Water Steps by A. LaFaye Page B

back home, she
planted trees every month instead of once a year, and there’s no one who lived farther from the ocean who did more to preserve it. She even took trips to Washington to lobby the government guys to save the critters of the deep. Mem did a lot for the earth, but Rosien didn’t seem convinced.
    â€œReally now, is that why you’re up here lounging about in this house while I’m down doing my duty?”
    What kind of duty? Did they have some endangered species in the lake I didn’t know about? A sand turtle with nowhere to lay eggs or a type of fish dying of paint poisoning?
    Mem turned and headed back up the steps, saying, “I have a job of my own to do. And there’s more than one kind of duty, sister. More than one.”
    She came into the kitchen with her head hanging low, so I made a big show of clanking the tea pot as I washed it so she’d think I’d made too much noise to hear them fight. Knowing the duty she’d just referred to included me, I realized I took her away from whatever cause Rosien wanted her to fight for.
    Mem came to join me. We finished the dishes in silence, then she pulled her downy hair out of the bun on top of her head, saying, “I think this old mane could use a bit of brushing. What do you say?”

    I’d say I loved to brush Mem’s hair. She had the only true gray hair I’d ever seen on a person’s head. Not white gray like that of a grandma, but the rich gray of a black-footed mare. Down to the backs of her knees, Mem had hair long enough to hide me when she brushed it forward and let me sit on her lap.
    We’d spooked Pep that way many a time. Mem would hide me away, then keep combing. Pep would come into the room for a good night’s rest. I’d pop out, shouting, “Wooo!”
    One time, I scared him as he walked in to watch a movie and it rained popcorn. “Aye, you little banshee. I’ll have that howl of yours.” He chased me around the bed three times before he caught me and tickled me until I nearly wet the bed.
    And you could say I had memories in that hair of Mem’s—all the times I sat on the high bed behind her vanity bench to brush it. We’d talk and laugh until my arm got tired, then she’d pull the hair over her shoulder and finish the job while I played with her hair combs or made chains of her bobby pins.
    But that night, it flowed like cement over her shoulders, keeping a wall between us. She sighed, but said nothing as I started to brush. Tall enough now, I stood behind her and brushed out the long strands.
Kippers snuck down below to play with the tips.
    Mem kept silent, so I grabbed a chunk of her hair and pretended to rat it out a little. “What a beautiful tail. Our little gray mare is bound to win the show.” Usually that gave her a laugh, but this time she barely hummed.
    I didn’t feel much happier. Sad because Aunt Rosien made Mem sad, but also guilty for listening in on what they said. And a little angry, too. Why did Mem have to hide her childhood from me when we could’ve shared stories like the one Rosien had told me over tea?
    â€œMem,” I started.
    â€œAye?” Mem sounded distant, even drifty.
    â€œWhat’s wrong with telling me about those critters you rescued?”
    Mem looked at me in the mirror, her eyes all flash and wonder. “And just where do you think I rescued them? That otter with a crushed foot and the eel with the fish hook in its eye?”
    I blinked, my own eye stinging. In a flash, I could see Mem, her skirts tied in knots over her knees, wading into the water to help an otter trapped in the rocks, the poor thing letting out high-pitched squeals, splashing in the water to get free. Felt the water splatter me. Wiped the idea of it off me in a hurry.

    Mem turned to take my hands and steady them. “Most days, you couldn’t catch me out of the water, Kyna. My childhood’s filled with water.