Undercurrent (14 page)

I took the books to the reading area by the old stone fireplace. I’d spent quite a bit of time with them over the summer when looking for information about fleeting storms and related deaths, and I didn’t recall reading anything about Cather Country. But that could’ve been because I hadn’t known to look for it.

There was nothing in the first three volumes. In the fourth, I discovered one small paragraph in a chapter about successful local businesses—the same chapter in which Betty’s Chowder House was mentioned. The bookstore’s paragraph, however, was even less revealing than the restaurant’s had been.

My eyes lingered on the second-to-last sentence. Something else happened in November 1993.

I was born.

“Hey, stranger.” I slammed the book shut. “Caleb. Hi.”

He came over from the DVD section. As he neared I prepared for a barrage of questions about the breakup, but he simply smiled and kissed my cheek.

“Simon didn’t tell me you were going to be here this weekend.”

That obviously wasn’t the only thing Simon hadn’t told him. Caleb’s greeting would’ve been much different had he known his brother and I were no longer together.

“It was an impromptu trip,” I said. “Paige wanted to see Betty, and I tagged along.” “Nice.” He nodded to my lap. “Couldn’t you write your own Winter Harbor book by now?” “Not one that anybody would want to read,” I joked.

He looked down, his smile faltering.

“What about you?” I asked. “Why the library on a sunny fall day?”

“Movie night with the guys. The DVD collection’s surprisingly good here.”

I nodded, unsure what to say next. I knew Caleb and I would always be connected because of his connection to Justine, but because things with Simon were different, talking to Caleb felt different, too.

“How long are you around?” he asked after a long pause. “Want to grab breakfast tomorrow?”

“I think we’re leaving pretty early. But next time?”

“Absolutely.” He checked his watch. “I hate to chat and run, but I was supposed to be at the marina ten minutes ago. Now that the harbor’s totally thawed, customers are anxious to get their boats back in the water.”

“Of course.” As I stood to give him a hug good-bye, I registered what he’d just said. Seeing my body freeze and face flush, he stepped toward me.

“You didn’t hear?” he asked quietly.

I tried to shake my head, but it wouldn’t move.

“We had a crazy heat wave last weekend. It melted the last of the ice.”

“Have you—” I whispered. “Have they—”

“No one’s seen anything. Because there’s nothing to see.”

“Right.” I managed to nod. “I know.”

“Vanessa, you know how Zara felt about me. If she’d somehow survived… don’t you think I’d be the first one she’d try to find?”

My eyes watered—partially because he was right, but also because he sounded so calm, so quietly confident, that he reminded me of Simon.

He held out his arms, and I stepped into them. We hugged for several seconds before I pulled back. As he walked away, he shot me a quick smile and called over his shoulder.

“That brother of mine better be taking good care of you!”

Which probably would’ve made me break down completely if my cell phone hadn’t buzzed right then. My fingers, slick with perspiration, slid across the phone twice before getting a good enough grip to pull it from my jeans pocket.

V, Grandma B called. She’s upset, wants to have night alone with me to talk. Feel terrible, but do u mind??? xo—P

P. Not S.

Sinking back into my chair, I texted her back.

Course not. Hope she’s OK. Will stay at lake house. Check in later.—V

A second later, the phone buzzed again.

Saw you in town. Am stuck here tonight
.

Want to hang out?

I
AGREED TO
meet Parker for three reasons. The first was simple: I didn’t want to be alone. Paige was with Betty, and even if I went to their house and tried to stay out of the way so they could have time together, I knew Paige would insist on including me.

That meant going out, which led to the second reason: I didn’t affect Parker the way I did other guys. Yes, we’d made out by the river, but only because I’d thought he was Simon, and because as everyone on the New England prep-school circuit knew, he wouldn’t refuse any girl who threw herself at him. As long as I kept my eyes open, we should be able to hang out without another awkward situation, and I shouldn’t have to deal with the kind of unwanted attention I’d get in public.

Of course, that didn’t mean I could simply pretend like our impromptu lip-locking session hadn’t happened. And so, reason three: I’d explain the misunderstanding and ask him to get Prep Setters to take down the picture before more damage was done.

They were good, sound reasons. Unfortunately, as I stood in the Lighthouse Resort parking lot, they didn’t stop me from feeling guilty.

“They’re coming for you.”

I looked up. Parker stood on the top deck of the two-story yacht, holding a bottle of wine and two glasses.

“Seriously,” he said. “You’ve been out there so long security just called and asked if I needed them.”

I glanced over my shoulder. Two men in Lighthouse Resort and Spa jackets eyed me from a nearby golf cart. “I don’t drink,” I said, turning back.

“Neither do I.”

I waited for him to smile or laugh, but he didn’t. Reminding myself that this was the best of all my options, I forced my feet down the dock and up the ramp leading to the main deck. He met me at the top. His hands now empty, he held one toward me.

“This isn’t a date,” I said.

“You have a boyfriend.”

This, too, was said without a hint of a smile. Somewhat reassured—and not about to correct him—I took his hand and stepped onto the deck. The second my feet hit the floor he let go and headed toward the cabin. I followed him—mostly because he didn’t seem to care whether I did.

“Closing up for the winter?” I asked once inside. The cabin, which had multiple rooms and looked more like an apartment, was filled with covered furniture. The only pieces not hidden by white sheets were the bar, two stools, and a TV.

“We never opened.” He removed two water bottles from a refrigerator and gave me one.

“Why the trip now?” I asked.

He reached into a trash can next to the bar and pulled out a red sweatshirt.

“The Annual Live Like a KING Fish-Fest?” I said, reading the front.

“Also known as the two days of the year my dad clears his calendar for some quality one-on-one time. Or at least finagles his calendar so that he can conduct all appointments via e-mail and cell phone. His assistant gets assorted memorabilia made so it seems like more of an event.”

He tossed the sweatshirt back in the trash. It landed on top of several wine bottles.

“Is he outside?” I asked. “Upstairs?”

“Not anymore. He’s at the resort, having dinner. After a gourmet lobster feast, he’ll retire to the beach house and stare at ESPN until slipping into an alcohol-induced slumber.”

“Why aren’t you with him?”

He looked at me, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“Sorry. That’s none of my business, I don’t know why—”

I was interrupted by a phone ringing. Parker took his cell from his pants pocket, told whoever was calling to come aboard, and hung up. Before I could figure out what to say next, the deck door slid open and a delivery guy entered the room.

“I got half cheese, half pepperoni. Hope that’s okay.” Parker gave the pizza guy cash and me a quick smile. “You can pay for your share, if you want. Since it’s not a date.”

A few minutes ago that smile plus teasing combo would’ve sent me running for the Volvo. But now, it was relaxing. Reassuring. Given the little he’d said about his dad and their weekend, it was clear that he’d just wanted company—not my company, specifically.

We decided to eat outside, and I followed him out of the cabin and down the long main deck. At the deck’s end, he hopped over a white chain and stepped onto the bow. He didn’t offer his hand to help me or even look behind him to make sure I was still there, so I stepped over the chain without hesitation.

“Nice view,” I said, joining him at the bow’s tip. Across the harbor, the lights of downtown Winter Harbor glittered.

He set down the pizza, took a slice, and lowered himself to the edge of the bow, letting his legs hang over the side. “Why’d you say you were here again?”

I sat a few feet away, my back to the railing, my legs pulled to my chest. “I didn’t. I’m checking on my family’s lake house.”

He nodded. We ate silently, him staring off at the dark horizon, me wondering what he was thinking. He seemed distracted, removed. Whatever had happened with his dad earlier must’ve been pretty bad. I thought about bringing up our time by the river, but it didn’t feel right. I didn’t want to make him feel worse, and clarification didn’t seem as pressing now, since making out with me was clearly the last thing on his mind. In fact, rather than worrying about putting him in his place, the longer we sat there, the more I wanted to help him feel better.

“So,” I said, my heart rate quickening. “College applications are due soon.”

“Rumor has it.”

“Do you have a first choice?”

“You mean besides taking a boat—a real boat, not a floating McMansion—down the East Coast then up the West Coast after graduation? Stopping at random ports, meeting people who know nothing about my family or me? For a year, maybe longer?”

I paused. “Yes?”

“Then no. But I’ll probably end up at Princeton. I don’t have the grades, but Dad has connections.”

“I hear the campus is beautiful.”

He laughed once. “Okay, Ms. Mulligan.”

A fresh wave of warmth spread across my face. I was glad it was dark so he couldn’t see.

“What about you?” he asked. “Joining the crimson tide? Barking like a bulldog? Roaring like a lion?”

As he referred to Ivy League mascots, I looked across the harbor, recalled the other lights that had broken up its darkness a few months ago. “None of the above.”

“Ah, a tony liberal arts college. Intellectually stimulating, yet highly impractical,” he said, lowering his voice like he was repeating something he’d heard many times before. “So Williams? Amherst? Or are you going to make Matt Harrison’s dreams come true and go to Bates?”

“I’m not going to college.” It was the first time I’d said it aloud, the first time I’d admitted it to anyone but myself. I almost expected Ms. Mulligan to storm the bow, grab me by the shoulders, and try to shake some sense into me.

“But you go to Hawthorne,” Parker said.

“And?”

“And everyone who goes to Hawthorne goes to college. That’s why our parents shell out gobs of money—to secure our futures before we’ve given them any thought.”

“Well then, I guess I’m bucking tradition.”

He looked at me, really looked at me, for the first time since my arrival. “Is it because of what happened? With your sister?”

His assumption was wrong, but I gave him credit for asking the question other people would’ve only thought to themselves.

“It’s because I don’t see the point,” I said.

“What did your parents say when you told them?”

“That it’s my life. That they respect and support any decision I make.” This, I knew, was what Justine would’ve wanted to hear if she’d ever summoned the courage to tell them the truth. “That they love me, no matter what.”

My voice hitched on the last word. Fortunately, if Parker noticed, he didn’t say so. Shifting his gaze to the invisible horizon, he gave me space to get past the moment.

“Today,” he said some time later, “when my dad got an e-mail from my coach saying that I quit the water polo team, he told me I wasn’t
allowed
to make a joke out of him like that. He said that, besides my last name, water polo was one of the few things I had going for me—and that he was proud of me for.”

Any surprise I felt learning he’d quit the team was quelled by his dad’s reaction to the news. My parents would be upset when I finally told them I wasn’t going to college—but for what they thought it meant for me, not them.

“You know what he’d say if I told him I wasn’t sure about college? That I didn’t know if it was right for me?”

Our eyes met. I expected his to flash anger, but they were dulled, sad.

“He’d tell me to leave, to not even think about coming back until I had proof that I’d applied to and been accepted to one of his pre-approved schools.” He looked out at the water. “I don’t know what’s worse. Getting kicked out… or being too scared to tell him what he doesn’t want to hear.” He hesitated. “You just might be the bravest person I’ve ever met, Vanessa Sands.”

“Actually—”

I was cut off by a sudden swell that caused the yacht to drop then lift. The movement was so sharp I grabbed the railing to keep from sliding off the bow. In the next second, a long, narrow cigarette boat roared past us and out of the harbor. Squinting through the darkness, I could just make out the name painted on the back of the boat:
Deep Sea or Die
.

I was still clutching the cool metal when I heard a light thud and the fiberglass trembled beneath me. Forcing my eyes from the rippling water, I glanced in the direction of the noise—and saw Parker standing there, wearing only cargo pants. My eyes traveled from his bare chest to the shirt, shoes, and socks by his feet, and then past him, to the lights glowing downtown.

“What are you doing?” I asked, gripping the railing even tighter.

“Going swimming.”

“The water’s freezing.”

He stepped to the left—and into my line of vision. “I haven’t been once since quitting the team. It’s the one thing I miss.”

I stared at his olive skin. White spots burst before my eyes with each heartbeat.

Fortunately, since I couldn’t seem to look away, he moved out of my line of vision. Unfrozen, I released the railing, stood, and walked backward, my sneakers squeaking on the fiberglass.

“I should go,” I said, watching his torso as it turned toward me. “It’s pretty late.”

“It’s eight o’clock.”

“Simon—my boyfriend—will be calling any minute. I don’t want to miss him.”

“Well, wait,” Parker said, starting after me. “I’ll walk you out.”

“Don’t!”

He stopped. My gaze finally shifted to his face, which was scrunched in confusion.

“I’m fine,” I continued, trying to sound casual. “Thanks for the pizza. See you at school.”

I spun away, hurried across the bow, and hopped over the chain. I waited until I was halfway down the deck and pretty sure that Parker could no longer see me before running the remaining distance. As I reached the top of the ramp that led to the dock, a splash sounded from the front of the boat.

I held my breath and listened. For water moving, arms paddling, legs kicking.

There was nothing. Even the wake left by the cigarette boat had faded, and the harbor, which only seconds before had lapped against the sides of the yacht, was still.

I pictured
Deep Sea or Die
, the bold, black script like a crooked finger inviting unassuming swimmers closer. I thought of the divers who’d accidentally discovered the icy tomb. I felt pressure around my abdomen, the same kind I’d felt when Parker had pulled me out of the river.

“Don’t do it,” I said quietly, stepping back from the ramp. “He’s fine. Just leave him—and everything else—alone.”

But I didn’t. I couldn’t. And in less time than it had taken me to reach the ramp, I was at the bow’s tip again.

“Parker?” I whispered, scanning the water’s dark surface. “Parker?” I tried again, louder.

I was about to run to the cabin to look for a flashlight when I caught something long and flat out of the corner of my eye. It floated away from the yacht and toward the center of the harbor like a piece of wayward driftwood.

I darted to the side of the bow and leaned over the railing for a better look. Barely making out Parker’s profile, I raced to the deck, yanked the S.S.
Bostonian
life preserver ring from the wall, and ran back to the side railing. The water was as black as the sky, but I imagined it glowing, pictured tall beams of light shooting up from its depths the way they had during the sirens’ final attack last summer. Then, summoning Justine’s athletic abilities and all of my upper-body strength, I reached the preserver as far behind me as my arm would allow, and flung it forward.

It landed with a plop several feet from Parker. He didn’t move.

You know how, when you’re floating on your back on the lake, the water rises and falls against your ears? So that for half a second you can hear everything around you and then for the other half a second everything’s muted? It’s kind of like that
.

Simon. That was how he’d described Zara’s effect on him when they’d been alone in the woods… and it was exactly what Parker seemed to be experiencing right now. In the freezing water. Which could kill him if something else didn’t first.

“Parker,” I whispered.

Nothing.

Gripping the railing, I searched the water for flashes of light, signs of life beneath its smooth surface. If he was under a siren’s spell, what would happen if I jumped in after him? I was a strong enough swimmer that I might be able to escape a single siren, but I’d be defenseless against any more than that.

Security. They were probably still in the parking lot, monitoring activity aboard the S.S.
Bostonian
and making sure nothing was amiss. I could find them, tell them the truth—that Parker had decided to go swimming and might be hurt—and let them deal with it. Of course, if they weren’t fast enough, or if the sirens were too powerful, then the three men would—

My eyes locked on a patch of frothy water.

He was gone. He’d been lying there, as stiff and motionless as a corpse… and then he’d flipped over and disappeared, shooting into the water headfirst.