Deep Betrayal Page 0,6

for Sophie, passing her one.

“Y’know you could have called me. Or got on the phone when I called Mom.”

“Mom said you were busy with finals and I shouldn’t bother you.”

“Well, school’s over. Start bothering me.”

Sophie peeled at the label around her bottle and pouted her lips. Her once-curled hair flopped in the humidity and clung to her neck. Finally, she said, “Did you see Dad’s face?”

“Yeah. He looks old.”

Sophie kept peeling and picking.

“Sophie, tell me.”

“He’s acting weird. I watch him from my window. Every night he’s down at the dock. After Mom goes to bed … he gets down low, like he’s going to get in the water. Then he stands up and comes back to the house. Sometimes he’ll turn around again and touch the water, and then he pulls back like it’s biting him or something.”

My arms stiffened at my sides. “Has he gone in?” I asked, dreading the answer.

“No. It’s like he really, really wants to, but he’s afraid. Do you think it’s because of me falling out of the boat that one time? Is it my fault?”

I inhaled and let it go slowly. “Don’t be silly. And I wouldn’t be too worried, Soph. You know Dad can’t swim. He’s probably trying to get over his fear, and he was looking to do that in private. You probably shouldn’t tell him you’ve been watching.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t. When he’s not at the dock, he’s in his room.” She dropped her voice lower. “I think he’s crying. He hides it from Mom, but I can hear him. Last few times after church, me and Mom will go to the car, but he stays on his knees for, like, an extra ten minutes. Sometimes more.”

My first reaction was that it served him right for sending me away, but that quickly gave way to pity. Even if he’d allowed me to stay, what help could I have been to him? He needed someone who could actually explain things. He needed Calder.

There it was again. Where the hell is he?

A drop of water hit my arm, and I glanced up at the slate-colored sky. “Let’s get in,” I said. “It’s starting to rain.”

With the crack of thunder, the elegant graduation party turned into a refugee camp. The wind shook the house, and the lights flickered. All the adults came down to the basement as the sky went prematurely dark. Rain lashed at the windows and when lightning lit up the sky, we’d get a look at the backyard trees, twisting and arching like a landscaped yoga class. No one wanted to venture out onto the roads.

Instead, we all hunkered down around the television, watching the giddy weatherman gesture at the Minnesota map. A big red patch covered the metro area with the words Tornado Warning. After he warned the viewing public to stay indoors (as if we needed convincing) and away from windows (harder to do), the screen cut away to the news anchors and the scripted stories of the day.

Mr. Badzin leaned forward and reached for the remote. He turned down the volume just as the picture cut to a young blond reporter. Behind her was a familiar dark lake with spotlights focused on the brambles along the shore. I pulled closer to the flat screen so I could listen.

“Thanks, Geoff,” said the reporter. “This afternoon, twenty miles north of Ashland, Wisconsin, a young man discovered part of an enormous fish that washed up on the shores of Lake Superior.”

The studio cut to video of agents from the Department of Natural Resources carrying something bulky and wrapped in a tarp to a waiting truck. They struggled with its weight. I glanced around the room. No one was watching but me, their heads all turned to watch the storm.

The reporter continued. “DNR officials believe it to be the remains of the largest sturgeon on record. However, one young man has a different theory for us to consider.”

The studio cut to a prerecorded interview, the camera lens tightly focused on a face I knew too well. Jack Pettit was staring intently at the camera, his dark eyes looking directly at me.

“It’s pretty big for a fish,” he said, not blinking. “Even a sturgeon. Makes you wonder.”

The reporter pressed on, capitalizing on the story. “Makes you wonder what?”

Jack seemed unaware that she was making fun of him with her question. “Whether the legends are true,” he said. “The ones about mermaids in the lake. Anyone who looks at those scales has to wonder. It