The Deepest Blue (11 page)

“What's wrong with you?” She stares at me like some odd piece of junk that has washed up on the beach—a curiosity, but you don't want to get too close because it might be deadly.

“I don't know,” I say. “I don't know what's happening. I don't understand why everything is falling apart around me.” There is a deep ache in the core of my body, but no tears come.

I go back to the sofa and sit on the edge, resting my head in my hands. The air is cool and prickles my skin with goosebumps. I run my hands through my hair and try to decide what to do. “I'm going to get dressed,” I tell Rachel. “Stay if you want to. I understand if you don't.”

I head down the hall to my bedroom. Clothes are strewn on the floor, and the sheets are still pulled back
from when I got up on Tuesday morning. I look around for something close at hand that's not too foul to put on.

Rachel comes in behind me, wraps her arms around my waist, and rests her hands on my chest. Her body against my bare skin warms me. My heart beats a little harder, a little faster. I turn around, brush her cheek with the tips of my fingers, and then kiss her gently. She doesn't pull away. I kiss her again, and she touches my back, running her hands from my shoulders to my waist.

“We don't have to do anything,” she says to me. “I just want to be close to you.”

I don't know if I'm relieved, or disappointed, or just more confused. We move to the edge of my bed. Rachel begins undressing. I know I should turn away. Part of me even thinks I should tell her to stop, to put her clothes on and go home, but I can't. I don't. I just watch as she reveals herself to me. She looks like she is made of porcelain. She lies on my bed. Without thinking, I unwrap the towel and lie beside her.

Her skin is velvet against my hands, and I touch almost every inch of her. She kisses my hand and runs her fingers along my ribs, down to my waist, across my hip. But neither of us moves beyond this. She curls into a ball, and I wrap my body around hers, pulling the sheet over us both, feeling safe for the first time today.

“I love you, Mike,” she whispers.

“I love you, too,” I say. And maybe I do.

We stay like this until it's completely dark. I don't sleep, I just hold Rachel.

The digital clock on my dresser reads 9:29
P.M.
, and I begin to worry that Maggie may show up—or Rachel's dad. Either way, they wouldn't understand.

“Rachel,” I whisper. “I don't want you to get into trouble.”

“Hmm,” she says, still mostly asleep.

“It's nine thirty,” I say. “I don't want your dad to come looking for you.”

She stretches like a cat, arching her back, and rolls over to look at me. Her hair is all over the place, her mascara is smudged below her green eyes. I don't think I've ever seen her look more beautiful.

“Okay,” she says, smiling at me.

“Thanks,” I say. I kiss her. “I really . . . I just . . . just thanks.”

Her smile grows wider. “You're welcome.”

I sit up on the edge of the bed and grab a pair of shorts from the floor. I slide them up as I stand, and suddenly I feel a little embarrassed.

Rachel moves over and begins picking up her things. I keep my back to her as she dresses, though I'm not really sure why. She follows me into the front room.

“Do you want something to eat before you go?” I start toward the kitchen, flip on the light, and then look at her.

“I'm okay,” she says. “But thanks for the offer.”

“Do you need to call for a ride?”

“I have to be at the Sand Dollar at ten o'clock for my sister to drive me home after work.” She looks at the floor like she's embarrassed or something. “She closes tonight.”

“Do you want me to walk with you?”

“Nah, I can get there okay.” She smiles at me. “Unless you want to come with me.”

I look around for my flip flops, find a pair in my room, and head out the door with her. We walk in silence except for the occasional car buzzing past.

Rachel clears her throat. “I know we didn't really do anything,” she says, “but I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't say anything to Jayden or Trevor.”

“I'm not telling anyone anything.” I put my arm around her waist. “This is just between you and me.”
Besides
I think,
who'd believe that we were naked and didn't have sex? That we just lay there, curled up with each other?

“It's just . . . Trevor has a big mouth, and if he tells Mandy—well, her mouth is even bigger.”

“I got it,” I say.

The air smells like pine and fresh rain. I pull Rachel closer as we walk the last block to the restaurant where her sister works.

“Call me tomorrow when you feel like it,” she says. “No rush. I know things are crazy.”

“I'll call,” I say.

She kisses me, and I don't want it to stop. But I don't hold her too long. I let her go, and we wave as she pulls on the door to the Sand Dollar. I back away, keeping my eyes on her for as long as I can, then I head back to my house at a jog.

As I turn up the driveway, I see Maggie's car parked out front, and for a split second, I think she must be here
to see Dad. Then it all floods back. I don't want to climb the wooden steps to the house. I don't want to hear whatever she's going to say to me. I am half tempted to take off running again, but I know at some point I will have to deal with whatever is waiting for me, and I'm just too tired to run right now.

I yank open the screen door and find Maggie sitting at the kitchen table, the two beer bottles in front of her.

“Have a nice little party?” she asks. I don't think I've ever heard sarcasm from her like this.

“Notice how much we drank,” I say, pointing to the almost-f bottles and trying to sound just a little sarcastic in return.

“Was Rachel here?”

I nod.

“Is there anything else you'd like to tell me?”

“You mean about the hookers and the drugs? Nope, I guess not.” I turn and head toward my room.

“Mike,” Maggie calls. She stands in the hallway behind me, and I pause to hear what's coming next. She lets out a long sigh. “Never mind.” She returns to the kitchen, and I hear the clank of the bottles as she dumps the beer into the sink and drops the bottles into the recycling bin.

I step back into the front room, ready to battle with words. Maggie stands at the sink, her head down. I wander over to the computer and flip it on. It whirs, then chimes as it comes to life.

“I need you to pack some clean clothes for a few days and something nice to wear for tomorrow.”

“Why?” I ask, shoveling a little attitude into my reply.

“Jacksonville? Lawyer? Ring any bells?”

I sit up a little. “Oh, yeah.” I can hear her moving around the kitchen, opening drawers, shuffling through silverware.

“It's after ten, Mike, and we're going to have to leave early if we're going to make it there on time. That means you need to get moving.”

I don't move. “Can't we just worry about this later? I don't want to think about all of this right now.” What I want is to go back to being with Rachel, to feeling secure, to forgetting about the fact that my dad is dead.

“It's getting late. Let's just get some stuff to take to my place, and we'll worry about everything else tomorrow.” Maggie sounds tired and strained.

Still I sit. I feel the tension returning to my arms and hands. I feel my shoulders tightening and climbing up my neck toward my ears.

“Mike, come on.” Patience is draining from Maggie like air leaking from a tire.

I don't move. I can't move. I feel paralyzed by having to do anything other than let the computer take my brain away for a few hours. “I don't want to go,” I say.

“To my house?”

“Anywhere. Your house, Jacksonville, Washington—anywhere.”

“So you're going to sit here at the computer for the rest of your life doing nothing?”

“Maybe,” I say. It doesn't sound so bad, actually. And
if I could have Rachel come over every once in a while, and maybe Jayd, my life might all be okay.

Maggie lets out a “shh” noise. “Okay, here's the thing: You're the one who wanted this. You asked me to become your guardian, so we have to meet with the lawyer for that. If that's not what you want anymore, I'm happy to hand you over to your mother and let you deal with her on your own.” She grabs her keys off the kitchen table and walks with firm steps toward the door. “You know, you are not the only person suffering, Mike. There were a lot of us who loved Rich. We've all lost somebody special, too.”

“But he was my dad.
My
dad.” I hurl the words at her. “I had him longer than you did, damn it. You don't miss him more than I do. This isn't harder for you than for me.” I'm screaming, the words barely understandable. My arms shake, my head swims.

“He was my future. He was my heart.” Maggie's words are clipped. “I don't hurt more or less than you hurt. I just hurt in a different way.” She takes a big gulp of air. “But that doesn't mean you get to think you're the only one who lost somebody, that you're the only one who is struggling or suffering.” She pushes open the screen door, but then she pauses. “When you figure out just what it is you want, you let me know. Until then, I'll contact Family Services.”

“I'm fine by myself. I'm better off that way,” I say. My heart beats in my throat.

“As evidenced by your excellent decision making and mature behavior.” Maggie lets the screen door slam shut.
The car tires spit gravel at the steps as she speeds onto the road.

I stomp down the hallway and fall onto my bed. My head spins like a washing machine that's off balance. From somewhere in my gut, a growl crawls its way out, and I scream until I run out of air in my lungs. Everything is so screwed up. Nothing makes any sense. Maybe I am better off alone. I'm damned sure not going with Julia. I look around for my iPod, stick my earphones in, and then lie down on my bed, trying to drown out the noise in my brain.

chapter 9

I awake with a start. I was dreaming I was in the truck with Dad when the drunk driver hit him. I dreamed I saw the whole thing, and it scared me like the dreams I had about monsters when I was a little kid. I roll off the sofa and move to the computer to figure out what day it is. It's 6:12
A.M
. and it's Thursday.

After I calmed down, I stayed up late last night calling our scheduled charters to cancel them. I called Jack Sutton first to coordinate with him. He hadn't heard about Dad, and he was pretty shaken when I told him. He said he didn't think he could take on all our charters, but that he'd see what he could do to help. He said he'd keep an eye on the boat for me.

I played computer games for a while, the whole time thinking about what Maggie had said about not being the only person who lost someone. I'm trying to understand that she is upset because I know she cared about him, but he is—was—my dad, my whole world.

I tried to see if I could live on my own. I did some research online. I could try to have myself declared an “emancipated minor,” but that means you have to be able to support yourself and make enough money to live on. As much as I want to think I could run the boat, I know I couldn't do it alone. I'd have to hire somebody, and seriously, who would work for a sixteen-year-old boss? I wouldn't.

But I will not go to Washington. Julia is not my mother. Unfortunately, neither is Maggie, and she and I have some serious crap to deal with—like the thing with her freaking out because I had a swallow out of a beer, and her freaking out about Rachel coming over.

I tried to figure out all the bills I'd have to pay. Even if I could run the boat in the summer, I still want to finish school, maybe go to college. I couldn't support myself during the fall and winter. I'm not old enough to have credit cards or get loans or even buy my own cell phone. It took me until after midnight to get my head to settle down, but finally I accepted it: I can't live on my own. I need Maggie, and I really do want her to be my mom. Despite all the anger, all the weirdness of everything I'm feeling, I know that I want to live with her and be a family: me, Maggie, and Rocket.

At six thirty, I decide I'd better call Maggie before I miss my chance to set things right with her and try to get a plan in motion.

“Hey, Michael,” Maggie says when she answers. I can't tell if she just woke up, or if she hasn't slept.

I run my fingers through my gnarled hair, pulling out a tangled clump between them. “So I'm gonna jump in the shower and get dressed nice for today, or as nice as I can anyway. I'm hoping you might know somebody heading to Jacksonville I could catch a ride with.”

“Actually, I think Chuck will drive you.”

I'm caught off guard by this. “Maggie, I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to be such a jackass last night.”