Shining Sea Page 8

  I wish I could lie to myself. Pretend I’m not afraid. But if I play my mental “changing radio stations” game now, my fears might bust out on the boats, create chaos for me. I have to at least own it. I’m scared shitless.

  The fire’s suddenly too hot—its flames shooting up into the night. I lean back, glancing at the sky. There’s no moon tonight, and as the clouds move in on the wind, the stars wink out, one by one, as if the darkness is slowly smothering them. Not a welcome thought, but it comes unbidden, as do Lilah’s written words.

  I am waiting.

  I look around the circle at the people I know, the few that I don’t. How will I find the boy she met here on Rock Hook? Or maybe he’s not a boy at all; maybe she met a man. Oh, Lilah.

  Blink; flash. The long narrow beam of the lighthouse reaches out over the black beach toward the waves and my thoughts shift back to Bo. Is he watching the beacon tonight from Summers Cove?

  As if my thoughts have moved through the misty salt air, the guy sitting next to Alyssa says, “I wonder who’s looking at the light tonight. I mean, who’s this lighthouse for anymore?”

  Alyssa inches closer to him—she’s definitely giving him the eye. “It’s for us, for our personal entertainment.”

  Sarah of the blue hair shuffles the layers of bracelets she wears on both arms.

  “I’ve always wondered why Rock Hook Lighthouse is here,” she says. “This isn’t exactly the most dangerous place. When was the last time a boat wrecked anywhere near Rock Hook?”

  The question hangs in the air for a second before the breeze takes it—

  And blows it toward the shadows, one of which answers.

  “Three weeks ago.”

  Separating himself from the night, Logan steps forward, his expression tenebrous in the firelight. Obviously this isn’t the time to ask if he’s still pissed at me.

  “It was a fishing boat,” he says, addressing the crowd. “Up from Portland.”

  “What are you talking about, Logan?” Mary’s tone is skeptical.

  “The mayor tried to hush it up, tried to keep the media from covering the story. I’d say he was pretty successful.”

  Logan’s answer hits me hard. No one knows the story of the four missing boys?

  “Be serious,” Mary says. “How can the mayor keep the papers from printing a story like that? Why would he? And what exactly happened to this boat?”

  “The ‘why’ is easy,” Logan says. “Think about it. What happens next summer?”

  “That’s crazy,” Mary replies. “The mayor wouldn’t try to keep a story out of the papers because he’s afraid of losing tourist dollars. Besides, I don’t think one accident will keep vacationers away from Rock Hook National Seashore when it finally opens.”

  “Funny,” Logan muses, “how some people, like the mayor, want to share Rock Hook with as many people as possible, as many tourists as this place will hold, no matter what kind of secrets they have to keep. While other people want the crowds to stay away from Rock Hook, no matter what kind of secrets they have to keep.” He scowls, looking around the circle, as if trying to determine who belongs in which camp.

  The group bursts into conversation. “Secrets? What’s he talking about?”

  “When Rock Hook becomes another tourist trap . . .”

  “The mayor? I’ll ask my mom, she’ll know.”

  “You haven’t given us any details about this mysterious accident,” Mary says to Logan, and everyone looks at her now. “Was anybody hurt? Obviously none of us heard about it—maybe you’ve got it wrong. Rock Hook Harbor is a small town. People get bored. Rumors fly.”

  “Ha—who could possibly get bored around here?” Alyssa says, jostling Sarah.

  Sarah, her hair shoved behind her shoulders now so that she’s rendered nearly invisible against the night in her black outfit, pushes back. Alyssa makes the most of it, falling into the boy next to her.

  “You know what I mean,” Mary continues. “‘The one that got away,’ that kind of thing. Probably just another Big Fish story, Logan, probably nothing.”

  “Mary, four guys gone missing is not nothing.” He looks across the fire at me. “They only found their boat, just their boat—with a bunch of holes in it. That’s something. Something bad. Someone murdered those kids.”

  I look away, heart hammering as I squeeze two cool handfuls of sand. Am I really the only one here besides Logan who knows about the Lucky?

  Two boys sitting next to me begin whispering to each other. “He’s paranoid,” says one.

  “Yeah,” says the other. “This sounds like one of his conspiracy theories.”

  “Right, like when his brother—”

  I glare at the boys and they stop, but I feel bad for Logan. I want to defend him, to tell everyone that he’s right: someone did sink the Lucky. But Dad asked me not to talk about it. He said the Coast Guard didn’t have all the facts, and that folks around here didn’t need to get upset all over again. At the time, I didn’t know what he meant. I didn’t know—he was talking about Logan’s brother.

  “It happened at Devil’s Claw,” Logan says suddenly. Everybody stops talking. The sound of crashing waves echoes off the bluffs. “And Sarah,” Logan looks down at her, “to answer your question, that’s why the lighthouse is here. The end of the Hook, where the lighthouse was supposed to have been built, where it was needed the most, is such a hazard they couldn’t put the light station there. No one can build anything at the tip of the peninsula.”

  “That’s true,” Pete says. “It’s like bizarro world out there. The tides are weird. The waves are gnarly. Plus it’s rocky as hell. Even with modern nav systems, boats still use the lighthouse to steer clear of the tip of Rock Hook, ’cause even the best equipment fails at Devil’s Claw.”

  “If the guys who built Rock Hook Light, Standard Smith and his partner—” Logan stops for a second, then continues, “the rest of his party, if they’d succeeded in constructing the lighthouse at Devil’s Claw, it would be totally lost to the sea by now instead of simply missing its . . . twin, the second tower.” He pauses again, and I think he’s finished with the disturbing history lesson. But then he goes on, talking about how Smith vanished, disappeared without a trace. And finally he says, “All you have to do is dig. You’ll find a whole lot of strange stories about Devil’s Claw and the rest of the coast along this part of Maine. There are more drownings, more unexplained boating accidents around here than any other place on the entire East Coast.”

  “The water can be treacherous around here for sure,” Mary says. “But ever since OZI got together with the state to help regulate usage and protect certain areas, keeping boats out of those areas, things have changed. This part of the coast—”

  “Riiight, we have the Clean Ocean Zone now, to protect the coast.” Logan’s voice oozes sarcasm. “Bet you and Arion’s new boyfriend could have a nice chat about what a good job OZI’s doing with that.” Logan turns and walks away, leaving for real this time.

  Part of me wants to run after him, to apologize for earlier. Another part of me wants to run after him so I can kill him.

  “So there is something going on between you and Bo,” Alyssa huffs. “I knew it.”

  I’m thinking I’ll have to grab one of the shovels the boys used to build the fire pit to dig my way out of this when Bobby unknowingly helps me out, announcing that he’s hitting the road. Mary gives me a hand as well.

  “Arion, do you have a copy of O’Keefe’s requirements for the term paper?” Go, she mouths.

  “Sure—I’ll get it.” Grabbing Dad’s trays, I run toward the steps.

  Behind me people start gathering belongings, dumping ice out of coolers. They’ll be a while, but Mary catches up with me at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Hey, do you have something to tell me about Bo Summers?” she asks.

  “Do you know him?”

  “Everyone knows him.”

  I stare at her. “We need to talk.”

  “We do.
But first, go after Logan, will you?”

  Our eyes lock. Either Mary’s more concerned about Logan than she let on, or she’s become more concerned after hearing what he said at the bonfire.

  “I’ll make sure he’s okay. Don’t worry.”

  I give her a quick hug, then race up the steps.

  QUESTIONS

  By the time I reach the top of the stairs, Logan’s backing down the driveway.

  “Hey,” I shout, trotting alongside the truck. The night can’t end this way, all dark mysteries and implied accusations. “Logan, wait!”

  He stops and rolls down his window the rest of the way. “Wait, what?”

  “Just wait.” I lean against the driver’s side door, trying to catch my breath. “Bo Summers—you know he’s not my boyfriend.”

  Logan mutters something that might be, Not yet.

  “Oh, come on. And what was that about, at the bonfire?”

  “You knew about the fishing boat, Arion?” Feeling caught, I nod. “From your dad?”

  “Yes.” I try unsuccessfully to read the complicated expression on Logan’s face.

  “You didn’t find out from Summers?”

  I look at him quizzically. “No. Bo and I—” The anger in his eyes catches me up short. “Logan, I’m sorry, about earlier. I should have walked back with you, I just . . .”

  Logan leans back in his seat. “You just, what?”

  “I just—nothing.” What am I supposed to say? I just wanted to talk to Bo for a second. He’s my neighbor. Lame. How about, I just—am so attracted to Bo Summers I’d blow off even my best friend so I could hold his mysterious hand for less than a minute. Great. “I’m sorry,” I repeat.

  “Hmm. Whatever.”

  Shifting the empty trays, I ask, “Are you still picking me up tomorrow? For the exam?”

  “Of course. What’s with your car again?” Logan sounds suspicious, like he thinks maybe the Jeep is fine, that I just want a ride because I need my hand held, which I do.

  “It’s being cranky. I’ll tell you about it in the morning.”

  “Okay. Pick you up around eight thirty.”

  “Thanks.” Getting through the test might be hard, but at least I’d be there. “Good night.”

  “Sleep tight.”

  A faint version of his smile appears and I feel my shoulders relax. Stepping back from the truck, I watch as the red taillights disappear into darkness.

  The relief I feel at seeing even part of Logan’s wide grin is no surprise. Tonight I discovered just how much I care about him.

  Even if I don’t understand half of what he says.

  The wind gusts around me. Balancing the trays, I reach up for my hood—then let my hand fall.

  How had Logan found out about the Lucky?

  Maybe more importantly, why did he think I’d learned about the boat from Bo?

  The group from the beach straggle up the steps and begin their goodbyes. “Is everything cool with Logan?” Mary asks.

  “Why, is Delaine pissed or something?” Kevin laughs. “’Cause that’d be different.”

  Mary had warned me that her Kevin wasn’t a big fan of Logan; now she winks at me.

  I grin. “Everything’s fine. How about with you guys?”

  Swaying slightly, Kevin twines his arms around Mary and buries his face in her neck.

  “Um—ooh.” Mary starts to giggle. “We’re good. But we’re gonna go now.”

  “Yeah, that might be best.” I laugh.

  She pushes Kevin toward the passenger side of his parents’ Prius, then turns and waves.

  In another minute, the car vanishes down the drive and I’m left alone with the wind, wishing I’d asked her, Why does Logan hate Bo so much?

  REGISTRATION

  From this vantage point on the peninsula, Wabanaki Bay (Forfeit Bay, the locals call it down here where it’s widest) looks just like the ocean. In fact, except for the outlines of a few distant islands between here and the mainland—which, although we face it, is invisible—it’s identical.

  “Anyway, my dad’s taking it in . . .” My voice fades as I finish telling Logan the Jeep saga and stare at the rough waters of the Bay. Even though just below us the curve of the land shelters Seal Cove and its waters are clear and calm, I have no desire to leave the sanctuary of Logan’s parked truck.

  He probably knows car trouble isn’t the real reason I chattered incessantly for the entire ride. Still, he hooks his hands behind his head and leans back, playing along.

  “How long have you had the Jeep?”

  “Forever. I learned to drive on that thing.”

  “And that was when? Yesterday?”

  “Ha-ha. Probably way before you learned to drive. Not that you’re a bad driver.”

  “Gee, thanks. So you’ll let me continue to be your chauffeur?”

  “Hmm. I don’t know. Don’t want you to work too hard.”

  “I wouldn’t have to work too hard. You never go anywhere.”

  I start to laugh, but he’s right. And he’s laughing too, as he reaches over and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. Suddenly he seems so close. As if my senses are on zoom, I smell his shirt—clean laundry—and notice the shine of his hair, the shape of his lips.

  “I could drive you crazy,” he says now, his voice soft, resonating low in his chest in a way I haven’t heard before. “If you wanted.”

  I look down at my hands. If you wanted. Do I want?

  He turns to look out over the water, his hand dropping from my hair. I steal a glance at his shadowed jawline, the hollows beneath his cheekbones, his impossibly long lashes. But he’s a friend—and a total flirt. At least he’s honest. Or maybe he’s playing. How can I tell?

  Lilah told me most guys lie about what they really want. I hadn’t known what she meant at the time, but now I picture Bobby asking me if I want to “study.” I’m beginning to get it.

  As I follow Logan’s gaze, the water catches my eyes, won’t let go. Still, I’m hyperaware of his body across the bench seat of the truck’s cab. Maybe I’m the liar.

  But my palms aren’t lying, they’re sweating, and it’s not Logan’s offer that’s making them so damp. Leaving the truck—suddenly it seems like a very bad idea. Surreptitiously, I wipe my hands on my jeans.

  “Ari.” Logan lifts his right arm so it lies along the back of the seat and gestures with his other hand. We look at each other for a moment, then I slide over and curl against him. He wraps both arms around me. “You’ll be fine,” he whispers into my hair.

  Trapped sunlight fills the truck. If we don’t make a move soon, we’ll be late. My thin sweater is clinging to me, damp like my hands. Logan slowly takes his arms from around me as I strip it off. Draping the sweater over the seat, I notice that he’s staring at the cove now as fixed as I’d been staring just a few minutes ago.

  “It’s time,” he says without taking his eyes off the water.

  “Mm. Thanks for telling me.” Sweat beads along my hairline. I wipe it away with the back of my hand. Still, he doesn’t open his door. I don’t open mine.

  When I asked him questions about the exam on the way over, he’d answered easily, so why is he so hesitant—

  A flame of intuition blazes through my body.

  Last night as we’d walked down the beach, Logan had grown quiet. I’d mostly carried the conversation. But by the time we sat down near the jetty, he’d gone completely silent. Then we’d talked about his brother.

  Nick Delaine had drowned, and now I know where. Not this cove, but a cove.

  Summers Cove.

  That’s why Mary didn’t want to talk about Summers Cove, why Dad warned me away.

  Logan wouldn’t say hi to Bo, wouldn’t shake his hand. My pulse pounds at my temples.

  We open our doors at the exact same second. Our feet come down with an identical crunch on the broken clamshells that fill the parking lot, sun-bleached white as bones. Together we walk toward the water. My legs are shaking.

  A cr
owd of kids is gathered around the teachers from the marine sciences department. Mr. Kraig is gesturing to the three boats moored in the quiet cove. We’ve spent hours over the last couple of weeks studying the boats, working in makeshift classroom labs that served to simulate the vessels as best they could. Today we’re supposed to be ready to experience the real thing and be tested on what we’ve learned.

  This is a test of the emergency broadcast system. This is only a test.

  I stare at the first boat, a Colgate 26 daysailer, a standard boat used by the Navy to teach basic sailing skills. The second boat is bigger, a forty-three-foot fishing boat. Donated by one of the local families, it’s been refurbished with the latest navigational gear. We’ll focus on the equipment once we’re aboard. The wooden fishing boat is a troller, the kind I’ve been on a million times with Dad. That doesn’t make me feel any better.

  There are five dinghies, three with oars, two with outboards, waiting to ferry us out to the boats. Floating in the pale-green shallows, the dinghies look small and insubstantial.

  A girl from lab hands out orange life jackets as I look at the last of the large boats, a forty-foot fiberglass motorboat. It’s an Alliaura Marine Jeantot Euphorie power catamaran. The name sounds like poetry, but that’s the only good thing about the boat, about any of the boats. Twenty feet wide, the gleaming white vessel is crammed with state-of-the-art navigational gear and can hold over thirty people. Nearly new, it must have cost hundreds of thousands of dollars. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out where the catamaran came from, or the daysailer. OZI.

  The scene is nothing less than picturesque, a postcard. Miss you. Wish you were here. The backside of the granite cliffs tapers gently down toward the water. Softly swaying pines and puffy white clouds complete the idyllic setting. My stomach is acid.

  “You can do this.” Logan reaches for me, his palms warm and dry against the clammy skin of my upper arms. The warmth of his hands makes me realize how cold I am.

  “My sweater.” Is that my voice so far away? “I left it in your car.”