When Sea Becomes Sky: Parts Four–Five

“Your grandma also thinks we’re still hanging out together. What have you been up to?”
Millie tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, looking flustered.

“I miss the old Bex. The one who likes green Popsicles best, just like me—even though no one likes green Popsicles. The one who writes the best stories and is ruthless in water-balloon fights. The Bex who, no matter what, one hundred percent always tells the truth.”

It was a bunch of Pelican Island T-shirts and sweatshirts and bucket hats with embroidered birds and sea creatures on them.

The other dad tried to entertain a little girl in the stroller by giving her Cheerios. She scowled at him, alternately dropping them on the ground or cramming them into her mouth by the fistful.

In front of us, an elaborate staircase curled into a Y shape—one flight of steps went straight up; then it split in two different directions.

Instead, she flipped open a brochure and showed us the map, giving us a quick orientation as to where everything was—snack bar, bathrooms, the outer gardens.

Before I could answer, a haughty voice came from behind us. “Pardon me. You’re in the way.”

Davey found a ballet dancer with a snorkel, a carpenter wearing a frilly dress, and an astronaut holding a slice of birthday cake.

Later in Framingham’s career, she began to explore ephemeral art, which is defined as art that is temporary, perishable, or transitory.

Later in Framingham’s career, she began to explore ephemeral art, which is defined as art that is temporary, perishable, or transitory.

Due to the nature of ephemeral art, some of the collection consists of reproductions as well as photographic and video recordings.

She was inspired by the use of natural materials in and around the Port Rogers area.

Some parts were interesting—I liked the intricate spirals of sand, the towering piles of stone, and the ice that had been sculpted and stacked in a way that reminded me of stalagmites in a cave.

Then she walked in careful circles, mounding the sand behind her. Every few steps, she took out a brush and scraped the sand to erase her footprints. It looked complicated and painstaking.

There on the screen in front of us was a pattern of concentric circles.

“She’s old. The letter said her whereabouts are unknown. That might mean dead." He bugged his eyes out and pantomimed a slicing motion near his throat.

But with each step, my shoulders slumped lower. If there were any hints, we were missing them. By the time we got to the end of the hall, Davey looked frazzled.

“Snack bar, east wing, second floor, past Modern and Contemporary.”

I was grateful that one of us read maps and, apparently, memorized them.

I saw several people from earlier in the day, including Maurice and Wilma sitting together, eating quiche and completing a crossword in ink.

Tables and chairs were arranged on a brick patio, but we opted for a bench underneath a live oak tree.

She pulled off her sunglasses and glowered at me.
“And who might you be?” she asked.

“Didn’t you see the name of the exhibit?” Effie asked. “Ephemeral. Impermanent. Fleeting.”

“Your generation is digital this and computerized that. With a click-click-click, you can search up ‘Renaissance art’ and view it all on a pocket-size screen. But that’s not what art is supposed to be. It’s to be felt, to be seen, to be smelled. It’s not a thing you can own and copy and print and make into one of those godforsaken photos with the words on them; what are they called?”
I paused, searching my brain. “Memes?” I finally asked.

“Memes,” Effie repeated, nodding. “They’re atrocious. My art is not meant to be captured. It is of the earth and to be acted on by the earth.”

“I can’t draw.”
Effie scoffed. “Art isn’t necessarily drawing. It’s about making something that wasn’t there before.”

“A writer—I should have guessed. You look the type. Stubborn and sensitive, am I correct?”
Her bright eyes were sharp and probing.

I had the prickly sensation of meeting someone with X-ray vision, who could see through all my layers.

I couldn’t put words on a page when I felt so empty inside. I was afraid to be reckless with my own tender heart.

The corner of Effie’s mouth quirked up in a wistful way.

“That statue you found was one of my first projects after she died. I wanted to make something beautiful and look at it every day. But after a while, I decided to place it somewhere secret. The day I left it in the marsh was an exquisite kind of torture. Driving away, I was out of my mind. But eventually, I felt peace. She was one with the universe again. I had to let her go.”

Every so often, Dad asked me to direct him. I had to pause for a moment to get my bearings.

First one drop. Then another. Then more. Until the sound surrounded us, pattering on the tree leaves, plinking on the canoe, ker-plunking in the water.

“It seems that being caught in the storm insulted her dignity.”

We walked through the park’s flat playground area and then carefully climbed down the steep hill to the marsh.

There was a flurry of last-minute appointments for doctor and dentist checkups, which Dad said were easier to schedule during vacation.

Sometimes we saw scattered stakes and markings—evidence that the developers had been there.

“When there’s a new species, the person who discovers it gets to do the naming.”
Dad and I exchanged looks.
“You get to name it?” I asked.
Mom took a deep breath. “The first part is Chaetoceros, which is the genus. The species would be daveyia. After Davey. If that’s okay with both of you.”

This is what I was about to tell you before the hubbub started: you don’t have to imagine your brother being with you.

The construction was officially suspended. Thanks to Mom’s discovery, studies had to be completed before the project could continue.