The Deepest Blue (28 page)

“This is rockin',” Chuck had said. He was only in his twenties and had worked with Dad on another charter. When Dad bought the
Mighty Mike,
Chuck had begged to come and work for him. We climbed on board, and I explored every small space I could squeeze myself into.
Then Dad and I sailed back to Moorehead, and Chuck drove the truck back to meet us in the harbor. There were a lot of days with no charters and not much money, but the three of us would go out fishing, sell what we could to the market, and keep a little to help with the grocery bill.

I wipe the tears from my face with a paper towel and try to swallow down the knot that has slid up my throat.

The boat shifts with more force and draws my attention away from the memories. I look around and realize the sky and the water are all one color. I head to the wheelhouse and check the time on the instrument panel. It's 6:23
P.M
. The gaps in the clouds have closed up again, and darkness has collected quickly around the boat. Even though I'm only ten miles from shore, I can't see the coastline or any hint of people, and a little jolt of panic pokes at my chest. The waves are hitting the boat harder and cresting over the sides. This rising fury of water is frightening, so I hoist the anchor and start the engines. I realize the radio is turned off, one of the biggest mistakes a captain can ever make. I flip it on and it crackles with static. I switch through channels until I hear the coast guard alert.

“. . . High winds through midnight and increasing rain showers. There is a small craft warning for the Outer Banks, Beaufort, and Wilmington. High waves and wind continuing throughout the evening.”

High waves and wind.
That's a deadly combination for smaller boats. Even though
The Mighty Mike
is over thirty feet, it wasn't built for rough seas like this. And Atlantic
Beach, right where the harbor is, is right in the middle of the alert area.

Fingers of white light claw across the sky as I watch the compass and turn the boat to face the marina. My heart bounces around in my chest, and my palms sweat as I count the many mistakes I have made in taking my little trip: I didn't turn on the radio, no one knows where I am, bad weather, limited skills . . . “You dumb ass,” I say aloud.

A huge wave washes over the bow, swamping the deck in frothy sea water. The boat rises with the swell, then slams down in the trough, jolting me sideways. Thunder bangs like it's inside my head. Another wave lifts the boat and sends it sideways. I rev the power in the engines and steer into the swells, but they are getting bigger and more frightening by the second.

Then a wave spins the boat sideways, and a huge crash of water hits the deck. I see it rush down into the galley, and the engines go quiet. The storm growls and howls around me like some crazed monster intent on sinking the boat that has invaded its territory.

“Shit,” I say, low and almost growling. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.” I grip the wheel and try to steer back into the swells, but without engines, I'm just a buoy on the water—totally out of control. I'm in trouble. And it's getting worse. I don't know how to restart the engines, and that means I'm a sitting duck. All I can think is
stupid.
The rain and the waves have soaked me, and it's hard to grip the wheel. I slide most of the way down the stairs and get to the pump. If I can work the pump by hand, I might get
enough water out to try the engines again. Water sloshes around my ankles. I grab the lever and pump the handle. The sucking noise raises my hopes, and I crank the lever faster.

Steady and smooth.
I hear Dad's voice when he taught me to use the equipment.
Not too fast or you might get air in the lines.

I slow the motion of my arms and try to calm my breathing. The boat bounces and careens. It's hard to keep up a steady rhythm. My heart races, but so does my mind. Another big wave slams into the side of the boat, sending spray into the air and pushing the craft over to the side. Enough water below deck means it sinks.

A priming pump on the engine gets my attention. I press it a few times, nice and slow, then I clamber up the stairs to the wheelhouse and try starting the engines. They sputter and fight, but then they kick on, and I check the compass. I line up with what I think is the southwest and start negotiating the huge waves that are slamming me around like a cat swats a toy.

I fight the swells to keep the boat on a line toward home, toward safety. Time slows to a crawl, and I look back and forth, side to side, waiting for the wave that washes over the bow and sends me and the boat to the bottom.

“I'm sorry, Dad.” Tears stream down my face, and the brisk wind is raising goosebumps on every inch of my skin. I don't know how long I fight the swells, but after what feels like hours, I can sense they are easing. In the
distance, I can see the entrance to the marina. Finally. I let out a deep sigh, realizing that maybe I'd been holding my breath for a long time.

By the time I maneuver the boat into the slip, I can feel the exhaustion overtaking me. I don't know if I'll even have the strength to hose the boat off with fresh water like I should do. As I shut off the engines and climb down from the captain's chair, I see Maggie's Subaru in the parking lot. She jumps from the car and races toward me.

“Mike! Mike! Where did you go? Are you okay?” She looks frantic, then relieved, then furious. I can't say I blame her.

We drive back to her house in silence. I'm shivering from being drenched, but I don't dare ask Maggie to turn off the air. When we get to the house, Chuck is waiting inside. After hours of lecturing, everyone crying, and then more lecturing, Chuck finally calls it a night at close to midnight.

Maggie goes straight to bed, but even with the doors closed I can hear her still crying. I lie on my bed with Rocket until I can't take any more of the guilt. I walk to her door and knock.

“Go to bed, Mike.”

“I can't sleep with you crying.”

Things get quiet, then she opens the door and stands in the entry. “You need to sleep. Tomorrow is a big day, and I have a feeling we're going to be in for some huge changes.” Her eyes are red and swollen. My stomach tightens, and I feel about fifteen different kinds of embarrassed and at least a dozen kinds of stupid.

“Maggie, I'm sorry. I was irresponsible. I didn't think. I just wanted to be close to my dad, and I didn't know how else to do it.”

“So you thought nearly sinking the boat and drowning yourself was the answer?” Her voice gets shrill and a lot louder.

“I wasn't trying to sink it,” I say, my voice getting louder, too. “I just wanted to be on the water, to be in his favorite place.”

“His favorite place was anywhere that you were. You don't have to go find him, he's right here with you.” She lets go of a big sigh and puts her hand on my chest above my heart. Her voice is softer. “Mike, I don't care about the boat. I care about you. You could have died doing that.” Tears stream down her cheeks. “If I had lost you on top of losing your dad, it would be the death of me, too.”

Shame floods my face with heat. “I'm sorry,” I say, and tears let loose down my cheeks. “I didn't think. I was stupid.” I take a few deep breaths. “If we get out of this okay tomorrow,” I say, “I'm grounding myself until I'm twenty.”

Maggie wraps her arms around me and pulls me close. I can smell Dad on the T-shirt she's wearing, and a deep sadness floods my chest, but it's comforting, too. “Maybe until your thirty,” she says, and I look up at her to see a weak smile raising the corners of her mouth.

* * * *

In the morning we are silent. We dress for court, and Chuck arrives at eleven forty-five. It's clear he didn't sleep much after the previous night's events, and he doesn't say a word to me the entire drive. His hands grip the steering wheel so tightly, I can see the white skin tighten around his knuckles. I slink deeper into the seat and hope that Julia is the worst thing I have to face today.

We get to the courthouse, and Chuck finally breaks the silence. He looks me right in the eye. “It's a good thing the judge doesn't know about last night, or it'd be a sure bet this would not have a happy ending.” He opens the car door, and we climb out. Heat rises from the pavement in waves, and the thick air makes me feel like I'm trapped again inside the bubble. The sound of the cicadas is muffled, and I more float than walk.

The courtroom is cool as I walk in and sit down at the table. Chuck and Maggie take their seats in the row behind me. Ms. Young doesn't seem to know about the boat, and I'm glad for that. I need someone on my side today.

chapter 23

We all stand. The judge enters. The judge sits. We all sit.

“I'm moved by both parties,” the judge begins. She looks from Julia to me. “You each have a great deal at stake here, and I see so many possible resolutions to this particular set of circumstances.”

I don't control this. Let it be, don't let it drown me.

“My primary concern, however, is for Michael.” The judge looks squarely at me, and I'm afraid she may already have heard about the boat incident. I meet her gaze, but I don't smile, I don't flinch. “This young man has been through a terrible loss at a very young age, and he has barely had time to come to grips with that. It is clear that he has a strong support network in place and he is a young man who is responsible and confident in his decisions.”

I flinch at the word
responsible,
and I sense the word
but
coming. It worries me. It's like Mrs. Sanford, my English teacher, talking about my research paper: “You've got a great idea, Michael,
but
you haven't executed it very well.”

The judge looks at Julia. “Mrs. Mayers has made significant changes in her life in recent years, and it is clear she is sorry for what she has done in the past. Regret is a great teacher, and sometimes it offers us limited opportunities to reform our lives.”

I look at Ms. Young, trying to get a read on what is happening, but she seems as unsure as I am.

“My decision is as follows,” the judge says. She pauses. Everyone is silent.

I shift in my uncomfortable chair.
Here comes the
but
you've been waiting for.

“I will award Ms. Delaney temporary guardianship of Michael pending the outcome of a full custody evaluation by the Department of Family Services. Should their recommendations be favorable, and after a six-month probationary period, I will award full, legal guardianship at that time.

Relief rushes through me, and I fight the urge to jump up and cheer. I hear Maggie suck in her breath behind me, and I almost leap up and cheer.

“However,” the judge adds in a loud voice.

Here it comes.

“During this time, Mrs. Mayers is to receive visitation rights in accordance with the prevailing structure under North Carolina law. I believe this equates to alternating major holidays, and four weeks during the summer—unless the legislature has modified this without my knowledge.” She smiles at her own joke.

I don't get it. Confusion swirls in my head like a cyclone.
I have to visit Julia?
How can the judge buy into
that crap? She can't really believe that Julia is some reformed supermom. She can't be serious about me spending time with that psycho who doesn't even know anything about me.

The judge looks at me as if she can see into my head, reading my thoughts. “Michael, you need the opportunity to enjoy the stability and security that a life here provides for you. But you also need the opportunity to develop a relationship with Mrs. Mayers and with your half-brother.”

I can feel the tears welling up again in my eyes, and they sting like salt water, like the spray from the waves.
You can't believe her, Judge. You have to be able to see she is crazy.

“This is my ruling. This concludes our hearing.” The judge raps her gavel on the big desk.

“All rise,” the bailiff says. “This court is now adjourned.”

The judge is out of the room before anyone can say anything.

I feel like I've been sucker punched. I can't move. I stand, leaning on the table, and wait for my lungs to inflate again. I'm lightheaded. I can hear Chuck saying something, I can hear Ms. Young answering. I can hear Maggie behind me, but I can't move, can't breathe, can't understand.

“Mike,” Maggie says, taking hold of my arm, “it's okay, hon, it's okay.”

Tears are flowing from my eyes, splashing on the table below me. I finally take a huge gasp of air, and my whole body shudders. “I won't go,” I say. “She can't force me to go.”

“Not now, son,” Chuck says.

I wheel around, glaring at him. “I'm not your son. You were supposed to protect me. That's why my dad trusted you. You let us both down.” My voice is low and full of anger that tastes like acid as I speak.

Chuck's eyes widen, and his face draws tight. He turns to Maggie, whispers something, then steps into the aisle and heads for the door.

Ms. Young maneuvers behind me and blocks my exit. Over my attorney's shoulder, Julia looks at me.

“I'll die first before I'll spend one freaking minute with her.” I hurl the words at Julia, but her expression doesn't change.