Deep Betrayal Page 0,62
when there was a small splash against the dock. A mechanical buzzing followed, then a loud clunk as the motion detectors activated and the spotlights snapped on, illuminating the night. A dark shape breached and Dad emerged, head above the waterline, ripples sloshing against his shoulders.
Mom tensed and grabbed both Sophie and me by the knees. “Jason?” she called, terror in her voice.
Dad stared at us with a cool, blank stare. We might as well have been strangers for the amount of concern he showed us. There was no panic, no apology, no explanation. His face was devoid of all warmth, and I hoped I hadn’t made the biggest mistake of my life.
There was an intake of breath—maybe mine, maybe Mom’s—followed by a scream. “Jason! Jason! Oh my God, Jason!”
I counted to three, and Dad dove—a rippling bull’s-eye marking his exit.
MY SCRIBBLINGS
An Unappreciative Man of Pure and Utter Suckage
Ozymandias may be dust but
he was a better man than you, who blew
away with wind and water.
So piss off.
Signed, your loving Daughter
MERMAID STATS
Best Swim Time: 4 minutes 32 seconds
Voices:
Tail: Who are you kidding?
25
WORMS
The rest of the night I slept, or I didn’t sleep, I don’t know which. Between thinking about Jules and everyone arriving tomorrow and Mom’s hysterics, there was nothing I could do to escape the incessant worry. I know I saw my clock turn to 2:15. And I also saw 4:27. But I must have fallen asleep at some point, because the next time I looked it was 10:41 a.m.
A caramel mocha latte sounded like the only thing that could reach me right now, and I doubted Mom would be needing the car. I rolled out of bed, threw on a Fleetwood Mac T-shirt, an embroidered skirt, and combat boots, and headed for town.
But when I got to the café, the door was locked. I shook the doorknob and checked my phone for the time. The neon open sign was unlit, replaced by a St. Jude vigil candle on the window ledge. I peered through the glass, cupping my hands at my temples to keep out the sunlight. Inside it was dark but for a sliver of light from under the office door.
I shook the handle again and called through the glass, “Mrs. Boyd, are you in there? Mrs. Boyd?”
The office door opened and Mrs. Boyd stepped out. She stopped just beyond the counter and said, “Sorry, we’re … Oh, it’s you.” She finished her walk to the door and unlocked it, opening it just enough to let me in. She tucked a wrinkled tissue in her bra.
“Good Lord, girl, you look awful. I’ll have your coffee ready in two seconds.”
I followed her to the counter. “Why are you closed? Everything okay?”
Mrs. Boyd bent over behind the espresso machine and got a gallon of milk from the refrigerator. “I’m always closed on this day.”
I leaned against the counter and waited for her to finish steaming the milk. “Anything I can do to help?”
“That’s sweet, honey, but no, thank you.” From where I stood, I had a clear view of the office. Its door was still partially open. I’d never been inside; Mrs. Boyd always kept it locked. Through the gap I could see a bulletin board covered in faded photographs. Another vigil candle burned on the desk.
“Another St. Jude?” I asked, gesturing vaguely toward the office.
Mrs. Boyd looked, then went over to close the door. “St. Adjutor.”
I’d never heard of him, but that didn’t mean much. Mrs. Boyd handed me my coffee, put a day-old apple fritter in my hand, then practically pushed me out the door. Once she had me on the sidewalk, she locked the door again and pulled the shade.
“Okayee,” I said to myself. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out, Lil.” I headed toward a red-lacquered bench by the water.
It was almost the Fourth of July, but the lake air still kept the mornings cool. Halyards ting-tanged off the sailboat masts in the marina, and cars rolled idly through town. There was an Eeyaw, aw! Yaw! and two seagulls landed a few yards from me, eyeing my breakfast with tilted heads.
Hungry? They took two synchronized steps toward me, so I pinched off some of the fritter and tossed it their way.
“Feeding the birds, Miss Hancock? That’s very Franciscan of you.”
I shielded my eyes from the midmorning sun and found the speaker, a man dressed in worn sneakers, khaki pants, and a jean jacket. Underneath, he wore a black shirt and white collar.
“Father Hoole!