And Then There Were Four

  Chapter 33. Caleb

  You investigate the boat. Après Ski comes with supplies: flashlights, life jackets, a blanket, a couple of oars, an ancient first-aid kit, flares, and several college sweatshirts.

  “Colgate! That’s where Cordelia went,” Kenyon exclaims when you hold one up.

  “You’re obsessed with college,” you say.

  Kenyon shakes her head. “I can’t believe none of you are. I mean, what do you guys want? For your future?”

  Your mind fuzzes.

  Saralinda shrugs. “I’m still figuring it out.”

  “Antoine had a clear plan,” Evangeline says. “He wanted to go to Boston College. He visited it last fall.”

  “And you?” Kenyon challenges Evangeline over her shoulder as she slides into the pilot’s seat with the manual and a flashlight. She scans diagrams as she touches the wheel, the throttle, and the dashboard instrumentation.

  “Oh, I just want my money,” Evangeline says airily. “Counting the hours.”

  You turn away, glad the girls are not pushing you for your answer. Because though a few seconds ago you bit your tongue on the old reflexive want—death—it’s not actually true anymore. When Evangeline said Antoine’s name just now another want welled up in you, an impossible one. You want Antoine to still be alive.

  You touch the copy of Dracula, which has miraculously stayed in your back pocket.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Kenyon says, and starts the engine. “Life jackets, people,” she adds as she leans over the dashboard and mutters, “The GPS seems like the one on my phone. What’s this?”

  “Radar,” says Evangeline, sliding into the seat next to Kenyon.

  “Great! Uh, what does radar do, exactly?”

  “It locates objects in the water so we won’t hit them.”

  “I like it.”

  You sit down in a rear seat beside Saralinda and put on your life jacket. For no reason at all you think of your mother. Before you abandoned your phone at the cottage, you received today’s text from her. I love you. You didn’t reply. You never do.

  With one hand on the throttle, slowly and carefully, Kenyon maneuvers the boat out of its slip. The navigation lights try to light the way, but the water ahead is black. As Evangeline gives advice (“Cut left, now right, okay . . .”), Kenyon guides the boat through the maze of the docks and out onto the open water, where the boat rocks alarmingly on the choppy waves. The wind is strong and cold and wet.

  You fold your arms around yourself. Saralinda does the same.

  Evangeline and Kenyon talk.

  “Wait, what? Evangeline, the GPS says those small islands are Fire Island! I thought we left Fire Island!”

  “We’re going west. We’re exactly where we’re supposed to be.”

  “What if we hit something?”

  “We won’t. The radar shows us obstructions, remember? You can steer around them just like you’d steer around something on the highway. We’re totally safe out here.”

  “Really.”

  “Every obstruction is mapped,” Evangeline says in a gentler voice. “Listen, you’re tense. Why don’t you take a nice deep breath, hold it in your lungs, exhale, and say Namaste. Okay? Na—”

  “Namaste, motherfucker,” Kenyon growls.

  You snicker. Saralinda giggles.

  “Fine,” says Evangeline. “Be like that.”

  The Boston Whaler jounces on the waves, with the lights of Long Island glowing alongside. The only sounds now are occasional soft instructions from Evangeline and muttered replies from Kenyon, along with the vicious chop of the ocean, the cut of the wind, and the reassuring low rumble of the boat’s engine in the back. Saralinda is a vague shadow beside you.

  It would be good to get some sleep, if possible. You say so to Saralinda.

  “I can’t shut off my mind.” Her voice is wry in the darkness.

  “Yeah. Me too.”

  Kenyon calls back, sounding a tiny bit more relaxed. “So you guys, guess what? I’m not so sure about going to Wellesley anymore.”

  “College again,” you say.

  “I’m thinking positively about the future, Caleb. You should try it.”

  “Why change your mind about Wellesley?” Evangeline asks.

  “Before all this happened, I thought I wanted to go to a women’s college and focus my world entirely on women. But now I’m thinking, they say you make lifelong friends at college. I already know I’ll marry a woman, so why miss the opportunity for male friendship?”

  You clear your throat. “So how about this Colgate place? Do they take men?”

  Kenyon says, “Yes.”

  Saralinda adds shyly, “Maybe we could all go there. Or—or somewhere, together. Is that—is that crazy?”

  “No,” says Evangeline. “Not crazy.”

  For a few minutes you let yourself dwell in a fantasy future in which you go to college and have friends. These friends. Only you can’t afford fantasy, and neither can the girls, not now. “Saralinda?” you say, more harshly than you intended.

  “What?”

  “Let’s talk about your mother. Is she in this—this game thing too?”

  “No! I don’t think so! You’re thinking about the murder swap idea, right? No! I mean—I—” She stutters to a stop and then adds in a low voice, “She loves me.”

  Kenyon says, “Saralinda, you have to consider the possibility. You guys, the story is that Saralinda’s mother is single, and Saralinda is sick a lot. It wasn’t the parental experience that her mother signed up for . . .”

  “Seems like an unlikely reason to kill your kid,” Evangeline observes. “But she did call you when we were at the cottage, Saralinda. And she’d been talking to Caleb’s father.”

  As slowly as if the words are being dragged out of her by force, Saralinda says, “Yesterday I found out my mother is adopting another daughter. A little girl named Tori. She kept it secret from me.” She tells all of you about accidentally discovering the adoption papers. “I was so excited. I had a whole Disney movie going in my head about having a sister.”

  Evangeline nods thoughtfully. “How old is she?”

  “Three.”

  “Easily controlled,” says Kenyon. “Why’s she adopting? Is she too old to have another baby herself?”

  “Probably, my mother is fifty-three. And—”

  The boat rocks violently sideways. You and Saralinda are thrown to the deck. You grab for her at the same moment that you hear a very loud, very unnatural noise.

  It’s fiberglass smashing. All three of the girls scream. You too, although you would prefer to say that you yell.

  The Boston Whaler has hit a rock.

  Chapter 34. Saralinda

  I land on the deck of the boat and scramble with one hand for Georgia, who is there under my fingers not lost overboard thank God. Caleb has grabbed me by the life jacket and I grab back at him with the hand that isn’t making sure of Georgia. He and I tangle together helped by another terrible heave of the boat, it bobs up and down and Caleb holds me tight and my foremost thought is that I did not like the sound of whatever happened when we hit whatever it was we hit.

  Caleb loosens his grip on me and we both crawl up on our knees and there is no mistaking what has happened because the bottom of the boat is filling up with water.

  “Don’t panic!” I yell, as much to myself as to everyone else. “The manual said this boat is unsinkable!”

  “Do you believe everything you read?” Evangeline yells back.

  Yet the boat is not listing to one side, it is sort of floating partly submerged like a wounded rubber ducky in a giant horrible tub, so I dare to hope.

  Only then Evangeline shouts:

  “Kenyon? Kenyon!”

  Now I remember hearing a big splash and a scream (well, we were all screaming), and I am on m
y feet sloshing toward the front of the boat with Caleb. Evangeline has the flashlight aimed down into the ocean where—we see her—Kenyon thrashes in the black water. She is yards from the boat, she is in her life vest at least, only she is not screaming for help which scares me.

  I call her name as Evangeline kicks off her shoes and jumps into the ocean at a distance from Kenyon. She surfaces.

  I pray.

  Caleb grabs the flashlight and directs its beam out toward the bobbing heads.

  Kenyon windmills her arms wildly. Evangeline swims a short distance away and treads water. Her lips move but I can’t hear what she’s saying.

  “I can’t swim,” I say to Caleb.

  “I can. I’ll go.” Caleb toes off his shoes.

  I grab his arm and it’s not that I am afraid of his leaving me (though I am), but that I have an idea. “No, instead, can you turn off the motor?” Because crazily the motor is still running. “It’s taking us away from them.”

  Caleb nods and seconds later the thrum of the motor stops, and now I hear Evangeline shouting.

  “Get onto your back, Kenyon! Remember, you’re in a life vest. You’re going to float. Do you hear me?” She keeps her distance while Kenyon makes very bad swimming motions with frantic arms.

  “I need you to float on your back, Kenyon,” Evangeline calls again.

  “Why won’t she just go get her?” I mutter to Caleb, who is beside me again.

  “People who think they’re drowning sometimes drown their rescuer, because they’re panicking,” he whispers in my ear, and then adds, “Tell me if I should go help.” Instinctively I grab his hand and he grips mine back.

  Evangeline’s hoarse voice turns rhythmic. “You’re going to float, Kenyon. The vest holds you up. Be still!”

  Kenyon stops thrashing for a few seconds but then she starts again. My heart is in my throat.

  “Are you a good swimmer?” I ask Caleb, and the way his fingers tighten tells me the answer. “Then no,” I say in a definite voice as if I knew what I was talking about which I do not. “Evan is handling this.”

  Evangeline says, “Just let the vest hold you up. It will keep you safe, and then I’ll come and get you. Once you are still, I will come and get you. But not before. Only after you are still.”

  Kenyon’s frantic splashing slows.

  “Good. As you slow down, remember to breathe. Breathe deeply, in and out, as you shift to lie on your back.” Then Evangeline adds, “Namaste, Kenyon!”

  I gasp, but somehow this is the right thing to say because Kenyon shifts until she’s floating on her back, bobbing on the waves.

  “Let the life vest hold you up. Do you feel how it does that?”

  Kenyon says, clearly, “Yes.”

  “Say: The life vest will hold me.”

  “The life vest will hold me.”

  “Say Namaste.”

  “I’ll say Namaste when I’m dead.”

  “That proves it. You’re fine,” says Evangeline and swims toward her, a powerful breaststroke with her head above the water.

  “It’s going to be okay,” Caleb says in my ear.

  I continue praying as hard as I can.

  Evangeline is now behind Kenyon. “I’m here. Feel that? That’s my hand.”

  Kenyon tries to turn toward Evangeline.

  “No, stay still! Stay entirely still or I’ll go away. Don’t grab me!”

  “Don’t go!” It is a piteous wail.

  “I won’t go. I want to make sure you understand. You are not to do anything. You are not to help me. Stay still and let me do the work. I’ll tow you. All right? Say my name so I know you understand.”

  Kenyon’s voice is strong again. “First you say mine.”

  “Fine. Kenyon.”

  “Evangeline.”

  “Good. Now—I’ve got you. You’re safe. I’m going to swim you over to the boat. It’s not far.” Evangeline raises her voice. “Where are you guys?”

  Caleb directs the flashlight. “Head toward the light!”

  “We’re not quite ready for that, buddy.”

  I choke back a laugh.

  Caleb says, “We’ll hold an oar for you to grab.”

  It seems like a long time before they are beside the boat, reaching. Caleb and I haul them up. They are on the deck at last dripping and shivering. Caleb helps Kenyon into a seat. Evangeline stands, leaning over with her hands on her knees and her eyes closed.

  Caleb says, “Hypothermia danger. Saralinda, get the blanket and sweatshirts.”

  I grab them, glad to have something to do. “Evangeline, that was amazing. Were you a lifeguard or something?”

  Without opening her eyes, Evangeline says, “At camp.”

  Kenyon says, “I went to Bible camp once, but all we did was learn about hoarding supplies in case of the apocalypse.”

  “Nonsense,” says Evangeline, panting. “I’m sure they taught you to make s’mores.”

  Chapter 35. Caleb

  You turn away politely as the trembling Kenyon and Evangeline work on stripping off their wet clothes, sopping away water—yeah, good luck with that, considering all the water sloshing in the bottom of the boat—and getting into the sweatshirts and the dryer life jackets previously worn by you and Saralinda.

  It’s all the clothing you have for them.

  Saralinda leans in next to you. She is a warm spot in an ocean of cold. “We have flares,” she says.

  You nod. Yes. You could summon rescue.

  “That will bring in the Coast Guard,” you point out.

  “Or some other boater. Somebody we can spin a story to. We could give them false names, maybe?” Saralinda chews her lip. “Let’s think.”

  You doubt if it makes a difference who comes, Coast Guard or otherwise. Communication is too swift, too good. Après Ski will be identified. It’ll be known that you are not its owners. All roads lead to parental custody.

  On the bright side—

  “Maybe we should embrace getting arrested,” you say. “Immediately confess to stealing the boat.” You look at Evangeline and Kenyon, who are now more or less dressed. “Let’s get ourselves into a nice safe jail cell. Hey, won’t they have to get us lawyers?”

  Saralinda makes a noise of approval. “Lawyers! Now there’s a thought.”

  “We’d get handed over to the custody of our parents or guardians,” says Kenyon firmly. In the oversized sweatshirt, with her wet hair and bare legs, and her arms wrapped around herself, Kenyon looks as small as Saralinda. “You think random lawyers might believe us and decide to be our allies? Hardly. Also, it’s an entirely different thing to go to the police voluntarily, up front. This way, we’re dragged in, having stolen and wrecked somebody’s boat.”

  “We don’t have a lot of options,” Saralinda says worriedly.

  Evangeline slicks her hair back with both hands. “I see another choice,” she announces. “We continue as originally planned.”

  You and Saralinda exchange glances. Maybe Evangeline cracked her head.

  Saralinda begins, “Evan—”

  Evangeline raises a hand. “Hear me out. This boat floats. Sort of. It’ll be slower, with all the water, but we have a working motor and a rudder. Also, the tide is going in. I bet we can still get ashore on our own steam.”

  “I like it,” says Kenyon after a moment.

  “I think you’ve both lost it,” Saralinda says with uncharacteristic harshness. “We can’t possibly get to Manhattan by boat now!”

  “Not Manhattan. The nearest dry land.” Evangeline throws up her arms. “Any dry land.”

  Chapter 36. Saralinda

  Grimly I hold the boat wheel steady with two hands and keep Georgia safely trapped under my equally good foot. I am happy that I did not lose Georgia in the collision which I cannot say for my insulin kit, it was in my b
ackpack which went over the side, my mother is right I am not sufficiently responsible.

  At least the boat’s motor thrums reassuringly which makes me love it, a kind of Stockholm Syndrome love which is a psychological response in which you get attached to someone (usually a kidnapper) because your subconscious decides that identifying with that person lowers the odds that they will kill you. Stockholm Syndrome is interesting to read about but not to experience, however if while drained and exhausted I imagine that the motor will not break or run out of gas because I praise it under my breath, where is the harm?

  All of which is to indicate that (insulin loss aside, I will worry about that later, as it is not an immediate emergency) my current job is not proving easy physically or mentally. Kenyon and Evangeline have been forbidden to help (by me) because their job is to huddle and get warm, and there are only two active jobs available anyway: navigating like Caleb is doing and driving like I am. Much as I hate what I am doing it is not as difficult as I thought and I would much rather drive than navigate because what if I were to steer us into another rock? (I wonder if the accident was Evangeline’s fault or Kenyon’s or maybe a malfunction of the radar, oops don’t want to go there.)

  Caleb squints at the dashboard display leaning close to me to do it, he is no longer wearing his shirt by the way because he gave it to Evangeline and also by the way he has very nice shoulders and arms. Even though a girl is tired she notices how a dim flashlight beam throws interesting shadows over muscles and how shadows linger on those muscles—focus, I must focus.

  I am saved by a witty thought. “Hey! We’re all in the same boat here,” I say. Humor should be shared it is a gift to the world. Nobody laughs so I helpfully explain. “Being in the same boat is a metaphor about being in a bad situation which for us is ironically literal.” I snicker.

  Kenyon says, “We got it, SL. It’s not that funny.”

  “It’s not entirely bad,” Caleb says but since he didn’t laugh I conclude he is being polite. Nobody gets me which truly is their loss, fine. I snicker again and have trouble stopping but then I manage (focus, must focus).