by Ann Tatlock
“I would. I’ve made a huge mess of everything,” she said again.
“Hmm, maybe so,” he replied, “but there’s such a thing as second chances, you know.”
She shrugged but didn’t respond. She watched him pull on the oars. He was rowing slowly, as though they were out for pleasure.
“So why’d you leave the party?” he asked.
“They were doing some things I didn’t want to do.”
“Then I’m proud of you, Beka.”
“You shouldn’t be. I shouldn’t have gone in the first place.”
He laughed lightly. “Listen, honey, you’re talking to someone who’s been there. We all end up doing things we shouldn’t do. That doesn’t mean we’re stuck there. You did the right thing in leaving.”
She thought a moment. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“I hate to be the snitch, but soon as we get home we’ll call the police. Get them over there before anyone gets hurt.”
“Lena said someone bribed the police so they wouldn’t break up the party.”
He laughed again. “I doubt that. But if that’s the case, I’ll call the mayor. We’ll get someone over there.”
By now they were halfway across the lake. The flashlight on the other side was drawing closer. Rebekah could see the dark outline of someone on the dock, her mother, probably. She shrank at the thought of facing her. Of course Mom was mad. She would probably start yelling as soon as Rebekah was within hearing range.
Rebekah lifted her gaze to the sky beyond the cottage. It may have been her imagination, but the night seemed to be growing darker. The stars above the western horizon were gone, as if someone had flipped a switch and turned them off. She dropped the beam of the flashlight to the water then and watched curiously as the lake’s calm surface suddenly wrinkled. Small trails opened up and snaked toward the boat, followed by a wall of wind. Rebekah gasped, clutched the rim of the boat with her free hand while shining the flashlight toward her father. His face, caught in the light, was frozen and pale. He had stopped rowing. Both dripping oars hung suspended over the water.
“Dad?”
Before he could answer, the sky rumbled like a crumbling dam, dropping rain and hail over the lake. The water lashed back like a wild animal, kicking against the onslaught, churning out waves that beat against the boat. Thunder exploded around them while lightning jabbed at the shore.
Rebekah screamed. She batted her eyes against the torrent of cold rain and shivered as small pebbles of hail pelted her skin. She dropped the flashlight and held on to the boat with both hands as it thrashed about in the water.
She watched in disbelief as her father rose from his seat, reaching for an oar that had slipped from his hand. Even before he’d fully extended his arm, though, the oar was gone. He was still standing when another blast of wind slammed the boat. Rebekah screamed again, shutting her eyes against the wind and the rain and the terror. When she dared to open them, she was alone in the boat. She inhaled sharply, trying to make sense of what was happening.
“Dad!” she screamed. “Dad!”
But there was only wind and rain. And an empty seat. And one oar still held in its oarlock with no one to row it.
Odd how quiet it was beneath the surface of the lake, while overhead—only inches away—a storm raged. Wind. Thunder. Lightning. The lightning alone could stop his heart in a flash, if the water didn’t fill his lungs first.
But he wasn’t going to let the lake take him. Not without a fight. He had so much he needed to do. So many things he wanted to say. Still, the water was stronger than he could ever have imagined, and he felt himself held in a grip that was determined to pull him under.
Oh, God, help. . . .
His feet were bound by the weight of his shoes. He kicked his legs as though in slow motion. He used his arms to part the water over his head, to make a way out. He thought of only one thing: air. He was angry now, angrier than the lake, angry enough to break through the surface.
He could breathe! He ate the air hungrily while thrashing his arms. The rain had lessened, but the wind was still strong and the water still choppy. The waves slapped his face, threatened to drown him.
“Dad!”
Beka! Where was she? Where was the boat? He filled his lungs, gathered his strength. “I’m here! Here!” He waved an arm toward the sound of her voice.
Dear God, help me. . . .
“Dad!”
“Beka! Beka!”
“Grab the oar, Dad! Grab the oar!”
By the pale light of the moon, he saw it. He saw Beka in the boat, leaning over, thrusting the oar in his direction. He reached for it, but she was drifting, the boat was drifting.
“Dad, the life jacket! Catch it!”
He saw it fly from the boat in a narrow arc, land somewhere on the water. He flailed his arms, felt for it. It wasn’t there.
A wave pushed him under. There was that eerie silence again. He wasn’t going to give in to the silence.
He pulled himself up, into the air. He was tiring quickly now. He saw lights at the edge of the lake; he saw the moon, some stars. He couldn’t see the boat.
Oh, God, don’t let me die. . . .
“Dad! Daddy!”
Dear God, Beka! Please God, save Beka!
He hadn’t done what he was supposed to do. He hadn’t said all the things he was supposed to say. He hadn’t listened long enough to make things right with the children, with Andrea. Certainly not with Andrea. He had waited too long for something that would never come now.
He swallowed water, felt himself sinking. He heard a buzzing in his brain, like a swarm of bees beneath his skull. Then the waters closed over his head, and everything was black.
CHAPTER FIFTY
The lake was sleeping now, like a child drained by a tantrum. Rebekah sat on the end of the dock, clutching her knees to her chest. A morning breeze sailed across the surface of the water. The air was a riot of birdsong. Gulls soared against a gray sky, dipped squawking toward the lake, rose skyward again.
As she shut her eyes and listened, she became aware of the gentle drumming of the motorboat against the dock. It was a solitary player in the morning song, now that the rowboat was lost. The storm had carried it off, whirling, without oars, helpless. No doubt it would wash up on shore somewhere, sometime. In a day or two they could search for it, haul it home. Maybe they would. Probably they wouldn’t.
She wasn’t sure she would ever go out in a boat again. How could she, without remembering? For the rest of her life she would feel the rain and the wind and the hail. For as long as she lived, she would see her father struggling, his arms flailing. She would see him disappear beneath the surface of the water, reappear thrashing and gasping for breath, go under again.
Rebekah breathed deeply, as though to take in the air that her father’s lungs had needed. She heard again her own screams—“Dad! Daddy!”—as she saw him struggling to stay afloat. She thought of how she had tossed him the life jacket; she saw him reaching for it. But then there was only the jacket floating uselessly on the heaving waves.
The dock beneath her creaked softly. Someone was coming. Rebekah slowly let out her breath before turning her head to look. There was her mother in a blue cotton dress, her hair drawn back into a clip.
“What are you doing out here so early, Beka?” she asked. She didn’t sit but crossed her arms and looked out over the lake.
“Thinking.”
“Did you get any sleep at all?”
“Not much.”
Her mother sighed. “Are you all right?”
Rebekah was quiet a moment. “I just don’t know why he did it.” She had her eyes fixed on the Castle on the far side of the lake.
“You mean why he insisted on taking the boat?”
“That, and . . . why he gave me the life jacket. Why did he have to give me the life jacket?”
“Because he loves you, of course.”
A weighty silence fell over them. Finally Rebekah said, “Da
d and I both could have drowned, and it would have been my fault.”
“It would have been your father’s fault—”
“No, Mom.” Rebekah shook her head sharply. “I never should have gone to the party. Then nobody would have been out in the boat.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it? What’s done is done.”
“But Dad was never a good swimmer, you know.”
“Yes, I know that.”
“He shouldn’t have been out on the lake.”
“He wouldn’t listen to me. I tried to get him to call Owen, but he wouldn’t. He had to get you himself.”
Rebekah turned and looked up at her mother. “You know, Mom,” she said, “I don’t think I can ever really be mad at him again.”
Her mother’s face lighted up as she laughed. “Don’t count on it.”
“No, really, Mom. I mean, not like I was mad before. He was afraid of the water, but he was still willing to come and get me. He was even willing to . . .”
“To die saving you?”
Rebekah nodded. When she spoke, it was little more than a whisper. “Yeah. I’ve been thinking . . . I want to tell him . . .”
“Tell him what, Beka?”
“So many things. That I’m glad he came home, first of all. He didn’t have to, did he? I mean, after prison. He could have gone somewhere else and started a different life, but he came back to us.”
“Yes,” her mother conceded. “He didn’t have to, but he did come home.”
“I guess I wish I could go back to that first day and, you know, welcome him home a little bit nicer.”
“Well, it’s not too late, you know.” Mom nodded back toward the cottage. Rebekah followed with her eyes. Her dad, in dark shorts and white undershirt, stood on the porch steps. He lifted a hand, moved forward across the lawn and down the steep steps.
Rebekah rose to stand beside her mother as he approached.
When he reached them, he asked, “You two all right?”
Rebekah nodded.
Mom said, “Yes. We’re all right. Some night, though, huh?”
“Yeah.” Her father smiled sheepishly. “And some hero, huh?”
“But you are, Dad,” Rebekah blurted. “You are to me.” He shook his head. “If it hadn’t been for Billy’s getting the motorboat started . . . He’s the real hero.”
“You both are, Dad.”
He seemed not to hear. He was looking past her shoulder at something beyond her. “I never would have imagined Billy’s doing something like that. But he has no fear of the water, does he? And anyway, he’s all grown up now. He’s still got that determined streak, thank God.”
“Dad—”
“We’ll have to make sure he knows how proud of him we are, maybe do something special for him.”
“Dad?”
His eyes came to rest on her now. She locked onto his gaze to make sure he was listening.
“What is it, Beka?” His voice was gentle.
“I just wanted to say, well . . .” She glanced at her mom, back at her dad. “I’m glad you’re home.”
He blinked, looking puzzled. And then he seemed to hear the words and understand. He smiled. “Me too, Beka.”
“Only, Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“What if the kids at school find out we were the ones who called the cops?”
Her father frowned. Then his face opened up as he shrugged. “I guess I’ll just have to take you with me next time I do a dig in Peru. They’ll never find us there.”
Rebekah stiffened, chagrined by her old lie. But the feeling melted when she saw her father smile, heard him chuckle. Then they were laughing together.
“I don’t get it,” her mother said. “What’s this about Peru?”
“Just a little inside joke, Mom.”
“Oh. Well, then, while you’re making your plans, I think I’ll go up and make breakfast.”
When she was gone, Dad said to Rebekah, “You hungry?”
“Starving.”
He nodded toward the cottage. “Let’s go set the table for your mother.”
He held out an arm; she took it. Linked at the elbows, they moved along the dock toward shore.
“I hear Peru’s nice this time of year,” he said.
She pinched his arm and kept on walking.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
“Tell me again, Billy!” Phoebe begged.
Billy laughed. “I’ve told you a hundred times today, Phoebe. You should be able to tell me the story by now.”
“But I want to hear you tell it.”
“Well, all right.” He pretended to frown, though secretly he was happy that his little sister wanted to hear it again. She had followed him around all day like a shadow, wanting even more than usual to be with him. On top of that Dad had taken the whole family out to eat, not at Laughter’s Luncheonette but at that nice restaurant on the edge of town where they’d never eaten before. Billy had asked if they could afford it, and Dad had answered, “You let me worry about that, son. This dinner is in your honor, and the guest of honor doesn’t ask questions.” Billy had felt like a real hero then. It was just about the best day of his life.
Now he and Phoebe were face-to-face in the bay window, Phoebe sitting cross-legged in her pajamas, waiting eagerly for Billy to start. “One more time,” Billy told her, “and then you have to go to bed. Okay?”
“Okay.” Phoebe nodded, and Billy smiled at the way her blond curls bobbed around her face.
“Well,” he said, “you know how Beka’s car died. She was stuck over there. You know, at the Castle.”
“Uh-huh!”
“So she called Dad. ‘Come get me!’ But Mom’s car had a flat. So Dad said, ‘Billy, we’re going in the boat!’ He wanted me to drive.”
Billy beamed while Phoebe’s eyes danced in the artificial light of the lamp.
“But you couldn’t get that old motor to start!” she piped up.
“That’s right. I tried and tried. It wouldn’t start. So Dad got in the rowboat, and Mom told me, ‘Come on out of the motorboat.’ She said, ‘Shine the flashlight for Dad.’ ”
“But you wouldn’t do it, would you, Billy?”
“No, I wouldn’t!”
“Yup!”
“I hit the motor a couple of times with my hand.” Billy made a fist and pointed to the fleshy part below his pinky finger. “Bam, bam! Sometimes that helps, you know.”
“I bet you were mad, Billy.”
“Well, yeah I was. Dad left in the rowboat. Mom swung the flashlight. I kept pulling the cord.”
“And then what happened, Billy?”
“It started to rain. It rained like you never saw before. Just out of nowhere the rain was coming down and the wind was blowing”—Billy waved his arms—“and thunder was booming, and I almost fell out of the boat. Then Mom yelled, ‘Get out of the boat!’ She didn’t want me to be hit by lightning in an aluminum boat. So I crawled up to the dock. And it rained real hard. I started to get scared. I prayed, ‘God help us. God help us.’ Just like that, Phoebe, because I didn’t know what else to say.”
Phoebe, wide-eyed, whispered, “I think He heard you.”
“Yeah.” Billy nodded. “He did. Because the rain slowed down. And I got back in the boat. Mom was yelling at me, but I did it anyway. I got in the boat and tried one more time. And this time the motor started.”
“Oh my!” Phoebe clapped, then laced her hands together in anticipation.
“So I headed out, Phoeb. I headed to the Castle. But when I couldn’t see the rowboat I got scared. Then I heard someone yelling. It sounded like Beka. I turned the boat around and headed toward the yelling. I thought it had to be Dad and Beka. Who else would be out on the lake at night like that, you know?”
A nod from Phoebe.
“But it wasn’t Dad and Beka. It was just Beka. She was standing in the boat, and I saw her throw something into the lake.”
“And what was it, Billy?”
“It
was her life jacket. She was throwing away her life jacket, and I thought she was crazy. I didn’t know why she’d do that.”
“It was because Dad didn’t have a life jacket on.”
“That’s right, Phoeb.”
“He’d given her his.”
“Yup, that’s right.”
“And he was out in the water drowning.”
“Beka said she saw him go under.”
“What happened after that, Billy?”
“Beka saw me. She screamed at me, and you know how she can scream.”
A sympathetic nod this time.
“She said, ‘Dad’s drowned. Dad’s drowned.’ I didn’t want to believe it.” It didn’t matter how many times Billy told Phoebe about last night. Every time he reached this part, tears came to his eyes. He blinked them back. “I was going real slow, and I pulled up alongside the rowboat the best I could. I put the motor on idle and helped Beka get in the motorboat. She was screaming and crying. I was scared we’d both fall overboard if she didn’t stop. I made her sit down. I kneeled in front of her, and I put my hands on her shoulders and held on tight. She’d gone crazy, Phoebe. She kept saying she’d started the storm and killed Dad and it was all her fault. I shook her and told her to stop, but she kept screaming.
“I’ve never been so scared. Not ever,” he whispered. He looked past Phoebe into the night, remembering.
“But what about the hand, Billy?” Phoebe prompted.
He turned his gaze back to his sister’s eager face. “While Beka and I were crying and carrying on, the boat leaned way far over, and there was a hand holding on to the side!”
“It was Daddy!” Phoebe cried, clapping her hands again.
“Well, I didn’t know at first what it was, but I sure hoped it was Dad. I let go of Beka and reached over and grabbed that hand”—Billy grabbed the air—“and then another hand came up, and I grabbed it too, and then, Phoebe . . . then I was looking right into Dad’s face.”
“He was alive!”
“Yeah, he was. I yelled, ‘Dad! Dad!’ And you know what, Phoebe? I think he was kind of surprised to see me.”
Phoebe lifted two small fists to her mouth and giggled. “He must have thought you’d walked on water like Jesus to come save him.”
