Wish You Were Here (15 page)

That would have been okay with him, but he knew better than to say so.

“You coming with us, Just?” Uncle Ken called, and his mother yanked his life jacket on over his head, pulling his hair.

“Ow.”

“Shush. Uncle Ken doesn't have to take you guys out. He's doing it because it's a nice thing to do for everybody, so don't give him a hard time.”

“But—”

“But nothing. Everyone's going. You'll have fun. Now quit giving me a hard time.” She prodded him to the edge of the dock, where Aunt Lisa reached up and closed her hands around his arms. He took a step into empty air, and then his foot found the edge of the boat (he could see himself slipping between the boat and the dock, knocking his head, drifting down through the dark water, the weeds wrapping around him) and then he was stumbling, falling into Aunt Lisa and across the seats, the rubber-smelling inner tube against his face, bending his neck. He was in, sitting backwards, his life jacket strangling him.

“Smooth move,” Sam said.

“Shut up,” Sarah said, defending him.

“Okay,” Aunt Lisa said, “settle down.”

“Have fun,” his mother said, holding Rufus by the collar, her book in her hand.

“We will,” Uncle Ken said.

They had to paddle out because the propeller might get stuck in the weeds. Uncle Ken and Aunt Lisa each took a side, splashing. The water slid by right beside him. Sam put his hand in, making a wake. Justin had seen people fishing here and imagined the fish swimming beneath them, their eyes wide open. On the bottom there were old bottles stuck in the mud, snapping turtles waiting to bite your leg like a drumstick.

Uncle Ken gave Ella his paddle and sat in the driver's seat. “Keep us into the wind,” he ordered. He turned the key and the engine rumbled, then stopped. He tried it again and the same thing happened. Four, five times. “Come on,” Uncle Ken said, angry, and Justin thought maybe they wouldn't have to go. The thought became a wish, the way after visiting his father he wished his father would come back and play
Star Wars
Monopoly with them and sing when he made breakfast.

The wind was pushing them toward the next dock, and Uncle Ken had to grab the paddle from Ella and help row them out again. He was sweating when he finally got the engine to start, and his face was red. “
That's
what I'm talking about,” he said, like he'd beaten it.

Aunt Lisa put the paddles away and they aimed for the middle of the lake, the front bouncing, the wind making Justin squint. Beside him, Sam sat with his legs crossed, his feet propped on the hole of the inner tube. The engine drew a white line on the blue water. It was so loud they couldn't talk, just sat back in the sun and let their hair blow all over. Cold drops jumped into the boat and landed on Justin's arms. His stomach felt weird, like it did when a plane took off, sliding loose inside him. Looking back at the shore, he thought that he couldn't swim half that far.

Aunt Lisa had a throwaway camera she was taking everyone's picture with. They couldn't hear, but by waving her hands she got all four of them together for a group shot. Justin worried that he would look scared in it and put on a big smile.

They turned around the marina and into a cove no one was fishing in and stopped, rocking in the water. Uncle Ken didn't turn the boat off. He came back between the seats and clipped the inner tube onto the tow rope and threw it in so it wouldn't mess up the engine. The tube floated behind them on the dark water. To Justin it looked a long way away.

All you had to do was hang on. You could let go anytime you wanted.

Sam was the only one who wanted to go first.

“If you want to stop,” Uncle Ken said, “make a thumbs-down like this.”

Sam jumped in and swam to the tube in his life jacket. He waved and Justin waved back. Aunt Lisa came back to sit with him so she could see Sam. She made a big deal about getting a picture of him.

“Okay,” she said, and Uncle Ken started off, standing up and looking behind them as he drove.

The yellow rope pulled tight and the inner tube rode on top of the water. They went faster and the tube bounced Sam around. He held on, smiling at them. Uncle Ken turned the boat in a circle, and the tube skidded sideways, Sam's legs kicking into the air when it hit a wave. He cut the boat the other way and the tube shot across their wake, skating on one edge. Sam hung on.

“Not too fast,” Aunt Lisa warned, and the engine slowed. Sam gave them a thumbs-up.

What would happen, Justin thought, if you fell off and another boat couldn't see you and ran you over? What if you hit the water wrong and broke your neck? What if the rope got caught around your wrist and snapped it?

They went around again, the boat tipping so he was sitting higher than Aunt Lisa and had to hold on to the edge, then they straightened out and slowed and Sam made a thumbs-down.

“Who's ready for a turn?” Uncle Ken asked.

Sarah was.

“That was so awesome,” Sam said while she was swimming out. “You gotta try it.”

Compared to Sam, Sarah looked big on the tube. Her legs didn't flop around as much. She wanted Uncle Ken to go faster, and he did until Aunt Lisa said that was fast enough.

Ella fell off twice during her turn, but when she climbed the ladder she traded high fives with Sarah and Sam.

“All right, Justin,” Aunt Lisa said.

“Come on, Just,” Sarah said, “it's easy,” and then everyone was cheering him on. They'd all done it and had fun, and it did look easy. He knew waiting would make him look bad, so he stood up and Aunt Lisa helped him take off his water shoes and climb onto the seat and then held one hand as he stood on the slippery edge.

The water was darker out here. It was impossible to tell what was under it. He pictured a car sitting on the bottom with a dead guy in it, floated up against the ceiling, his face pressed to the window.

“Just jump,” Sarah said.

And he wanted to—he wanted to be able to—but his legs wouldn't move and he held on tighter to Aunt Lisa's hand.

“If you don't want to, that's fine,” she said.

“I'll go again,” Sam volunteered.

“I'm gonna go,” Justin said.

“Then go,” Sam said.

“He's going to,” Ella scolded.

“A little less pressure, huh guys?” Uncle Ken said.

They were waiting for him now, and he wondered why he'd stood up on the edge, why he'd gotten into the boat, why he'd put on his suit in the first place. He couldn't go back in the boat or he would hear about it not just the rest of the week but the rest of his life. It would turn into a story, like the time he shoved the peas up his nose when he was a baby, or the time he fell on the escalator at the airport and grabbed the fat lady's leg. At dinner someone would start the story and then everyone would pitch in. At Christmas or next summer he'd hear it. Everyone would laugh, and he would have to laugh too.

All he had to do was let go of Aunt Lisa and lean forward. The life jacket would hold him up—but what if it didn't work? Maybe it was old. What if it filled up with water and he couldn't get it off in time?

He let go and started to fall back, then waved his arms and fell forward.

“All right!” Sam shouted, and then he was going over, the water coming closer.

He hit it and went under—freezing, the cold making him groan—then popped up because of the life jacket, gasping to catch his breath.

“Way to go!” Sarah called. Aunt Lisa was laughing and clapping. The side of the boat seemed too high. His first reaction was to head back to the ladder, but someone had pulled it up.

“Good job,” Uncle Ken said. “Now stay away from the propeller while you're swimming out.”

He swam stiffly in the life jacket, looking at nothing but the tube. The water was colder in spots, then warm as pee. He would not think of what was under him, the man in the car, the fish looking up, watching him, a shadow with kicking legs. That's what drew sharks to you.

The closer he got to the tube, the harder he swam, so that when he reached it he barely had the strength to drag himself up on top. They were all watching him. The rubber wasn't slippery like he thought it would be. It stuck to his knees and arms so he couldn't just slide into position. He felt better out of the water, but the boat still seemed a long way away. He grabbed the handles and lay down flat with his legs spread out like Sam and gave Aunt Lisa a thumbs-up. She gave him one back. He was disappointed—she'd forgotten to take his picture. He wanted proof that he'd done this.

Uncle Ken had to wait for another boat towing a girl on water skis to go by, then revved the engine and the rope pulled tight, jerking him forward. He kept his head up to see where he was going and concentrated on holding on. The tube made a hollow, ringing sound as it skimmed along, like the inside of a basketball. Uncle Ken went faster, and water shot up through the hole and tickled Justin's stomach, but he just held on tighter.

He laughed. It really was easy—easier even than swimming. If there was only a way at the end where he could float over to the ladder and get back on. It didn't matter; he liked flying along like this, water spraying up from the rope when it hit a wave. The tube jumped another wave and he bounced up like when he went sled riding, his legs flopping like Sam's, and he was laughing again. His mother was right. He couldn't believe he'd almost missed the most fun thing because he'd been a chicken.

Uncle Ken turned hard, and Justin saw the girl on water skis come past in front of them. The tube slid sideways, swinging out on the rope, and Justin could see the side of the boat. He thought the tube would swing back but it kept going, whipping him over the wake of the other boat. The tube bumped once, twice, then flew up in the air.

Justin could feel it tipping and held on. It flipped, went over, then hit with a smack, filling one ear, and he was underwater, upside down and being dragged, the water pushing at him, prying his fingers from the handles. He couldn't hold on any longer, and let go, still under, drowning, the sound of the engine pulsing away, dissolving to nothing.

His jacket saved him. He popped up in time to see the tube racing off, spinning into the air and splashing back down. He coughed and snot ran out his nose and he pinched it away, wiped his lip, panting. Uncle Ken was turning the boat, and Justin looked around to find the girl, afraid she might run him over, but they were way down at the end of the cove.

Beneath him, his feet hit a cold spot, and he raised his knees. Uncle Ken was still turning in a big circle. They seemed far away to Justin, and he began swimming toward them, the jacket getting in the way. The boat curved around and came straight at him. He stopped swimming and waved his arms above his head in case they didn't see him.

Uncle Ken slowed the boat and turned it sideways, and Aunt Lisa hung the ladder over the side.

“You okay?” she called.

“Yeah,” he said. “Can I try again?”

“Sure.”

“Go ahead, Just,” Sarah cheered.

He swam around the back of the boat, staying away from the engine, and followed the rope to the tube. It was easier getting on the second time. This time Aunt Lisa did take a picture of him giving her a thumbs-up, and then Uncle Ken started off, the rope lifting out of the water. The tube thumped and rang, shuddered across the waves. Justin held on, thinking of how he would tell his father.

“The chickens are under Maxwell,” Emily instructed. “And ask if they're taking orders for cheese bread. Where are you going for the corn?”

“Haff Acres, I thought,” Kenneth said.

“I'm not sure they haven't closed down. If not them, then Red Brick Farm. Get half Silver Queen and half Butter and Sugar if they both look good. That way we can see which we like better.”

“What else do we need for tomorrow besides hamburger and buns?”

“We have regular relish but not the yellow hamburger relish you like. Get an onion for people who want onions on their hot dogs. And we need another gallon of milk. Better make it two at the rate we're going.”

“It's on the list,” Kenneth said. “How are we on beer?”

“There should be some in the garage unless you've drunk it all. So they didn't say anything?”

“They said they weren't making anything public yet.”

“We should be watching the news,” Emily said. “I'm surprised no one tried to interview you.”

“There was nobody there. I guess they're trying to find this other guy, but I don't think he saw any more than I did. Anything else?”

“Yes, get some new crackers. These have seen better days.” She dumped them in the sink with a clunk, stuffed the wax-paper sleeves back in the box and, out of habit, neatly closed the tabbed flaps. She noted with dismay that the trash needed to be taken out again—she could have sworn she'd just put a new bag in—and then she saw that someone (one of the children, obviously) had thrown half a sandwich in with the paper trash.

She pulled the sandwich out only to find a scattering of potato chips, a soggy pickle stuck to a used tissue. “Could you
please
remind the children that all food garbage goes in the disposal. It's not like the old days when pickup was free.”

“I'll tell them.”

“It's probably the boys. Remind me, tomorrow's garbage day. Oh, and if they have those Greek olives, the salty ones. That might be nice for before dinner.”

“That it?”

“I can't think of anything else,” she said. “Use your best judgment. We're shooting for no leftovers. Here, let me give you some money.”

“That's all right.”

“No, really.”

She had her wallet on the mantel with the boat keys and old flashlights and the nut dish filled with matches and batteries and gum bands, all the other junk. She took out two new twenties and handed them to him. He thanked her and folded them away, and while she was happy to help, she wished he'd argued a little harder. Lisa was waiting for him outside, steering clear of her, which was just as well after how she'd treated her at Christmas. Emily watched him back their huge SUV out of the driveway (the money must have come from Lisa's parents) and then head off, not bothering to wave.