The Deepest Blue (2 page)

chapter 2

“Hey, guys,” Maggie says, her warm smile beaming. She tucks a curly strand of dark hair behind her ear as she pulls the door wide. Rocket, Maggie's Irish setter, bounces and barks behind her, trying to get at us to say hello. His tail winds around like a propeller and sweeps clear anything it comes in contact with.

“Hey, buddy,” I say, walking into the brightly lit room flooded with the smells of chicken and homemade biscuits. I rub behind the dog's ears and then kneel down next to him. He rubs his muzzle against my head, snuffling at my ear.

“I hope you're hungry,” Maggie says. She moves into the kitchen and slips thick padded mitts onto each hand. They look like kitchen boxing gloves. As she opens the oven, my mouth begins to water so much I'm afraid I might drool like Rocket does. Maggie slides a pan out that holds a golden-brown chicken the size of a small car. Steam floats up from the bird and circles around the lights overhead.

Dad sets the grocery bag on the kitchen counter, pulling out the lemons and the loaf of bread.

“When do we eat?” I ask.

“As soon as you go wash your grimy hands. Your dad's going to wash his and then carve the chicken while I put everything on the table.”

I look at my hands. “They're clean.”

Maggie takes an oven mitt and pops me on the head with it. “Go wash up or I'll give your plate to Rocket.”

I head down the hall to the bathroom and take a bar of soap and some water to my hands. I scrub my knuckles and around my nails. Maggie will check, so I try to get them to a passable level of clean for her. I head back to the kitchen and plunk into the nearest chair, holding my hands up for Maggie's inspection. She nods and smiles. Rocket lies by my feet.

Dad's cell phone rings. He pulls it from the holder and checks the caller ID. “It's for you,” he says, handing me the phone.

“If you'd get me my own phone . . .” I take the cell from Dad. “Hey, Rachel.”

“Any chance you can come to the arcade tonight? Trevor and Caitlyn will be there, and Mandy's dad said he could give us a ride home.”

I put my hand over the phone. “Can I go to the arcade after supper? Mandy Wilcox's dad said he'd give everyone a ride home.”

Dad looks at me for a moment. “The Robertsons, 6:30 charter in the morning, remember?”

“Yeah, but the arcade closes at nine. I'm home by nine fifteen, nine thirty max.”

He adjusts his hat and then shrugs. “Okay, home by nine thirty,” he says.

“All set,” I say to Rachel, “but I've got to be home by nine thirty. We have a charter in the morning.”

“Man, it bites that you have to work all summer.” Rachel lets out an exasperated sigh. “We're all meeting at six. Will you make it by then?”

I check the clock above the stove. It's five o'clock now. If I eat fast and run to the arcade, I should make it. “I'll be there.”

“I'll see you when you get there,” she says. “Bye, Michael.” She hangs up before I can say goodbye.

Maggie sets a plate of chicken on the table.

“Trouble in paradise?” Dad asks.

“I don't know,” I say. “I don't get what's up with her. One day she's calling me every five minutes, the next day she won't answer when I call her.”

“On behalf of all females who went through puberty, I sincerely apologize for our hormone-twisted behavior.” Maggie brings a plate of biscuits and sets them next to the steaming chicken.

Dad is already shoveling slabs of white meat onto his plate. I look down at my hands in my lap, still holding the cell phone. I set it on the table next to my plate. My stomach growls and lurches like an alien might suddenly bust through and steal some food off the table.

Maggie laughs out loud. She hands me the biscuits,
and I take two. Dad slides the plate of chicken to me, and I stab a few large, juicy pieces. I hand the plate to Maggie and begin stuffing my mouth. I wolf down the chicken, then rip open a biscuit and slather it with butter. I don't even bother putting jam on it. I stop long enough to gulp down some iced tea, and then I tear into the other biscuit.

Maggie slides an ear of corn onto my plate. “Maybe this will slow you down a little.”

I realize I'm eating like a wild animal, so I take another drink, swallow, and look up at Dad. He is working his way across an ear of corn dripping butter down his chin. He looks at me and smiles. “Sorry,” I say to Maggie, “I was really hungry.”

“Apparently,” she says. “There's plenty here, so just take your time and try to actually taste your food.”

“I'm sort of in a hurry, too. I told Rachel I'd meet her at the arcade at six, and I figure I'm going to have to run to get there.”

Maggie spoons a pile of green beans onto her plate and then adds a scoop to mine. “Rich?”

Dad looks up from his corn. “No, thanks.”

“I meant, can't you drive him?”

Dad looks at Maggie, then at me. “Well, I've had kind of a long day.” He sets down the corncob and wipes his face with a napkin. “He's young. He can walk.”

Maggie wrinkles her nose. “It's starting to rain,” she says. Then she looks at me. “I'll take you when we've finished.”

I pick up my fork again, skewer a few beans, and then pause before I take a bite. They are sweet and fresh, right
out of Maggie's garden.

“Before I forget,” Dad says, “I need to go to Raleigh on Tuesday to pick up some equipment for the boat. Cheaper if I go get it than if it's shipped. Do you mind keeping Mike overnight for me?” He picks up a biscuit and slices it through the middle.

Very smooth,
I think as I watch him spoon raspberry jam first on one half of the biscuit and then the other.
Got it under control.

“Normally I wouldn't mind, but I'm working late on Tuesday night. We have a board meeting, and I won't be done until later.” Maggie looks at Dad, and disappointment paints a dark cloud in his eyes.

“Well, I guess maybe he's old enough to stay alone,” Dad says, though his tone suggests he doesn't really believe that.

My heart begins racing. Maybe at last, I'll get to have the house to myself for a night.

Maggie pats her mouth with a napkin and looks at me. “You're okay to hang out till I get finished, right? I could pick you up around nine?”

I shrug. A few hours alone are better than none, and then I think about why Dad is really going to Raleigh, and I have to fight to keep the dumb grin off my face.

Maggie looks at Dad. “More storms are headed this way on Wednesday according to the weather man on channel nine. Just go slow and be careful.”

“We rode out that storm a few years ago, and that was supposed to be a hurricane. A little thunderstorm isn't going to bother me.”

“Okay then,” she says. She looks at me. “Plan on me picking you up around nine.”

We finish supper, and I help Dad clear the table. Rocket gets a few scraps before he curls up on the sofa for a quick nap.

“Take the cell phone,” Dad says as he rolls up his sleeves to start washing dishes. “If there's a problem with Mandy's father getting you home, give me a call here.”

“You know, if you'd get me my own phone, we wouldn't have to swap this one around so much.”

“You know,” Dad replies, though I know what's coming next, “when you're old enough to have your name on the bill, I'll consider it.”

“You know,” I say, still pushing the issue, but Dad interrupts.

“You know—”

Maggie claps a hand over his mouth. “Boys, that's enough. We'll resolve this issue later. Right now, Michael has a date, and I don't want her angry at him because you two were bickering over a cell phone.”

“Is Mandy's dad dropping me off here, or should I have him take me home?” I ask.

Dad removes Maggie's hand from his mouth. “Just head for home, and I'll be there after I spend some quality time with Rocket.”

On hearing his name, Rocket lifts his head for a moment and then lays it back on the sofa cushion when he realizes no one is offering him food.

We climb into Maggie's green Subaru. Her hair is extra
curly. I figure it's because of the humidity. It hangs in little twists around her face. “Let me pull back this mop,” she says all the time. But it doesn't really look like a mop. The guy at the health food store in Jacksonville who has dreadlocks, he's got a mop.

“So what's Rich headed to Raleigh for?” Maggie asks.

My stomach tightens, and I try to keep my voice steady as I answer. “Uh, some part for the boat. Maybe for the fish finder. I don't remember.”

“Got other things on your mind,” Maggie says.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Listen,” she says, “I'm sure Rachel is a nice girl and all, even though I've spent maybe twenty minutes around her. But a girl who won't treat you with respect is a girl who doesn't deserve your time and energy. Do you know what I'm saying?”

I'm glad Maggie thinks I'm worried about something other than Dad buying her a ring. “Yeah, but it's not like this is a big place with a lot of girls to choose from. And it's not like a lot of girls are gonna be interested in me.” Maggie is a little unclear on the realities of living in a small beach town.

“Why not? You're handsome, you're intelligent, you're gainfully employed.” She chuckles. “Those are all the things I love about your dad. Well, the employed thing is just a bonus.”

“But you didn't grow up here.”

“So?”

“I mean, I guess girls around here are looking for
something else.”

“Like what?”

“I don't know, that's the problem. If I did, maybe I'd have an answer. But that still wouldn't solve the problem that this is a small town. When the tourists all go home, my choice in women gets dramatically smaller.”

I watch the trees go past the window, occasionally backlit by the flashes of lightning from the approaching storm. The rain has started falling with authority now.

Maggie pulls up to the arcade. “The thing is,” she says as I reach for the door handle, “fifteen-year-old girls don't know what they want. They're checking things out just like you are. They're confused, they're self-conscious, and they just want a guy who makes them feel comfortable.” She brushes her hair from her eyes.

“I don't think that's Rachel's problem.” I know it's not. I have an idea what some of it is, but I'm not completely sure.

“Then maybe you need a girl with fewer problems.” Maggie beams another smile at me. Her smile is beautiful, and I smile without thinking about it. I totally love Maggie. She's like my mom. Not like my
real
mom, but like what a mom is supposed to be. Like what you'd design a mom to be if you could pick all the things you wanted.

“Maybe so,” I say as I climb out of the car. “Thanks for the ride.” I shut the door and dash through the rain to the arcade. As I reach the entrance, my stomach knots, and I wonder what kind of mood Rachel will be in. I take a deep breath as I open the door.

chapter 3

I shake my head like a wet dog, flipping rainwater everywhere. The Jungleland Arcade is crowded with little kids, mostly tourists, probably trying to find a way to kill some time and wait out the storm. Bright, colorful lights flash, and the machines make electronic noises and music that compete with each other for the tourists' attention. A little girl, maybe two years old, wanders around with a ball from the Skee-Ball machine, threatening to throw the heavy, wooden sphere at anyone who tries to take it away from her.

I scan the crowd, looking for people I recognize. Over by the R
EDEMPTION
C
ENTER
sign, I can see Caitlyn Parker leaning on the glass case filled with plastic toys and cheap junk. Trevor Boone has his hand stuffed in the back pocket of her shorts, trying to grope her butt. She doesn't seem to mind. She is clutching a mess of red tickets spit out by the different machines, and I wonder how much that's cost Trevor already.

Trevor's dad runs one of the restaurants down in Indian Beach on the south end of the island. It's one of the oldest businesses, and it has a huge gift shop. Trevor busses tables or cashiers in the gift shop, and his dad overpays him. Trevor and I were best friends until eighth grade. I don't know what happened, but two years later, we're just acquaintances. My best friend is Jayden Stokes, only he's in Asheville enjoying the North Carolina mountains for the summer with his grandparents.

I head toward Trevor and Caitlyn. She and Rachel are best friends, which should mean Rachel would be close by. “Hey,” I say. Trevor and Caitlyn turn at the same time.

“S'up,” Trevor says.

“Seen Rachel?” I ask. I turn and lean against the glass case.

“She was outside on the bumper boats a few minutes ago,” Caitlyn says. “She said she didn't think you'd make it until later.”