Down World Rebecca Phelps (primary phonics .txt) 📖

my hand. The same sunny day, the same people. I spied the young couple I had assumed were Jenny and Dave, kissing on the sand. Jenny wore the same polka-dot bikini. She turned in my direction, and I froze, although she didn’t seem to notice me.

The other people on the beach were all sunbathing and swimming. I assumed they were guests of the hotel. It occurred to me that nobody here would recognize me—assuming they could see me at all, that is—and I could probably just blend in.

I sat down by the water, passing myself off as a guest.

After a minute, I heard a familiar voice shouting, “Look who finally showed up!” It was Sage, approaching the beach from the wooded trail. John, Jenny, and Dave all turned to face her.

I subtly looked up, my feet gently nuzzled by the lapping water of the lake.

Sage looked just as she had in the picture, which I carefully shielded from view—younger and prettier than when I had met her. She wore a large Indian tunic in a bright orange color that billowed in the lake breeze. The camera, which had probably taken the picture in my hand, dangled around her neck.

And following behind her on the trail, still in their travel clothes and carrying their suitcases, were my mother and her young son, little seven-year-old Robbie. Despite knowing better, I couldn’t help but look behind them for a little five-year-old Marina chasing after.

But I wasn’t there.

I knew this would happen, of course, but it still caused a pit of anger to form in my stomach. She had really left me behind.

Little Robbie looked so innocent in his blue jacket, with his little brown suitcase covered in dinosaur stickers. My mother wore the red sun hat I hadn’t seen in years, a large wooden bangle dangling from her wrist. In fact, she looked younger, too, and not just because she seemed so relaxed with her son by her side. I could only assume that she had been able to take over her younger self’s body somehow.

The fountain of youth. Another one of DW’s dangerous powers.

As I watched her with Robbie, I struggled to recall some of my own memories of being on this trip when I was a child. But they were gone. I could no longer even picture those flowing white curtains and the red bathroom that had echoed in my brain for so many years. The only images that remained were the ones recently formed when I had been here with Brady.

It had all been so important to me once. How could it just be gone?

I shook my frustration away. There were more important things to think about now, and my real question was still not answered: If Mom’s plan had been to stay here and raise Robbie in Portland, why did Robbie and I both remember her coming back?

What had gone wrong with the plan?

I watched as my mother gave John a kiss on the cheek, sparking a flash of jealousy to pass over Sage’s eyes, which she tried, not too successfully, to hide. Once Sage had turned away, my mother nodded towards her suitcase, showing it to John. He got very excited then, practically licking his lips. But my mother kept eyeing Robbie.

John suddenly became very animated, teasing Robbie and throwing him up in the air. Robbie was clearly annoyed by it, as he was too old to be tossed around like a human Frisbee.

I could only make out bits and pieces of what they were saying, but I caught something about heading back to the hotel so the newcomers could settle in. I pretended to watch the water, waiting until I sensed they were gone.

When I turned around, they had all abandoned the beach. Only a few stragglers remained, catching the last afternoon rays before packing up their sun umbrellas and towels. The shadows were growing longer up and down the sand, so I slowly stood and made my way down the trail back to the hotel, blending into a small group of other guests. Nobody acknowledged me.

The hotel was very much like it had been when Brady and I first found it. Maybe a little cleaner, a little fresher somehow. There were a few people milling about in the lobby, sitting in old lounge chairs and sipping drinks. Talking on old-model cell phones.

I walked towards the stairs, like I was any other guest of the hotel, and nobody stopped me to ask if I had a room key, or even what room I was staying in.

Again, I wondered if anyone here could even see me, but my question was answered soon enough when a man bumped my arm by accident, on the stairs.

“Excuse me,” he said as he passed.

I nodded, staring at the floor. Okay, so I was definitely not invisible, just as Brady and I hadn’t been in the plane under the lake. That was good to know.

I reached the very top of the stairs and found that the door to Sage and John’s apartment was slightly ajar. I could hear voices inside, and I tiptoed a bit closer to peek through the opening.

A strong scent of fresh paint and sawdust wafted to my nose. I could hear Sage’s voice: “And over here I’m going to do, like, an Indian sitting area, with throw pillows on the floor.”

“The bathroom is so bright,” said my mother. “How did you pick that color?”

“It just came to me,” Sage said, “like in a dream. Suddenly, I thought to myself: fire-engine red! And that was it.”

“I tried to talk her out of it,” I heard John say. “But you know how she is . . .”

“It’s perfect,” Sage countered. “Red is a powerful color.”

“Robbie, go in and change for dinner,” my mother said, and I heard Robbie’s little footsteps making their way to the bathroom, followed by the door closing.

After a moment of silence, John’s voice resumed, a bit closer to my mom this time, so he didn’t have to