Girl at Sea (8 page)

The Sea Butterfly

It was clear that her father had prepared that joke well in advance and was reveling in its perfect execution.

“You should have seen your faces,” he said.

No one was answering. They were still taking in the white yachty magnificence before them. It was at least eighty feet long, with two visible levels, plus a tinted wraparound glass wheelhouse and more antennas coming off it than a skyscraper.

“How do we get there?” Elsa finally managed.

“Using this.”

Clio’s father pulled off his shoes and walked a few paces out in the water, which only came to mid-thigh. He grabbed an orange raft with a tiny motor on it that was tied to a post in the water. “We’ll have to make a few trips to get everything on.”

He dragged the raft over to the nearby dock, waving the others in that direction.

“Clio!” he said. “You come first.”

59

He helped her down into the little raft, which sagged under their weight. After two tugs on the pull cord, the motor putt-putted to life and they made the very short trip to the
Sea
Butterfly
, approaching it from the back.

“You bought a yacht,” Clio said to him.

“To be fair,
yacht
technically means a lot of things.”

“It means this. You bought a yacht. We can’t afford a yacht.

Dad, we can’t even afford to get the roof repaired.”

“Funny story behind this,” her father said, smiling that crazy smile at the
Sea Butterfly
as it bobbed in the water like a giant bleached tooth. “I was going to just rent a boat. But then I met this woman in London who was getting a divorce. Very rich. This boat was her husband’s plaything, so she took great pleasure in selling it to me at a fraction of the cost. I’ll sell it off when we’re done and make a killing. This girl is going to pay for herself
ten
times over
.”

“
Sea Butterfly?”
Clio said. “That’s kind of a weird name.”

“It’s better than the old one,” her dad said, bringing the raft up to the platform. “It used to be called the
Foxy Lady
. The guy who owned it was named Fox.”

“That’s a really gross name,” Clio said.

“I know. This one is much better. Anyway, here we go.”

He tied the raft to the back platform of the boat and held it steady. Clio scrabbled onto the back platform, a slippery sheet of fiberglass covered in water. She walked up the three steps to the deck proper.

“Okay,” he said. “Stay right here. I want everyone to take the tour at the same time.”

She watched as he brought the others over, two at a time. It 60

only took a few minutes. Before long, they were all standing on the massive back platform of the boat. The first stop was the Jacuzzi, which had a cover that slid back at the touch of a button.

“This was broken,” he said. “So I had it sealed up. We can fill it with water or whatever we need when we . . . We could fill it with water and fish and have our own tank to get fresh seafood from! Pretty great, huh?”

Nearby were some sliding glass doors, part of what was essentially an all-glass wall. He opened the doors and they passed through. Clio couldn’t see anything yet, but the carpet told all. Whatever she was standing on was so thick and soft it felt like she was effortlessly balancing herself on a sponge bed on the bottom of the ocean.

“The lights are complicated,” her dad was saying, fumbling with something on the wall. “Oh. Here we go.”

Carefully focused lights lit up in a dozen strategic points all over the ceiling, revealing a long, elegant living and dining room.

Everything seemed to be made of cream-colored leather. The spongy carpet was honey-colored and extended in all directions.

The air-conditioning made that gentle noise kittens make when they sleep.

“Living room,” her dad said, holding out his hands toward the sofas and the plasma TV. “Over there, dining room.”

“This is amazing,” Elsa said.

Julia stepped closer to Clio’s dad, not quite hooking her arm through his but getting close enough to show her approval.

“We can all come together in here,” he went on. “After a hard day at sea. The galley—kitchen—is through here.”

61

Her father led them to a full kitchen with sleek silver-and-black built-in appliances. Half the Williams-Sonoma catalog was stuffed in there. Clio picked up an icing tube that sat on the marble counter.

“For all of those fancy pastries we like to make?” she asked.

“It all came with the boat,” her father said quickly. “All of it.

You haven’t even seen half the place. Come on.”

Just past the kitchen was a tight circular staircase extending both up and down. They went down first, ending up in a surprisingly long hallway. The walls were made of shiny, violin-colored wood and there was low-key lighting running along the floor, like in movie theaters. Along this hallway were several doors. Her father opened the door to most of them using a single master key, revealing four snug bedrooms. Clio felt a little too much emphasis was put on showing her that Julia had her own room. He passed by a few doors and proceeded to the end of the hall.

“What are in those?” Clio asked.

“Oh, just supplies and stuff. Speaking of . . . it’s starting to get dark, and our loading hour will be up soon. You guys should probably go get your things from the van; then I can show you the rest.”

They went back up the stairs, and Martin, Elsa, Aidan, and Julia went back to the raft to transport themselves to the dock.

Clio’s father watched them through the glass doors, then leaned over to Clio conspiratorially.

“I wanted to show you this in private,” he said. “It’s the best part.”

“Is it the part with the phone or the computer?” she asked.

“Nope. It’s your room. Upstairs!”

They went back to the circular stairs and walked up. They 62

ended up in a very small vestibule with a highly slanted, half-windowed wall that looked out over the back of the boat, the black water, and the moon. Behind them there was one honey-colored door leading to the only room on this level of the boat.

“Go on in,” he said quietly.

The room behind that door was about three times the size of the rooms downstairs. The carpet was thicker here, a plush, fuzzy lawn, softer than slippers. Her father flipped a switch, and a dozen unseen lights came to life, bathing the room in a soft, almost rosy light. The walls were wallpapered in a champagne color, in a pattern embossed in tiny circles. It was as if the room was very impressed with itself and going
oooooh
, in a slightly drunk kind of way.

“This is evening lighting,” he said. “There’s also . . .”

Extremely bright, yellowish light, bright as day, then half of that, then a few pinpoint lights illuminating various corners of the room. They zeroed in on two sleek dressing tables that had been built into the walls, one on the window side and one opposite. The bed was wide. Its padded, semicircular head-board was firmly attached to the wall, and the base seemed to be solidly joined to whatever was underneath the coffee-colored carpet. It wasn’t going anywhere, no matter what this boat did.

“The best part is through that door,” he said with a proud grin.

There was a wood veneer door on the side—the super-shiny and extra-swirly wood she had never seen outside of a car dashboard. The door slid back into a groove in the wall, revealing a not-huge bathroom, but still one much larger than a 63

boat bathroom was ever likely to be. It had two sinks, with gleaming brass fixtures that emptied into perfectly scooped-out basins. There was a wall-length mirror surrounded by round bulbs, dressing-room style—so bright that it caused Clio to step back in alarm as her reflection blasted at her. On the wall there was a panel of controls—fans, a dimmer, volume control for an unseen sound system. The gleaming, ladder-like heated towel rack was large enough to accommodate the thickest towels available. The centerpiece of the bathroom was a bean-shaped tub with a dozen or two gold jets around its side and base. It was large enough for two people and encased in folding glass panels.

There was a slight bulge on the side, presumably to give visitors a place to sit or a place to set the wine bucket. A gold-colored, wide-mouthed showerhead extended straight down from the ceiling, like some heavenly trumpet poking into the scene to announce that this . . . this was the bathroom spoken of in the beginning, and yea, it was good.

“This is for me?” she asked. “This room?”

“I know you came a long way to see me,” he said. “I know what you think. I wanted you to be happy.”

This was just weird. It was a nice thought, being given the nicest room on the boat and the shiniest of shiny boat bathrooms. But it was still a boat far, far from home, a boat that he could never have afforded. Clio felt her head get fuzzy and unfocused. It had been a very long day—her night had disappeared sometime during the flight and the time changes. And there was no phone or computer in this room.

“What do you think of the
Butterfly
?” he asked. “She’s named after you, after all.”

64

“What?”

“Clio,” he said authoritatively, “is the name of a family of sea butterflies. Sea butterflies are beautiful, colorful creatures.”

“I thought I was a muse,” she said. “The history muse.”

“You’re
also
a sea butterfly.”

“Which is what?” she asked.

He bounced at the knees a little and looked a little frustrated.

She knew she wasn’t giving him what he wanted—daughterly praise about his toy—and it was starting to irritate him. That’s what he had expected. She could see it clearly. He had thought that the second she saw his yacht, everything would be good between them.

But Clio wasn’t biting. She walked over and sat on the bed, bouncing on it a few times. Like the carpet, it was sproingy in an expensive way.

“I’m kind of tired,” she said. “And how do I call home?

Where’s the computer? Aidan had one. Is there another?”

Now he looked annoyed. He walked around the edge of the room, touching the tiny round light fixtures in the ceiling.

“We need to get stuff on board,” he said. “I’ll get you a phone.

We need to talk anyway. Get yourself settled and meet me on the dock in twenty minutes. I’ll bring over your suitcase.”

When he was gone, Clio flopped backward, letting the deep down comforter envelop her. She closed her eyes. Her eyelids ached for some reason. This bed was nice, and if she just kept her eyes closed, she would fall into a deep sleep and none of this would bother her.

She forced her eyes open and pulled herself up off the bed, out of the door, and back down the narrow stairs. There was a 65

lot of activity on the back deck, with things being passed up. She retrieved her suitcase from the thick carpet of the living room and dragged it along. The spiral staircase was really only wide enough to allow one person, and not even that large a person, to pass. It was also quite steep. She had to prop her bag in front of her, hoisting it step by step, adjusting it each time the stairs turned. After a few steps, she realized she couldn’t let go of the bag for a moment or it would fall on her.

Five minutes later, she was still only halfway up and swearing not so lightly under her breath, when she had the feeling that someone was watching her.

Aidan was leaning in the galley doorway, holding a large plastic file box.

“You seem to be having a little trouble,” he said, not making much of an effort to conceal a smile. Once again, she was struck by his bright eyes.

“No,” she said. “It’s going really well.”

“Want a hand?”

“I can manage it.”

“Your dad asked me to tell you you’re supposed to meet him outside.”

“Can you tell him I’m trapped?”

“So, it’s
not
going well?” he said. “That’s weird, because you
seemed
to have this under control. But I can understand if you’re not used to carrying your own bags.”

“I . . .” Another push. Unsuccessful. “. . . am used . . . to carrying my own stuff.”

“Obviously. You know, it might help if you turned it the other way. But I’m just saying . . .”

66

Clio looked at the position of the bag. He was right. If she could wriggle it loose and flip it, it would move. It was simple and obvious. So simple and obvious that she couldn’t just flip it in front of him and give him the satisfaction.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Great,” she said. “Just taking a breather.”

“Me too. It was a long walk from the deck.”

He knew what she was up to, and he was waiting and watching.

“So,” he said. “Boats, huh? You must like boats.”

“Not really,” she said.

“But you made a boat game. Have you guys owned this boat for a while? Nice boat. Very fancy.”

“It’s new,” Clio said, her annoyance coming through. “Very new.”

“Is this bigger or smaller than your last boat?”

Clio could take it no more. She flipped the bag. His smile grew broader.

It took her several more minutes to get the suitcase up and, with one final shove, to throw it into the vestibule in front of the door. Clio let her suitcase drop onto the thickly carpeted floor.

It barely made a noise.

When she got back on deck, Aidan was picking up a computer monitor that must have just come off the raft. There were a few computer bits there—a plastic box full of wires and con-nectors, a silver case that looked like it contained equipment of some kind. Martin was on the floating platform, passing scuba gear to Julia. There was a lot more than they would need for a few casual dives.

“So,” she said to Aidan, “what
exactly
is all of this for?”

67

He tottered a bit as he tried to manage both the monitor and the box.

“Don’t ask me,” he said. “I’m just the help.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Julia and Martin looking at her, then turning back to the tanks and bags. There was a stiffness in Martin’s jaw and a fixed expression on Julia’s bony face. Martin was normally a talkative guy, so this silence was odd.