Deep Betrayal (Lies Beneath #2) (20 page)

Calder shifted in his seat and kept his head buried in an old
National Geographic
.

“You’ll have better luck if you put some bait on a hook,” I said. “Maybe they’d like salami.” I grabbed a sandwich from the cooler and broke off a corner for her.

“You fish your way,” she said. “I’ll fish mine.”

Calder didn’t seem as amused by her as I was, and seconds later the first lake trout darted toward the surface, knocking its side against our boat with a soft thud.

“See?” she said smugly. “They like the colors.” My skin prickled when she added, “Isn’t that right, Calder?”

Calder laid down his magazine but kept his eyes cast
down. He dragged his foot through the scattering of sand on the bottom of the boat.

Sophie continued, “I was playing with the prism one day when I was working on my Girl Scout project. A whole bunch of fish started circling around the dock. I put the prism away, and they went away. When I pulled it out again, they came back. Calder likes prisms, too.” She looked up, seeing for the first time the way I stared at her.

“Don’t be mad!” she said, looking away quickly. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Calder asked, “What do you know, Sophie?” His tone was serious but nonthreatening.

She shrugged. “I watch. People think I’m too little to notice stuff, but I know.”

Sophie spoke only to Calder now. “You and my dad disappear. You’re gone for a long time. When you come back, your hair is wet. When I hug Dad, he’s cold. Once when you came back—you weren’t here, Lily—you found my prism and dangled it over your head. I know what you are. I know Dad is the same.”

“That’s enough,” Calder said, and Sophie shut up, her cheeks flushing scarlet.

I leaned forward, touching her arm. How long had she known? Why hadn’t she come to me? She must have so many questions.

Sophie reached over the side of the boat and tickled a silver fish. “I watch you, too, Lily.”

Okay. Now you can shut up
.

“I know what you’ve been doing with the stopwatch.”

Calder’s expression went from sad to anxious.

“I tried to copy you,” Sophie said, “but I couldn’t do it. Besides, it’s too cold for me. I guess I can only see the colors. She says it’s because I’m a ‘Half.’ ”

“She? Who’s ‘she’?” I asked. “What colors?”

Sophie swallowed hard. “I can see the prisms in people. That’s why I wanted to do the science project. When you’re happy, you look so pretty, Lily—like raspberry ice cream—but right now you don’t look so good. Are you okay?”

I turned to Calder, but Sophie’s question did nothing to shake the rigid set of his jaw.

Sophie was still talking. “But you don’t look as bad as Gabrielle’s big brother. It makes me sick to look at him.”

“What have you been doing with the stopwatch?” Calder asked me.

This was not the way I wanted to tell him. Sophie realized a little too late that he didn’t have a clue. She shot me an apologetic look before turning her attention back to the fish circling the boat.

“I’ve been experimenting to see how long I can go without air. My best time so far is four minutes, thirty-two seconds,” I said sheepishly.

“No tail,” he said, but it was a question, and the anxiety in his eyes needled me. Why didn’t he want that for me?

Oh
. I could read it there on his face. He was worried that if I was a mermaid, I would fall into their mental funk. Well, that was silly. Why would I need to look for energy in other lives when I was perfectly happy myself? Calder and I would still be enough for each other, wouldn’t we? Even if
his worry was justified, we could keep each other from hunting. Couldn’t we? I was sure of it.

“No tail.” Sophie sighed, reaching over the side of the boat and stroking a whitefish.

Calder exhaled and, bracing himself, asked, “Anything else I should know?”

I stared at my feet. “You and Dad aren’t the only ones I can hear in the lake.”

Later that night, after the sun set, Sophie crept into my room and slid under the covers with me. I dropped my book to the floor and wrapped my arm around her. Her skin was cool through her thin nightgown. She tucked her head under my chin, and I could feel the moisture on her cheeks against my chest.

I was about to fall asleep, when she spoke. “Do you think we should tell Mom the truth about Dad?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Sophie pulled out of my arms. “If she didn’t cry so much, if she wasn’t so sad, it wouldn’t hurt Dad so much to look at her. Then he could come home.”

“I get your logic, Soph, but how does knowing the truth make her cry less?”

“Wouldn’t knowing the truth be better than thinking he’s left us?”

“He has left us.”

“No, he hasn’t. He’s probably swimming out in front of the house right now, probably waiting for your light to go out. I think he wants to come in. But he can’t.”

“No one’s locked the door,” I said.

She shook her head, and her eyes glistened in the dim light. “It gives me a tummyache to look at Mom. It’s almost as bad as looking at Jack Pettit. I bet it’s worse for Dad. I think it would be better if Mom knew the truth. I wasn’t scared when I figured it out.”

“And why is that, Sophie?”

She shrugged, her shoulders nudging the pillow. “I guess no one told me I was supposed to be.”

“I’ve been pretty dumb about things,” I said, tucking my blankets around her.

The moon shone through my window, lighting her face in a silvery blue. “Not dumb. But you don’t trust people.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Remember when I fell out of the kayak?”

How could I forget? That was the night Calder’s sisters almost succeeded in their plan to kill Dad. That was the night Calder confessed his part in their plot.

“Why did you come after me when Dad had already got there? Why did you jump off the cliff this spring?”

I closed my eyes tight, pushing out the memory. “Who told you about that?”

“Why did you do it, Lily?”

“I thought I was protecting the family.”

“Mom’s tougher than you think,” she said.

I chewed on my lip until the skin tore. “You’re sure he’s really out there?”

Sophie pulled me out of bed and we tiptoed downstairs to the bedroom where Mom slept alone, her body curled around a pillow.

I shook her shoulder gently. “Mom? Mom, wake up.”

“What?” She pushed herself up on her elbow. “Everything okay? Is Sophie okay? What’s wrong?”

Sophie came around my right side and sat on the bed, taking Mom’s hand. “Come with us, Mommy,” she said. “It’s about Dad.”

Sophie and I helped Mom to her walker and out toward the porch. We eased her across the uneven front yard. She asked why we were outside, but Sophie stroked her arm and told her there was something we needed to show her. When we got to the end of the dock, I turned on the motion detectors. They’d been off since I left last spring. For now, the lake was a silent black pool. We sat in the darkness and waited for something to activate the lights.

Mom said, “I don’t understand. What are we doing?”

“Like Sophie said, it’s about Dad. What we’re going to tell you, you know parts already. Other parts will be a surprise. We’re hoping it’s better for you to know the truth, than to imagine the worst. And Sophie thinks it was wrong of me to keep it a secret from you.”

“The worst?” she asked. “What have you been keeping from me?”

I started the story. Sophie filled in parts I didn’t know how she knew, like the part about Grandpa breaking his promise and stealing Dad away. Mom barely reacted. She stared straight ahead. Only occasionally did she raise her eyebrows or frown.

I hoped Sophie was right about Dad swimming in front of the house. We’d been out on the dock for twenty minutes and there was still no movement on the water. I got to the
part about Dad rescuing me from the lake when there was a small splash against the dock. A mechanical buzzing followed, then a loud
clunk
as the motion detectors activated and the spotlights snapped on, illuminating the night. A dark shape breached and Dad emerged, head above the waterline, ripples sloshing against his shoulders.

Mom tensed and grabbed both Sophie and me by the knees. “Jason?” she called, terror in her voice.

Dad stared at us with a cool, blank stare. We might as well have been strangers for the amount of concern he showed us. There was no panic, no apology, no explanation. His face was devoid of all warmth, and I hoped I hadn’t made the biggest mistake of my life.

There was an intake of breath—maybe mine, maybe Mom’s—followed by a scream. “Jason! Jason! Oh my God, Jason!”

I counted to three, and Dad dove—a rippling bull’s-eye marking his exit.

MY SCRIBBLINGS

An Unappreciative Man of Pure and Utter Suckage

Ozymandias may be dust but

he was a better man than you, who blew

away with wind and water
.

So piss off
.

Signed, your loving Daughter

MERMAID STATS

Best Swim Time:	4 minutes 32 seconds
Voices:
Tail:	Who are you kidding?

T
he rest of the night I slept, or I didn’t sleep, I don’t know which. Between thinking about Jules and everyone arriving tomorrow and Mom’s hysterics, there was nothing I could do to escape the incessant worry. I know I saw my clock turn to 2:15. And I also saw 4:27. But I must have fallen asleep at some point, because the next time I looked it was 10:41 a.m.

A caramel mocha latte sounded like the only thing that could reach me right now, and I doubted Mom would be needing the car. I rolled out of bed, threw on a Fleetwood Mac T-shirt, an embroidered skirt, and combat boots, and headed for town.

But when I got to the café, the door was locked. I shook the doorknob and checked my phone for the time. The neon open sign was unlit, replaced by a St. Jude vigil candle on the window ledge. I peered through the glass, cupping my hands at my temples to keep out the sunlight. Inside it was dark but for a sliver of light from under the office door.

I shook the handle again and called through the glass, “Mrs. Boyd, are you in there? Mrs. Boyd?”

The office door opened and Mrs. Boyd stepped out. She stopped just beyond the counter and said, “Sorry, we’re … Oh, it’s you.” She finished her walk to the door and unlocked it, opening it just enough to let me in. She tucked a wrinkled tissue in her bra.

“Good Lord, girl, you look awful. I’ll have your coffee ready in two seconds.”

I followed her to the counter. “Why are you closed? Everything okay?”

Mrs. Boyd bent over behind the espresso machine and got a gallon of milk from the refrigerator. “I’m always closed on this day.”

I leaned against the counter and waited for her to finish steaming the milk. “Anything I can do to help?”

“That’s sweet, honey, but no, thank you.” From where I stood, I had a clear view of the office. Its door was still partially open. I’d never been inside; Mrs. Boyd always kept it locked. Through the gap I could see a bulletin board covered in faded photographs. Another vigil candle burned on the desk.

“Another St. Jude?” I asked, gesturing vaguely toward the office.

Mrs. Boyd looked, then went over to close the door. “St. Adjutor.”

I’d never heard of him, but that didn’t mean much. Mrs. Boyd handed me my coffee, put a day-old apple fritter in my hand, then practically pushed me out the door. Once she had me on the sidewalk, she locked the door again and pulled the shade.

“Okayee,” I said to myself. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out, Lil.” I headed toward a red-lacquered bench by the water.

It was almost the Fourth of July, but the lake air still kept the mornings cool. Halyards
ting-tang
ed off the sailboat masts in the marina, and cars rolled idly through town. There was an
Eeyaw, aw! Yaw!
and two seagulls landed a few yards from me, eyeing my breakfast with tilted heads.

Hungry?
They took two synchronized steps toward me, so I pinched off some of the fritter and tossed it their way.

“Feeding the birds, Miss Hancock? That’s very Franciscan of you.”

I shielded my eyes from the midmorning sun and found the speaker, a man dressed in worn sneakers, khaki pants, and a jean jacket. Underneath, he wore a black shirt and white collar.

“Father Hoole! I didn’t recognize you at first.”

“Ha! A full cassock seemed a little formal for a walk in the park.”

“Yeah, guess so.”

He sat down beside me, and I shuffled to my right. “Am I disturbing you?” he asked.

I shrugged and threw the remaining pastry to the
birds. They fought over it, snapping at each other in turns. “Not really.”

“I didn’t see your family at Mass this morning. I haven’t seen your dad in a few.”

“Oh, is it Sunday?” Father Hoole leaned back to see if I was kidding. “Sorry, Father. I guess we all forgot. Rough night.”