The Returning (35 page)

Oars in, pull, oars out, swing back. In, pull, out, swing back. The small vessel lurched forward. John’s heart pumped, his breath was rapid and shallow. He was out of shape and already tiring. When was the last time he had rowed a boat? So many years ago, he couldn’t remember.

In, out, pull, swing back.

He would be there in just another couple of minutes. Maybe Beka could see him now, slicing his way through the glassy lake.

He stopped, looked over his shoulder, adjusted the boat slightly to line up with the light. He was more than halfway there.

Suddenly he remembered Billy’s phone. He had had it in his hand in the motorboat. He must have dropped it when he was climbing out. He hoped Billy had found it by now and was on the line with Beka, assuring her that Dad was coming.

In, pull, out, swing back.

The wind was picking up again, and it seemed to be working against him. Maybe it would be in their favor on the way back. Head winds now, tail winds home.

John looked overhead while trying not to break his rhythm. The night sky’s array of lights grew dimmer as the low-lying clouds grew thicker, eclipsing the stars. But John knew he’d be all right as long as he was guided by the flashlights on either side of the lake.

In the next moment he seemed to pass over an invisible line that said he was safe. He could feel it in his gut. The depths had receded, and the floor of the lake was tilting upward now, the water becoming shallower with every stroke. He was almost there. Yes, there was Beka, waving her long arms triumphantly, signaling him to shore. He might have pulled up to the Castle’s dock had it not rotted away long ago. Only a few of the supporting poles remained, sticking up out of the water, useful only as perches for gulls. John kept rowing until the ribs of the boat rubbed up against the lake’s sandy bottom, bringing him to an abrupt stop. He breathed out a sigh of relief, settled the oars in the boat, and stepped out. Holding the boat with one hand, he embraced his daughter with his free arm as she waded out to meet him.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I’m just—I thought you were coming in the motorboat.”

“It wouldn’t start.”

“I was scared, Dad.”

“It’s all right, honey. You’re safe now.”

He helped her into the boat and then climbed in after her.

“Is there a life jacket under your seat?” he asked.

She looked, shook her head no. He took off the one he was wearing and tossed it to her.

She started to protest. “No, Dad. You keep it—”

“Put it on, Beka,” he interrupted. “Let’s get going.”

Rebekah wanted to say she was sorry, but she couldn’t find the words. She would probably end up grounded again. That was all right. She didn’t want to see David for a long time anyway. Maybe never. She wasn’t even sure about her friendship with Lena. If she wasn’t allowed to talk with anyone for a month, what would it matter?

She looked off into the distance, thinking how strange it was to be in the middle of the lake in the middle of the night. How big and empty it was without the usual boats and jet skis and swimmers. Just a wide, lonely patch of black that she and her dad were moving across in small, uneven strokes. No sign even of one of those Coast Guard Auxiliary patrol boats that buzzed all over the lake on summer days. They were off duty now, assuming no one would be crazy enough to be out in a boat at this hour. Especially since it was against the law.

“Dad?”

“Yeah, Beka?”

“If they catch us out here, what’ll happen to you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Will they send you back to prison?”

“For this? No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

But he didn’t sound sure. Rebekah was ashamed to think her dad had had to come out and get her like this. Ashamed and yet glad that he was there and more grateful than she could say.

“Dad?”

“Yeah, Beka?”

“I really just want to go home.”

Her father sat outside the glow of her flashlight, but still she was able to see the puzzled look on his face.

“That’s where I’m headed,” he said.

She shook her head, looked beyond his shoulder to the light swinging at the end of their dock. “No. I mean, go back to Rochester. Maybe even live in the neighborhood where we used to live when I was a kid.”

He pulled on the oars a couple of times before saying, “Would you like that?”

“Yeah, I would.”

“Well, I’d like that too. But I’m not sure it’s going to happen anytime soon.”

She nodded, dropped her eyes. “I’ve pretty much made a mess of everything here, I guess.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that, Beka.”

“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.

C
HAPTER
F
IFTY

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.