Authors: Steve Gannon
“And the rest, as they say, is history,” I finished.
Once more Mom frowned at my tone. Sensing the strain, everyone at the table fell silent, and for the next few minutes the only sound heard was the clink of silverware and the incessant jangle of the upstairs telephone—the latter a distraction my mother insisted we let the answering machine handle.
The steaks proved juicy and delicious, the Caesar salad a delightful contrast to the smoky flavor of the barbecued corn, the bread fresh and aromatic. But as usual at any Kane family barbecue, Dad’s sweet-and-sour bean casserole was everyone’s favorite—the savory, chililike dish demanding a second helping, and possibly even a third. Nate finished his without touching any of the other food on his plate and clamored for more.
“There
are
other things to eat,” Dad noted dryly, dishing out another portion.
“I’ll get to ’em soon as the beans are gone,” said Nate.
My father, far more understanding with Nate than he had ever been with any of his other children, especially me, smiled patiently.
As twilight descended, table conversation ricocheted from topics ranging from my transfer to USC in September to Mom’s upcoming concert season, continuing unabated until everyone had finished eating. After we’d cleared the table and carried the dishes up to the kitchen, we reassembled outside for dessert. Though I could have sworn I had no room left for anything, not even a morsel, I changed my mind when Mom’s mud pie made its appearance.
“Mmmm, that looks scrumptious, Mrs. Kane,” said McKenzie, admiring my mother’s creation of French vanilla ice cream in a crumbled Oreo-cookie shell, with layers of fudge sauce and whipped cream topping the delicious-looking concoction.
“And it
tastes
even better,” said Nate as Mom began cutting thick slabs and serving them on paper plates.
Once desserts had made their way around the table, everyone fell silent, concentrating on eating. Predictably, Nate had seconds. By the time everyone finished, a full moon had risen over the lights of Santa Monica, illuminating the deck with a soft yellow glow. Pleasantly full, Dad rocked back and laced his hands across his stomach. “Okay, rookies, listen up,” he said, his voice unconsciously assuming the autocratic snap of a drill sergeant. “I’ve been doing some thinking lately—”
“Somebody alert Mensa,” I whispered to Nate.
“—and I have an announcement to make,” Dad finished, ignoring my gibe.
Like all the Kane children, I had learned from experience to distrust my father’s postmeal announcements, the majority of which routinely involved summaries of each of our shortcomings regarding schoolwork, chores, and family duties—invariably followed by a compulsory plan by which we could redeem ourselves.
“Oh, joy,” I groused. “We have company, Pop, and we certainly don’t want McKenzie getting the right idea about you. Don’t forget your rule about no negativity at the dinner table.”
“I’m not being negative.”
I smiled. “There. See?”
“Hey, the ol’ dad might have something positive to say,” my father objected, feigning insult. “Don’t you kids trust me?”
“No!” Nate and I laughed as one, emboldened by Dad’s inexplicably sunny mood.
“Tough,” said Dad. “You’re going to hear this anyway. What I was about to propose before that rousing vote of confidence was this: With rebuilding the house and all, it’s been quite a while since we’ve had one of our annual Fourth of July bashes—”
“Here’s a news flash, Pop,” I broke in again. “The Fourth is over.”
“I know that, petunia,” he said patiently. “Contrary to popular belief, I
can
read a calendar. I’m talking about another date that’s coming up in a month or so. August eleventh, to be exact. Your birthday. Now, your mom and I talked it over, and we both agree that in the tragic absence of our customary Fourth of July gathering for the past few years, we should do something memorable to kick off your upcoming twentieth birthday.”
“All right!” exclaimed Nate. “A beach party for Ali! With hundreds of people like on the Fourth?”
Dad grinned. “What’s the point of having a beach party if you don’t invite everybody?”
Nate’s face lit up. “Can we have a bonfire?”
“It’s possible.”
“Fireworks?” asked Nate.
“No fireworks. It’s not the Fourth. Besides, I have something else planned.”
“Food?” I suggested. “You’re doing something special with the food?”
“No more guessing.”
“You’re not really thinking of inviting every single person we know like on the Fourth, are you?” I persisted, secretly pleased but endeavoring not to show it.
Dad gazed at the moon without answering.
I turned to my mother. “Mom? What’s Dad planning?”
“It’s a surprise, honey. Your father swore me to secrecy.”
“C’mon, Pop,” I begged. “What are you going to do?”
“You’ll see,” Dad answered mysteriously. “Just keep that weekend open.”
* * *
In the mountains north of Malibu, the same summer moon shining down on the Kanes’ deck also bathed the surface of a large reservoir. As moonlight pierced the water’s inky depths, the slanting rays quickly diminished, barely illuminating a small object submerged a dozen yards offshore. Strands of hair swayed like eel grass in the slight subsurface current, billowing around a face whose eyes stared sightlessly into the dark.
Buoyed by gases of decomposition, the ghostly white shape lifted gently from the bottom, partially shedding an enclosing shroud of black plastic. Loops of rope binding the wrists and ankles prevented the body from rising more than a foot. Bit by bit, the body rotated. Cut by coils of encircling cord, a patch of water-softened skin bunched like wet newspaper, sloughing from the underlying tissue. Loosened, a cord fell free. And gradually, as another restraining tether came undone, the body began a slow ascent to the surface.
About the Author
STEVE GANNON
is the author of
A Song for the Asking
, a bestselling novel originally published by Bantam. His newest thriller,
Kane
, was released in September, 2011. A book of short fiction titled
Stepping Stones
is scheduled for print early next year, and
Allison
, his third Kane Novel, will be released in September, 2012.
Gannon lives in Idaho, where he is the Executive Director of Sun Valley Artist Series, a nonprofit organization devoted to the promotion and encouragement of the art of classical music. He spends his time skiing, presenting an annual series of classical music performances and educational programs, and working on a new novel.
To contact Steve Gannon, purchase books, or to join his email list to receive updates on new releases, please visit his website at: www.stevegannonauthor.com
Other
STEVE GANNON
Books
A Song for the Asking
Stepping Stones (Coming Soon)
Allison
(September 2012)
Glow
(2013)