
And it liked him.