Sharks & Boys (7 page)

Burr and Skate’s parents were the only people who died. Their wounds must have been massive, because the funeral was closed-casket. It was so surreal. Burr spoke. Skate sobbed. I wore a black pantsuit, sat still, and repeated over and over again:
This is part of life, this is part of life.
But this strategy did little to help me get on top of my sadness. I felt clobbered by despair. I kept looking in disbelief at the Riggses’ caskets. They were inside of them. People I’d known my whole life—
people I loved
—were dead. At one point, I heard a man sitting one pew ahead of me whisper into another man’s ear that it had been a blessing that the Riggses were taken together and so quickly.

I find it hard to characterize being mortally wounded while seated in coach class on a commercial airliner the day before your twentieth anniversary as anything other than a tragedy. I mean, they orphaned their twin boys. I can’t imagine what that feels like, to be a teenager and an orphan. Most of the time, I feel totally lost, and I’ve got two parents. Okay, so they’re both pretty flawed. But I have them.

Mr. and Mrs. Riggs’s deaths shook everyone. My impulsive father even went out and bought an expensive life insurance policy the very next week. My mother started taking me out to lunch at fancy restaurants every other Thursday. The night of the funeral, Landon came into my room. He stood in my doorway blotchy-faced and crying. He just stared at me.

I said, “I know how you feel.”

He said, “No, you don’t.”

Then he told me that he loved me. He said I was the most important person in his life. I remember not being sure if that was true. I’m still not sure. Other people dying has that effect on you. It makes you feel panicked, and depressed, and grateful, all at once.

The smell of the Riggses’ house is starting to make me feel nauseated. I put the towel in the corner farthest from me. I need to figure out how to get out of this bathroom.

I see a little lock shaped like a small button on the door, and I press it down. It makes me feel better, like I’ll have some warning before I get caught. God, I hope I can get off this boat without getting caught. I can’t think of a good reason to explain why I’m in this tiny bathroom. Right now I feel very doomed.
Gretchen
isn’t even a stripper. It’s just the name of this dumb boat.

The guys can’t stay here forever. Once they leave, I’ll leave. Problem solved. I keep trying to get comfortable, but the Subaru keys dig into my skin near my hip bone. They’ve clawed a hole in my skirt pocket, which annoys me to no end. I hate damaging borrowed goods. I take the keys out of my pocket and set them on the sink next to a small rectangle of soap. The shabby beige bar looks like the kind that you get for free in hotels. When I think of hotels, I think of the Sheraton and my mother, whom I should never have left. I feel like crying. If anyone opens this door, I’m going to look like that stereotypical teenage girl who has a public meltdown and loses her mind. The one who spends her entire high school existence trying to live down her reputation for being freaky. But she never quite gets there.

Time
has passed, but I’m not sure how much. I fell asleep, sitting right here on the can. Miniature bottles of shampoo and conditioner are scattered at my feet. The car keys have slid into the sink’s bowl along with the beige soap. Waves must rock ships even when they’re tied to the dock. I reach to pick up the bottles, but the ship jerks and they slide out of my grasp. I also lose my balance and fall onto the floor.

“The door’s locked,” Sov states loudly. “I can’t get it open.”

I reseat myself on the toilet. This isn’t good news.

“Pee off the side,” Dale says.

I’m surprised by that suggestion, because the other boats in the marina are so close to this one; it seems indecent. But then again, it’s Dale’s suggestion, and when it comes to decency, he lacks a lot.

“I’m not pissing in the Atlantic in this storm,” Sov says.

“Dude, if you fall in, I’ll personally toss you a life preserver,” Dale says. “You know how to dog-paddle, right?”

They must be standing in the kitchen area, because I can hear them just fine.

“There’s sharks,” Sov says.

This makes no sense to me. We’re in the harbor; we’re not in the Atlantic.

“Pee off the side or hold it. I’m not going to jimmy the lock when I’ve already given you a better solution.” I hear Dale climb the stairs, and his voice grows softer. “Burr and Skate want to watch the sunrise from the water.”

That sucks. This means that the ship is actually out to sea. That I’m actually out to sea. Now there’s no sneaking off. I’m here. I’m stuck on this thing until morning. And Sov is going to pee himself and it’s all my fault.

The boat jerks again. I can’t let Sov wet himself. Or risk falling into the Atlantic. Even though it’s completely stupid of me, I decide to open the door.

“Sov,” I whisper. “Sov, come here.”

He stands before me in flip-flops, jeans, and a pale yellow polo shirt.

“What are you doing here?” he asks. “Why are you so dressed up? What’s wrong with your hair?”

“Keep your voice down,” I say. I reach out, grab hold of his arm, and ignore the hair question. Hasn’t he ever heard of humidity? “Listen, I came from a wedding. I realize that I’m overdressed. You can come in here and use the toilet, but you can’t tell anyone that I’m here, okay?”

“Are you here to see Wick? Is this about your breakup?” Sov asks.

“So, he’s mentioned it?” I ask. “Did he call it a breakup or did he say we were on a break? Because there’s a huge difference between those two things.”

“Enid, I have to pee.”

“Okay, but don’t tell Wick I’m here. I drove down because I thought I had some things I wanted to discuss with him, but I’ve rethought it. Once we dock, I plan to leave and wait to talk to him back in Vermont.”

“Good idea,” he says.

I nod.

“Okay,” he says. “But I can’t use it with you in here.” He’s biting his bottom lip and he looks like he’s in pain.

“Yeah, but where do you want me to go?” I ask. “I need to stay hidden.”

He twists out of my grasp and turns around. I think it’s over, that my cover is blown. Instead, he comes back holding a wicker clothes hamper.

“Hide in here,” he says.

I look at it and know immediately that I’m too tall to fit.

“I’ll cover you with this,” he says, holding up a sheet. “We’ll put you in the corner. I need to use the toilet and I won’t pee in the Atlantic. That’s dangerous.”

I hurry out of the bathroom and bang my shin on a bolted-down chair. I pick up the hamper and move it to the corner next to the full-size bed and climb in. Sov hands me a pillow and tosses a sheet over me.

“Thanks, Enid. I won’t tell anyone.”

Sov enters the bathroom and shuts the door. I feel like a decent human being for putting him out of his suffering. The wicker pokes through my shirt, and scrapes against my bare legs. Also, my left ankle is wrenched into an unnatural and painful position. I would make a lousy magician’s assistant.

Sov exits the bathroom and thanks me again.

I lift my head out of the hamper, like a slow-moving jack-in-the-box, and tell him, “No problem.”

After he’s gone, I settle back down. As I sit in the hamper I contemplate which is worse: getting caught in the bathroom, or being discovered scrunched-up in the dirty clothes basket. Each one comes with its own distinct humiliation. I’m getting ready to crawl out of the hamper and retreat to the toilet again, when the boat jerks suddenly, knocking the hamper over.

I clunk onto the floor, banging my head pretty hard. The ship lunges the other way—violently—and I feel like I’m going to be sick.

“Jesus! Skate, we need to go back to shore,” Landon yells.

I know things are serious. I’ve never heard Landon yell like that before. Because I don’t know what to do, I stay on the ground halfway inside the hamper. The boat keeps rolling me around on the floor. I can’t control where my body goes. I knock into every wall, and things from the kitchen cupboards begin to shower down on me. Glass jars break open. A coffee can topples onto my head, and the plastic lid pops off, caking my hair in a dark, bitter powder.

Upstairs, the wind is howling. I can hear the guys yelling at each other. I crawl off the floor and sit on the bed. It’s cold, and the air is thick with mist. I feel very alone. Maybe I should go upstairs. Does it matter if I get caught? The boat lurches up and down. It feels like we’re free-falling from one tall wave to the next. One plunge is so bad, I actually slam against the ceiling, banging the barrette into my scalp.

As I hold my aching head, I see water begin to tumble down the stairs. This is hard for me to process. It feels like I must be dreaming. I don’t know why, but I reach down and take off my shoes. I hold them close to me. I don’t want to lose them. They’re my mother’s.

“We’re okay,” Burr yells. “She’s a big ship.”

I hear Wick cry out. But I can’t make out the words that he’s saying. The muddled sounds make my skin goose-pimple and the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Burr and Skate are ordering the guys around, telling them to do things with the sails. Dale must be the one steering the ship. I haven’t heard Sov or Munny say anything. I hope they weren’t knocked overboard. Water continues to flow down the stairs. It mixes with all the crud that’s been spilled on the floor, resulting in a nasty-looking soup. How much water can a ship hold? Should I find a bucket and try to bail with it? Is that what people do in situations like this? I stay seated on the bed, hugging my shoes, and continue to watch the water level rise. This is the most interesting thing that has ever happened to me. And I hate it.

“I’ll check on that,” Skate yells.

The next thing I know, I’m looking at his shoes, legs, and body as he rushes down below. As he’s climbing down the stairs, he slips and his legs fly out from underneath him. He crashes into the soup.

“Skate?” I say. I jump off the bed and crawl to his side. I worry that the reason he slipped is because he saw me and was startled.

His head hit the edge of the bottom stair. He’s bleeding.

“Help!” I yell. “We need bandages.”

I hear someone running down the stairs.

“They’re slick,” I cry. “Be careful.”

I glance up and see Wick hovering above us. He looks very surprised, and I don’t offer an explanation.

“Enid?” he asks.

“Skate is hurt,” I say. “Where’s the first-aid kit?”

“I don’t know,” he says.

“Find out,” I say.

“It’s not that bad,” Skate says.

“You’re bleeding,” I say. I focus on Skate. I tune out the chaos. I have a job. Fix Skate’s wound.

“I’ve taken worse falls,” Skate says. “Remember that picnic near Quechee Gorge? Way worse.”

“You fell down a gorge?” Wick asks.

I shake my head. “Out of a tree.” I take the sheet that had been used to cover me and rip it into strips.

“I’ll find a first-aid kit,” Wick says.

“It was so obvious the oak could never support that much weight.”

“It
became
obvious,” Skate whispers.

When I start wrapping the strips around Skate’s head, he breathes in a quick gasp of air. Then his eyes clap closed, and he pushes me away.

“She’s trying to help,” Wick says. He’s returned with the first-aid kit and Dale.

“What’s going on up there?” I ask.

“It’s a storm. Dude, the waves are huge,” Dale says.

“Who’s steering us?” I ask. I’d assumed it was Dale.

“Landon,” Wick says.

“
What?
He doesn’t know how to steer a ship,” I shout. “This is the third time he’s ever been on a boat.”

“Somebody has to be the captain. Burr is trying to fix the sails,” Dale replies.

“Why did you guys go out to sea?” I ask. “This is so stupid.”

Wick shakes his head. He’s applied some rubbing alcohol to Skate’s wound and is trying to tighten the bandage.

“Enid, what are you doing here?” Wick asks.

I don’t answer.

“He needs to be on the bed. Let’s move him,” Wick says to Dale.

“I can do it,” Skate says.

But I’m not sure that he can. He face looks flushed. His eyes are unfocused. And he doesn’t seem capable of standing up. He attempts to sit, but he lies back down. Together Wick and Dale scoop Skate up and lower him onto the bare mattress.

“Thanks,” Skate says.

“He seems so out of it,” I say.

“He needs water,” Wick says. “He’s been drinking all night.”

“Why did you let him do that?” I ask.

Wick ignores my question. The sloppy sea sloshes around my ankles.

“There’s a cooler on deck,” Wick says. “It has water in it.”

I look up the stairs.

“I don’t want Landon to know I’m here.”

Dale looks at me like I’m the unbalanced teen stalker that I don’t want to feel like. “I think the cat’s out of the bag,” he says.

I shake my head again.

“Enid and Dale, this is an emergency,” Wick snaps. Normally, Wick moves through the world with confidence and optimism. But as I stare at him now, I’m looking at something else. I might as well be looking into Dale’s uncertain and frustrated face.

“Okay,” I say. “I know.”

“Let’s get him some water!” Wick yells.

I don’t move. Dale rushes past me up the stairs. I look at Skate. The blood has already saturated the bandage.

“Should we call the Coast Guard?” I ask.

“I’m okay,” Skate says softly.

“I don’t know how to call the Coast Guard,” Wick says.

The boat pitches to the right, and Wick and I fall on top of each other in the floor’s gross swill.

“There’s glass,” I say. I’ve cut my hand. The pain feels hot, and I hope it’s not too serious. Wick pulls me to him and my head bumps into his mouth.

“Why do you smell like a cappuccino?” he asks.

“I think it’s a combination of my conditioner and that,” I say, pointing to a large floating tin of Maxwell House. The boat jerks again, knocking us away from each other. As I crawl toward him, one of my shoes floats by.

“You came in heels?” he asks.

“I came from a wedding.”

“Why are you here?” he asks again.

I don’t know if I’m supposed to answer him. I can feel myself wanting to cry. I think I’m in shock. The situation around me makes no sense and I don’t know how to process it.

“You shouldn’t be here. This is crazy,” he says.

“I thought ‘Gretchen’ was a stripper.”

“You followed us from Vermont?” he asks.

I close my eyes. Tears roll down my cheeks, and I hear myself say, “I know. I wish I hadn’t come.”