Girl at Sea (14 page)

Now, the main issue at sea is obviously sinking. Fire is a concern, but there are lots of smoke detectors and extinguishers. You need to know what happens if the boat goes down. That right there next to the window is the EPIRB.”

He pointed to a little orange cylinder attached to the outside wall of the cabin.

“It’s a pretty cool device. It contains a unique registered serial number. If it’s activated, it sends out two radio frequencies, one at 406 megahertz and one at 121.5 megahertz. . . .”

Clio felt her eyes glaze slightly.

“The 406-megahertz signal goes to a geosynchronous weather satellite, and the Coast Guard can get your exact position by tracing the serial number. The 121.5 and 406 also go out to any boats or planes nearby. Basically, the EPIRB allows rescuers to pinpoint you instantly. And it self-activates.”

“How does it activate?”

“Hydraulically, in ten feet of water,” he said, walking to the back of the boat. “So you don’t really want to be here if it’s working. Apparently, the rule at sea is that you’re never supposed to get off your sinking boat until the water level is up to your waist and you can step right into whatever it is you’re escaping into. Which would be this.”

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He tapped an orange box that was clamped just under the back of the boat.

“It’s a six-person raft. It wouldn’t be fun to be out here in this, but you should probably know where it is. Both walls of the deck back here are just life jacket and oar storage.”

He reached for a handle that was cleverly worked into the wall so that it could barely be seen and opened up a ten-foot-long storage space neatly stuffed with orange jackets.

“I think we have about twenty or something,” he said. “If anyone falls overboard, throw these and get on the com immediately. If the raft is needed, we’ll all be in it, so there’s no need to go through that.”

“What about that raft?” Clio said, pointing at the little motorized one that had shuttled them back and forth to the dock and was now lashed to the back platform.

“Too small,” Martin said. “That can only carry three people, and it offers no protection. That’s about it. This is the end of your tour. I hope you enjoyed it. You don’t have to tip.”

She tried to smile.

“Now that I’ve fulfilled the very minimum in terms of your physical safety,” he said, “how are you doing?”

“I’m alive,” she said. “He could have
told
me he was on a date.”

“He was worried,” Martin said. “But he really wanted you here, and he was afraid you wouldn’t come if you knew he was bringing his new girlfriend.”

“I tried not to come anyway,” Clio said.

She didn’t have to lie to Martin. Martin had been the voice of reason all along, back when he worked with her father, back before.

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“Well, he’s really glad you’re here. He misses you all the time.”

“Then he shouldn’t have left,” Clio said before she could catch herself.

Martin sighed and gave her a “you know it wasn’t that simple”

look.

“I know,” Clio said, sitting down and looking over the side.

“Forget it. So, how did
you
end up here?”

“I’m between positions right now, and your dad needed help.”

“For what? What are we doing?”

“It has to do with Julia’s work,” Martin said.

“But
what
, exactly?”

“He’s asked me not to say,” Martin said.

“What could we possibly be doing that he needs to keep it a secret?” she asked. “From me? Doesn’t it strike you as deeply insane that he wouldn’t trust his own daughter?”

“It’s some kind of academic confidentiality.”

“But you know. And Aidan knows.”

“I know a little. Aidan works for Julia. And from what I can tell, that’s not a fun proposition.”

Clio looked up with interest.

“She scares me,” Clio said. “Where did they meet?”

“At a conference. She was presenting. They seem to have hit it off.” Martin stared out at the wake thoughtfully. He opened his mouth to say something else, then closed it again.

“And now my dad is paying for her work?” Clio said. “Martin, this makes no sense. He doesn’t have the money for this boat.”

“He’s planning on selling it. It’s an investment.”

“Did he borrow money from you?” Clio asked.

Martin sighed again and rubbed his salt-and-pepper beard 114

with both hands. Clio knew that Martin had a good amount of money from things he’d developed, investments. When her father had crashed, it was Martin who had let him live in his house for a year rent-free.

“It was a combination,” Martin said. “He had some Dive!

money left over. I think that was the last of it. I lent the rest. But he really did get a good deal on this boat. He should make a profit.”

“And Julia?” Clio asked.

He got up and walked toward the stairs to the wheelhouse.

“I’m sure she’ll grow on you, Clio,” he said, patting her shoulder. “You shouldn’t worry so much. Just enjoy the ride. It’s a great boat, a beautiful place. Your dad’s okay. Trust me. Don’t worry about Julia.”

“Sure,” Clio said, smiling halfheartedly. “Why would I worry?

This all makes so much sense.”

115

Confinement, Not Solitary

Over the course of the day, the
smallness
of the world of the boat began to really sink in. Clio paced around it for a while, like a zoo animal in an undersize cage. There was no television, nothing to watch. There was no phone. The only thing she found that was of any interest at all was the compact stacked washer-dryer in a closet next to the galley. When a washing machine is the best you can do, you know you’re in for some trouble.

In terms of places to be, there were only really three: her bedroom (which wasn’t even private), the horrible white living room, and the deck. The deck was beautiful, without question.

It was sunny and hot, and they were going past massive islands that jutted out of the water, coastline dotted with grottoes and villages. But then those things got smaller and smaller as they headed out. And then there was water.

“I have to get out of here,” she said to the view.

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The view didn’t offer up a reply. It offered only more of itself.

Clio could only think that with every passing mile, she was getting farther from a chance of contacting Ollie. She was falling off the map.

Elsa, on the other hand, had woken up happy. She came shuffling out in the early afternoon, and the peaceful smile on her face told Clio that she had fully accepted that the
Sea Butterfly
was some kind of clinic for the brokenhearted and she was a patient. She wanted to be confined, sedated, and kept away from sharp objects. She wanted the outside world to go away. She settled herself down with a bottle of nail polish and painstakingly painted her toenails shell pink, then stretched out to tan.

Everyone else had something to do, and they kept well hidden. On occasion, one of them would come out of the wheelhouse, but they’d return just a few minutes later. Aidan came out the most, often carrying things back up with him. He never once lost that look of smug self-importance. Clio could just tell that no matter
what
Aidan did, he assumed it was the most important activity in the world. It was so important that he barely even looked at her.

Aside from her cooking, Clio didn’t have much to do. She went upstairs and brought back down her sketchbooks. Clio usually drew every single day in the way that some people practice a sport or an instrument. She hadn’t done it in the last few days, and already her hands felt stiff and strange. She sat on a deck chair and stared at the pictures of Ollie. She had gotten the shoulders and nose all wrong in most of them, but the eyes and chin were very good. Her drawing teacher would have been proud.

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He already seemed less real to her now. Ripped out of her normal environment, she had already started to feel like a different person, like her life of just a week ago was a dream. Plus the boat bumped, knocking her hand across the page when she least expected it. She slapped the book closed. She couldn’t even draw.

“What’s wrong?” Elsa asked.

“Nothing,” Clio lied.

“Come lie next to me. We’ll get great tans out here.”

There wasn’t anything else to do, so Clio went up and got a few of their thick towels and made a place for herself. But as soon as she closed her eyes and the sun bore a hot spot into the lids, she could only see Ollie. Her head started to replay the fantasy of the two of them on the beach. This was all a cruel joke.

At four, Clio’s com rumbled.

“Number Five!” it said. “You’ll probably want to get dinner started. I think there’s been a request.”

“A request?” Clio said to Elsa.

Elsa shrugged.

It was something to do, anyway. She pulled herself up. On the black granite countertop in the galley, someone had left an Indian cookbook open to a page displaying a chicken korma recipe. A note written in a quick, sloping print also requested the cucumber raita (page 189), rice, and tamarind chutney. She quickly flipped through the book and examined the long list of ingredients.

“Great,” she said, and shut the book with a decisive thump.

“No problem. Anything else you want? Ice sculptures?”

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She slapped on her hat. A thought struck her as she did this, and she ran up the steps to the Champagne Suite and got out her Galaxy name tag. She pinned it to her shirt. Not only was it a token of Ollie, it was a nice touch. Her servitude was going to be noticed.

Each time she went looking for something on the list—

something unlikely, like coconut milk, or clarified butter, or cumin seeds, or fresh ginger—it was there. Someone had known they wanted curry, and that person had made sure the deck was stacked in their favor.

Still, it took Clio a full hour and a lot of double-checking to get through the recipes. There was jasmine rice to soak and steam, piles of vegetables to cut, spices to toast and grind. The actual cooking of the curry required a careful layering of oil, butter, spice, chicken, vegetables, coconut, all in a very precise order. The tiny kitchen grew warm.

She was extremely gratified to smell something distinctly curry-like coming out of her pot and to see that its contents had come together to form a thick, golden stew. The rice was white and fluffy. The raita looked thick, cool, and yogurt-like. She located the jar of English chutney, pulled half the kitchen apart to find enough bowls and dishes to serve all of it up, and managed to haul it all out to the table only fifteen minutes after she felt the boat come to a stop and heard people gather for the expected dinnertime.

As she had hoped, the name tag was noticed. No one commented on it, though. Everyone seemed genuinely impressed by the curry. There was a lot of fast eating. The sea air had made everyone hungry.

119

When they had finished eating, Clio’s father stood, arms spread, in speech mode.

“Let’s move these plates out of the way, Clio,” he said. “We need the table.”

No “thank you.” Nothing about the work she had put in. Just an order to shift the dirty dishes. She stood up, unable to meet anyone’s eyes, and wordlessly stacked the plates.

“Tonight,” he said, “I was thinking we could all spend a little time together. We only have each other out here, after all. I thought, what better to do than play a little Dive!”

He reached around to the white leather sofa behind him and produced a well-worn box. From the expressions around the room, no one thought much of this idea except for Elsa, who would take on anything.

“How many of you have played before?” he asked. “Aside from the obvious.”

Aidan admitted to having played the video game version on his cell.

“Kid . . . Clio, why don’t you explain how it works?”

The boat creaked a bit as they shifted lightly from side to side. Her father was now commanding a group of people to play their board game. Clio felt something inside her die. Her spirit?

Maybe.

“Come on!” he said.

“The object of the game is to get as much treasure as you can and get your ship back to port,” she said dryly. “You try not to get arrested, attacked, or sunk.”

“It’s relevant,” Martin said, trying to be helpful.

“The board is divided into seas, made-up ones. Not real ones.

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All of these little tiles represent areas of water. Some have shipwrecks under them, some don’t. The goal is to get as much treasure as you can. There are a hundred and fifty treasure cards. You can dive for it or steal it. There are lots of ways of going about it.”

“Everyone plays a little differently,” her dad chimed in. “Some people barter a lot. Some people like to steal from other people.

You can follow in the wake of a ship that’s doing well. Your style of play really depends on you.”

“How long does this take?” Julia asked.

“A while,” her dad answered. “Two or three hours. It’s great for something like this. None of us has anywhere else to go.”

Julia fell silent. It was a throbbing kind of silence.

“Can we play teams?” Elsa asked.

“Sure!” he said. “Team play works well. Obviously, Clio and I need to be split up, so . . . I’ll be with Martin and Elsa. Clio, Julia, and Aidan, you can be the other team.”