She sighed and refocused on her painting. “If Martin’s letting Gabby go, I guess it’s okay.”
“Thanks, Mom.” I pecked her cheek and ran for the front door. I found Calder sitting at the end of our dock.
“Hey, you!” I called. He turned and waved. “You never got your coffee this morning.”
“Professional hazard,” he said. “Unexpected exits.”
“Were you going to let me know you were out here?” I asked, taking a seat beside him on the dock.
“I’m watching your dad. He’s truly amazing. I don’t think there’s anything more for me to teach him. See?” He pointed and I caught the flash of a dark shape in the water. You had to know what you were looking for to see it. I wondered if Jack was out there right now, looking.
I waved at Dad in a big sweeping, overhead gesture. He stared at me blankly, then dove.
“A black tail?” I asked. I don’t know why, but I assumed he’d be silver like Calder.
“Same as Maris’s,” he said. “He’s just as fast, too. He takes off on me all the time, and unless he stops, I have no chance of catching up. He’s good at this, Lily. Maybe too good.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s getting harder and harder to convince him the day is over. You said he’s barely been home? When’s the last time you talked to him?”
I didn’t answer and Calder nodded, saying, “That’s what I thought. So, I’m still planning on that concentrated time together that we talked about, but first, I promised him we’d take another stab at finding Maris.”
A few days ago, this news would have thrown me into a solid funk. But things had changed. Although the idea of Maris and Dad in close proximity still made my heart race, I was actually excited for some more private time to continue my breath control experiments. So far I’d succeeded in holding my breath for a solid four minutes, but I was pretty sure I could make it to five.
“That’s probably smart,” I said. “Judging by Jack this morning, he’s not doing any better.”
“Yeah.” Calder picked at some loose strings on the edge of his shorts. “You’re doing it again, y’know.”
“Doing what?”
“Giving a chameleon a helluva run for his money. You’re changing colors as fast as someone flipping through a book.”
“Shut up.”
He glanced at me, and the bridge of his nose crinkled. “Excitement, anxiety, excitement, anxiety, back and forth, back and forth. I could handle that, except for the little bit of fear that keeps leaking in.”
“You have a very, very active imagination.” I gave him a shove. He didn’t budge.
“I’ll miss you,” he said. “Don’t forget that. I’ll be thinking about you every minute I’m gone.”
“Good,” I said, smiling encouragingly. “Now go. Dad’s waiting. And tell him it wouldn’t hurt to spend some more time around the house. For Mom.”
“You know I have been. But there’s something more you wanted to tell me?”
I’d almost forgotten. “I’m going camping on Manitou Island tonight, and I have no idea what kind of trouble I’m going to get into.”
“None,” he said. “I’ll see you there.” Then he pulled away, a worried expression still playing in his eyes.
“Go,” I said, standing up. “I promise I’ll be good.”
“Just stay on land,” he said.
I gave him a salute and clicked my heels. He shook his head and dove.
When Calder and Dad disappeared from view, I turned back toward the house. Sophie was watching from her bedroom window, looking down at me. I waved feebly. Had she seen Dad?
I didn’t take the time to find out. I ran to the house and dug in the kitchen junk drawer until I came up with an old stopwatch Dad used back when he used to coach track. It was pretty basic by today’s standards. But it would do the trick.
I had my own training to do.
18
CAMPING
Later that afternoon, Gabby, Jack, and I threw our camping gear into the Pettits’ Sun Sport. I found a seat at the stern. The only reason I was excited to go was that Calder had promised to meet me there, although I couldn’t imagine how that was going to work. There was no way he’d sit around a campfire with Jack—even if it was easier to stomach Jack’s moods in the dark—and we couldn’t risk Jack publicly accusing Calder of being a merman.
Gabby untied the bowline knot and held the line as Jack backed their boat away from the slip. At the last possible moment, Gabby stepped from the dock onto the side rail as Jack shifted from reverse to forward, and we pulled away from the marina.
I watched uselessly as Gabby scampered around the deck, pulling in the white rubber bumpers, and tightening this or loosening that. She gestured for me to stand and she lifted the lid of my bench seat, exposing a deep storage unit. She dropped two bumpers inside the compartment and was about to close the lid when she paused.
She reached inside and pulled out the sleeve of a jetblack wet suit. She tapped Jack on the shoulder and showed it to him, yelling over the engine, “Why is Dad’s old wet suit in here?”
Jack shrugged and furrowed his brow. He left the wheel for a second to stuff the rubber suit back into storage. He closed the lid and jerked his head at me to sit down again. Which I did gladly, because the boat was rising and falling over the ferry’s wake in spine-crushing jolts.
Jack threw the throttle into a higher gear and raced the twelve miles to Manitou Island, cutting the lake between Madeline and Basswood. I wanted so desperately to see if I could catch a glimpse of Maris and Pavati’s campsite on Basswood, but I didn’t dare look.
Jack wanted to get up to Manitou fast. He said he didn’t want to set up camp in the dark. I wondered if he just wanted to get there in time to make an appearance and then ditch us first chance he got. I mentioned that theory to Gabby. She only said, “So what if he does? At least we got a ride out.”
By the time we arrived, a dozen people were there. Blue and green tents spotted the campground. Two other boats were anchored offshore. Jack killed the engine and pocketed the key. He opened another storage unit and pulled out a cinder block with a long heavy chain.
“What’s that?” Gabby asked, reaching for it.
Jack knocked her hand away. “I lost the anchor,” Jack said. “I had to make a homemade one. Don’t tell Dad.” He glanced furtively at us as he attached the chain to a metal loop at the back of the boat and dropped the block, which made a deep sucking sound as it went under.
Gabby pulled off her sweatshirt and stuffed it in her duffel bag.
“So we swim the rest of the way in?” I asked.
“Go for it, if you don’t mind hypothermia,” she said, “but I’m catching a ride.” She pointed toward shore. Brady Peterman was rowing out to us in a dinghy.
By the time the sun set, there were around twenty kids in the campground. Most of them had graduated from Bayfield High School with Jack, although a few were from Cornucopia, including one whom I recognized as Serious Boy from the woods. I didn’t have to wonder if the recognition was mutual. He sat directly opposite me across the campfire, and he fixed his eyes on me, following my every move. It was like those creepy portraits in haunted houses with the eyes that shifted. I leaned left, his eyes went right. I leaned right, he narrowed his eyes and whispered to his friend.
I tried to end the war of stares by moving my chair closer, but it didn’t help. “Stay away from him,” the other Cornucopia boy said. I wondered if he had been one of the other baseball players I’d seen in the woods with Serious Boy, but I couldn’t recall his face.
“Excuse me?” I asked.
“You heard me,” said the boy.
“No, I’ve got this,” said Serious Boy.
“Lily,” I said, extending my hand. Serious Boy looked at my hand without taking it. He stood up quickly and walked away from the circle. The other boy followed, putting his hand on Serious Boy’s shoulder.
I moved back to m
y original spot and listened while Jack’s former classmates traded stories about their freshman years at UW and Marquette and Notre Dame. Jack poked at the fire with a long stick, now charred and smoking. When Serious Boy returned, Jack and he exchanged a few words. Serious Boy’s friend decided to cozy up to Gabby. So now there was no one for me to talk to.
Over the din of other conversations, I heard Serious Boy ask Jack, “Did she come with you?” He tipped his head in my direction. Jack looked up from the fire and met my eyes.
“Yeah. Guess so.”
“Do you think that’s smart?” Serious Boy asked.
“Probably not,” Jack said, smirking, “but I don’t think people expect that much from me anymore.” He jabbed at the coals, sending a shower of sparks into the air.
I pretended not to be able to hear. They didn’t seem to think I could. Was this another mermaid stat to add to my list? Was my hearing really keener than before?
I yawned and removed a poncho from my bag, pulling it over my head. It was a nonchalant thing to do; hopefully, they wouldn’t realize I was paying such close attention to their conversation.
“Yeah, we’ve heard about that,” said Serious Boy, and Jack looked at him sharply to see if he was picking a fight. “Hey, no worries, man. We believe you.”
Jack and I both waited for the punch line, but it didn’t come. My heart pounded furiously in my chest. Calder had said it would only take one to believe Jack.
“No one else will, though,” Serious Boy said, passing a bag of chips that was making its way around the circle.
“I’ll just have to try harder,” Jack said. He sounded confident, but across the circle I could see Jack’s sad eyes glistening in the firelight.
After that, they had nothing more to say to each other, and I grew impatient with the other conversations around the campfire.
A golden retriever lay under one guy’s chair. Now and then the dog lifted her head and sniffed the air, piquing her ears. Then she’d lay her head back down on her feet. I watched her closely. When Calder arrived, she’d be the first to know.
The campfire danced in the darkness, and as the wind switched, we’d get up and shuffle our chairs around the circle to avoid the smoke. Someone would say, “Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit,” to dispel the fumy cloud—which didn’t really work. By midnight, our game of musical chairs had me sitting by a guy named Connor.
“Who are you looking for?” Connor asked. “You keep looking around like you’re expecting someone.”
“Oh, no,” I said. “Not really.”
“I don’t really know anyone here either. I came up to visit my college roommate. That’s him there.” Connor pointed toward the tents where a group of guys were talking and shoving each other. “His name’s Erik. He graduated from Bayfield.”
Connor was smaller than the rest of the Bayfield crew: a tennis player, not football. After our initial introductions, he didn’t say much, which I appreciated, but he laughed too loud, and he rarely distinguished between what was truly funny and what was just plain stupid. He was harmless, but after a while, it got on my nerves. I got up to leave.
Serious Boy watched me stand and asked, “Going somewhere?”
“Do you have a problem with that?” I asked.
Gabby pulled away from the other boy long enough to ask if I wanted her to come with me and guard the outhouse door.
“No need,” I said.
“Take this,” Connor said, and he handed me his flashlight. “It’s pretty dark once you get away from the campfire.”
“At least there’s one gentleman in the group,” I said, and I think Serious Boy got the hint.
In the dark, the ground seemed more uneven than it did in the daylight. I staggered a little as I walked, sending beams of light zigzagging off the canopy of trees like a laser light show. A jar light mounted at the peak of the outhouse roof lit the way and kept me on course. A swarm of moths competed for the light. I was nearly there when a pale arm darted out from the trees and yanked me into the woods.
“Would you please stop doing that!” I whined. “That is so annoying. How long have you been out here?”
“Since sunset,” Calder said.
“I’ve been waiting all night for you,” I said curtly. “Maybe you should try being a little less antisocial.”
“No, I’m good.” He took me into an embrace, curling me up in his lap between a moss-covered rock, and a shaggy cedar tree. He touched his lips gently to mine, and the tingle of electricity off him felt like humming through a comb.
“Someone will come looking for me if I don’t get back soon,” I said, although I didn’t really believe it.
“Not for a while,” he whispered; then his lips were at my ear. “Who are you sharing a tent with?”
“Gabby, of course.”
“I’ve got another option, if you’re interested.”
“I’m interested.”
He leaned back and admired whatever colors I was putting off. They must have been bright because it was enough to attract a trio of white moths that flew halos above my head.
“But I do have a reputation to maintain,” I said.
“What’s that?” he asked, smirking. “Moody city girl? Or were you going for the less emo, artistic out-of-towner? I’ve been listening for hours, and you’ve barely said two words since dinner. And who wears a … what is this?”
“It’s a poncho. It’s chenille.”
Calder shook his head. “Who wears a chenille poncho on a camping trip?” He took two fingers and flipped the pompon ties that hung under my chin.
“The wind is cold,” I said.
“I didn’t think the cold ever bothered you.”
“That only applies to the lake, and it’s easier to stay warm when you’re around, but since you weren’t … I guess I had to resort to inappropriate outerwear.”
He kissed me quiet. “When everyone else goes to bed, you go, too. I’ll come wake you later.”
It was harder to pay attention to the campfire banter after that. Serious Boy had grown quiet, and he was the only one I was interested in hearing from anyway. Once or twice he looked at me with a strange wistfulness that made me squirm in my chair.
As the night drew on and people got tired, the conversation slowed. Some people seemed to be asleep in their chairs. Others got up and quietly retreated to their tents. Gabby snuck off with Serious Boy’s friend. Looked like I was going to have the tent to myself.
Before I had time to consider what that might mean, Brady broke the long silence with a sentence that brought everyone back from the dead: “So how goes the mermaid hunt, Jack?”
Serious Boy looked up quickly, his eyes wide and intent, first on me and then on Jack. There was a beat of silence, then the fire cracked on a pine log. Connor looked around the circle. “What’s this?” he asked.
“Jack here thinks we should spray mermaid repellant around our campsite,” said Brady. Connor snorted, then—when he noticed Jack’s serious expression—laughed so hard he fell out of his chair.
Jack glared at him in the darkness, vitriol in his eyes.
19
CONCENTRATED TIME
My dad always said if anything good was going to happen, it would happen before midnight. That was the rationale for my twelve o’clock curfew back when we lived in Minneapolis. Of course, he was wrong. Dead wrong. Even when I was in junior high, slumber party conversations didn’t get deep and interesting until after one. The same was true with dating a merman. Nothing compared to a midnight swim—our first real swim, alone, since returning to the lake. If this was what Calder meant by “concentrated time,” he could have it whenever he wanted.
“I thought you didn’t want me in the water,” I said when he brought me up for air.
“Just this once,” he said. “For old time’s sake.”
The Big and Little Dippers filled the sky with a light that held its own against the pale disk of the moon and stirred the lake into a rich navy, with black ripples, lik
e a Van Gogh painting. The only other light was the reflection of the silver-sequined tail that propelled us forward and kept us buoyant when we stopped to appreciate the time alone together. When the moon hit it, a dazzling spray of twinkly lights scattered across the surface of the water. It was like dancing under a disco ball, and it was like choreography, slow and twirling.
Calder would extend his arm, letting me out as far as I could go while maintaining contact, and then he’d pull me in so close his heart pounded in my ears. He circled me over and twisted me down. Sometimes I wondered if he was reliving the experience of taking a life. I didn’t like to think of another girl in this dance with him. But I could at least revel in the knowledge that he got more from our dance than he had from any other. For now, Calder still found all his happiness in me—and he didn’t have to kill me to get it.
At one point I heard the soft sound of the letter L lilting under the water. Like a song: luh, luh, luh. And then the word love. It startled me because I didn’t know where the thought came from: him or me?
“I’ve missed this,” he said.
“You don’t have to,” I responded, impressed that the most perfect words came to mind in time to speak them. Usually they came to me in the middle of the night, allowing me to only wish I’d said them.
“I guess I don’t,” he said, and we dove, his mouth on mine as we serpentined the rocks and sandbars. I accepted the air I didn’t really need and kept my eyes closed so I wouldn’t betray my secret.
It was too dark to see anyway, and Calder seemed to navigate more by sound than sight. I imagined I could almost hear the vibrations and tinny nuances of the varying topographies of the lake. The pictures played on my mind like a sonar image, but I didn’t open my eyes to verify whether there was any truth to my imagination. I would have been too disappointed to find out I was wrong. Pretending was so much better.
An hour or two later, Calder brought us back to a small strip of sand not far from the campsite. I let go of him and swam up to the shore, walking the last few feet, my clothes saturated and plastered to my body.