The Deepest Blue (20 page)

We say goodbye, and I hand Jayd his phone.

“Is she coming?” he asks.

“She's trying to find a ride,” I say.

“Do you want me to go get her?”

I think about it for a minute. “No, but thanks. I need you here, just in case.” But I don't know what I mean by “just in case.” Nobody would come over here. I don't think Julia knows where it is or even that we have a boat. Did Dad ever tell her about it? Did she look him up and find out? If she went to the funeral, she might have heard it, but how fast could she find it, and would she even look here?

Jayd looks at me. “Anything to drink on this tub?”

There is a small chance there are some cans of soda down in the galley. “I'll go look,” I say. I climb down the ladder to the deck, then the four steps into the cabin. There's a small refrigerator in there that we sometimes put sodas or bottled water in. The power has been off at the
boat for almost a week, so I doubt there will be anything cold. I pull it open and find two bottles of water. They are lukewarm, but I guess that's better than nothing—unless I want to walk to the fish market and pay tourist prices for a soda.

I come out of the galley and see Jayd standing at the top of the steps.

“How about I take you to get some food? We'll come back with lunch and hang out for a while.”

“Better than this,” I say, putting the bottles on the small table next to a big rubber squid lure.

We drive to the closest fast food place and grab burgers and drinks. Back on the boat, I move the squid, mindful of the big hook inside, and we sit at the table. I slide open the small windows to let some air into the cramped space. It smells like fish and cleanser and rubber lures. And it smells like my dad. I take a bite of the hamburger. There is no flavor to anything, but I eat and drink because I need something to do with my hands, to keep myself occupied so I don't have to talk.

Jayd takes slow, small bites from his burger and then pops a few fries into his mouth. He stares at his food and then looks out the little window to the left. The boat is almost still, but I feel nauseated for some reason.

“Mike?” Rachel calls from the dock. “Are you down there?”

I head out of the galley and up to the deck. Rachel is standing on the dock, arms crossed and hugged close to her body. She makes a move to climb onto the boat. “Take
your shoes off,” I say, looking at the heels she's wearing. “You'll break your neck trying to get on with those.”

She slips off the shoes and holds them in one hand. I reach out and take her other hand as she steps over the back onto the cooler, then jumps to the deck. As she lands, the boat begins to sway in the slip. I put my arms around her and pull her close.

“Thanks for coming.” A light breeze cools the sweat at the back of my neck. She smells like magnolias and sunlight. Finally she moves a step away from me.

“Let's get out of the sun,” she says. We move to the covered part of the deck.

“Are you hungry?” I ask. “There's fries and a burger that I only took one bite out of.” I motion down the stairs.

She shakes her head. “What happened?” she asks. “How could she just show up and think you would leave with her?”

I climb up and sit in one of the sailfin chairs that's mounted to the deck. “Chuck's secretary called Julia and told her what happened because she didn't know the situation, so I guess Julia contacted Chuck and told him she was coming to get me.”

Rachel drops her shoes with a clatter and climbs into the other chair. Jayden emerges from the galley and stands in the shade in the doorway, sipping from the straw in his drink as he leans against the wall.

“So Julia thinks I'm moving back to Washington with her. We have to go to court tomorrow morning to get Maggie to adopt me and keep Julia from ruining my life.”

“Maybe she's not so bad,” Jayd says.

I turn backward in the chair, and it groans. “You saw her. She's a nut case,” I say. “When I was five years old she told my dad that I ruined her life, that she never wanted me, that I was his fault.” My throat tightens around the words as they burst out of my mouth. “We had to bail out in the middle of the night because she was slamming things and throwing things, punching holes in the walls . . .” I can feel the rush of heat and anger in my face.

Jayd's eyes are wide, like he's just stepped on a cottonmouth, and it tried to bite him.

“Mike,” Rachel says in a firm voice.

I look at her—her brow is furrowed and her eyes are worried. “Don't you understand? Julia wants me to pack up everything and move to Washington. I'm a trophy that she is trying to win. She doesn't want me there because she loves me—she wants me there because she knows my dad would hate it.”

“But you don't really think she's going to be able to just force you to move?” Jayd is leaning on the door frame, his drink in one hand, his free hand stretched above his head and holding the top of the opening.

“She can't force me to do anything,” I say, though I'm not completely convinced of this. My head is starting to swim, and I am regretting that one bite of hamburger I managed to swallow. “That's why I have a lawyer. That's why we're going to court tomorrow.”

The more my thoughts spin, the more my stomach churns. I leap off the chair and run to the side of the boat,
spewing the few bites of food into the water for the harbor fish to find.

Jayd moves beside me, one hand on my shoulder. “You okay?” he asks.

I nod, trying to pull the pieces of my brain together into a solid thought. All I want is to lie down on my bed, in my cool, darkened room, and wake up a few months from now with all of this resolved.

“I need to go home,” I say.

We clean up the boat and lock the galley. I decide I'll come back later in the week and pull the boat covers out until I know what to do with it. We drive the fifteen minutes to the house.

“Go slow,” I tell Jayden as we get close to the driveway. I look around the bend to see if there are any unfamiliar cars around. No one is there.

I climb the stairs and fish my key ring out of my pocket. “You coming in?” I ask my friends.

“I'd better get home,” Jayd says. “My mom doesn't know what's going on.”

I nod. Rachel looks at the step she is standing on. “I need to go. I don't have another way home.”

“It's okay.” I'm disappointed, but I understand. I probably wouldn't be good company, anyway.

“I'll call you later,” she says.

“I'll be online later tonight,” Jayd says.

A bone-tired ache overtakes my whole body. “Talk to you later then.” I put the key in the lock and shut the door behind me.

It's cool and dark in the house. I wander to my room, toss my jacket and tie on the foot of my bed, then lie down. Before I know what's happening, I feel myself rocking on the boat. It's an off-balance, awkward feeling that shifts me from side to side. I can smell the salty mist off the waves, feel it speckle my face with cool droplets. The sun bathes everything in a whitewash of brightness.

“Dad?” I call out. But there is no answer. I climb the ladder to the wheelhouse. No one is there. Beneath the blue canvas awning, I look out across the calm water sparkling like a million pieces of glass shattered on blue silk. The blue of the sky is deep and seems to reach out forever. I feel it pulling me. I climb over the railing on the second level of the boat. The wind picks up and whips around me, the mist shifts into sand that pelts and stings my skin. The boat bobs up and down, leaning farther and farther from one side to the other. I grip the railing in sweaty hands, looking for a way down. The boat dips as the waves swell, then surges back the other way, leaving my stomach in a ball in the pit of my abdomen. Another great swell pushes up, and the water draws open like a gaping mouth. I feel the boat tipping past recovery, so I dive into the churning ocean. The huge wave folds over me, and I sink beneath it, watching the last few rays of light grow dimmer as I drop into the silent, cold, blue ocean.

chapter 17

“Mike.”

A cool hand touches my cheek.

“Mike, honey,” says a soft voice.

I strain to figure out where I am. I take a deep breath. There is something familiar about the scent. My eyes roll around in their sockets, but the lids refuse to open.

“You need to sit up a little.”

It's Maggie's voice instructing me. I try to raise up on my elbows and find that my left arm is pinned beneath my body and totally numb. As I move my torso, prickles of sensation work their way down my arm like a thousand needles. I force my eyes open, but they only move enough for me to see a thin line of a darkened room between my eyelashes.

“There you go. Try to sit up a little more.”

Maggie's voice is patient. She sounds like the time she took care of me when I got chicken pox, telling me not to scratch and feeding me bologna sandwiches on Wonder
Bread with mustard and fresh lettuce from her garden. I use my right arm to scoot back against the wall at the head of my bed, then I blink my eyes hard and make them open half way.

“I thought I'd let you sleep a little while, but it's getting late, and we need to head to the house to get ready for tomorrow morning.” She brushes a piece of hair from my forehead. “You were dead to the world. I almost started to worry.”

I shake my left arm to get the blood flowing. “I didn't mean to fall asleep. I just laid down for a minute.” I yawn and stretch my arms in front of me. “What time is it?”

“Seven thirty. I thought you might be getting hungry, so I came to get you.”

“How'd you know I was here?”

“Jayden telephoned. He said he dropped you off here and that you were okay.”

I swing my feet to the edge of the bed, careful not to knock Maggie to the floor. “I'm sorry. I meant to call, but I guess I just passed out.”

Maggie smiles at me. “We're all a bit out of sorts. I'm sure that nap did you a lot of good. I may take one myself after dinner.”

“Why not just go to bed?”

“I might at that,” she says. “You may need to pack a few things. I don't know what's going to happen tomorrow or the next day, so we'd better be ready.” She lets out a quiet sigh.

“I need to switch laundry loads,” I say. “I left a load in the other day.” I stumble from my room to the laundry
closet, take the load from the washer, put it in the dryer, and head back to my room. I grab a few pairs of shorts and some T-shirts, boxers, and my gym shoes. I find an empty duffel bag and shove everything in. “What about tomorrow?” I ask. “What do I wear for that?”

“I'll press your shirt and slacks. The jacket looks like it's still okay.” She picks up the jacket and tie from the end of the bed where I put them.

I follow Maggie out the front, making sure to lock the door. The sun is still high in the western sky.

The Subaru glides along the roads leading to Maggie's. We pass the arcade and the strand of trees I ran through during the storm. Everything is so familiar and yet so foreign. We pull into the driveway and head into the house. Rocket barks and begs for attention.

“Hush, dog,” Maggie says, but there is little behind her words to convince the dog to settle. He licks my hands and barks again. I let him out in the yard and wait by the door for him to take care of business. As he trots back into the house, he stops to nudge my hand with his nose, as if he's trying to let me know that nothing has changed for us.

I head to my room and change into a pair of shorts and a tank top, or a “muscle shirt” as my dad used to say. He'd usually follow that by commenting about my lack of said muscles. Then he and I would flex our biceps, pestering Maggie to declare one of us the winner of the Best Muscles contest. I smile at the memory even though it's wrapped in sadness.

“Hand those to me,” Maggie says, pointing to the pants and shirt I've just shed. I give them to her. She has changed into a long T-shirt that nearly reaches her knees, and I realize it's one that belonged to my dad.

“What time do we need to leave in the morning?” I ask.

Maggie heads to the small laundry room at the back of her little house, and I follow. She plugs in an iron as she drapes the pants across an ironing board she has set up. “We have to be at the court in Jacksonville by ten, so I guess we'll leave by eight forty-five, maybe eight thirty if Chuck feels we need to be there early.” She quickly presses each pant leg, flipping the fabric and snapping it into shape.

I can smell the warm, humid scent of freshly pressed cotton. It calms me for some odd reason, like a reminder that Maggie is here for me. Then the familiar knot returns to my gut. “Julia will be there, won't she?”

“I assume so,” Maggie says. “I'd guess she has to be.” She slides the pants onto a hanger and sets them aside. She maneuvers the shirt onto the board and begins pressing it. “I'm sorry that happened today,” she says, never raising her eyes from the task in front of her. “That was a shock to all of us to have her show up unannounced like that.”