Deep Wate - Sarah Epstein Page 0,77

was before Mason had a job, so he’d put a two-dollar coin aside from the grocery shopping every week for a couple of months before exchanging them at the post office for a crisp orange note.

‘Are you leaving?’ Henry said again. He must have seen the money. Mason made a mental note to move it later, just in case.

Henry shoved the door open and stepped into the room. ‘I forgive you for pushing me in the water, okay? Even if you didn’t say sorry.’

‘I am sorry,’ Mason said. He meant it, too. After all that, the apology was so easy to muster.

‘So please don’t leave. Don’t leave me here with her.’

‘Henry—’

‘No! You can’t. I don’t know how to do any of this. I don’t want to.’

Mason grabbed the side of the desk and pulled himself to his feet. ‘I’m eighteen now, and it’s time for me to—’

‘Mason!’ Henry’s voice broke and his eyes welled with tears. ‘Take me with you. I promise I’ll do whatever you want.’

Mason felt something deep inside him crack open. He swallowed hard and stared at the carpet. ‘You have to stay here and finish school.’

He was about to say something else when he was distracted by the squeal of brakes outside. Through his bedroom window, Mason could see that black ute on the driveway again, one of Ivy’s drinking buddies from the pub. She had several of them who came out of their way to pick her up and drop her off. Enablers, Mason thought. He wondered how many drinks she shouted them to show her gratitude for all the car rides, money her family desperately needed at home to fix the hot water heater and buy toilet paper.

‘You can’t leave,’ Henry said, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. ‘I won’t let you.’

Mason sighed. ‘You don’t have a choice.’

Something in Henry’s expression changed. Mason couldn’t read it, but the tears were gone, replaced by steely resolve.

The front door banged open and Ivy’s footsteps staggered a wobbly path down the hallway. She bumped right past Mason’s bedroom without noticing they were there and, to Mason’s relief, made it to her own bedroom and closed the door.

Henry was quiet. It was unsettling. He slipped out of the room without another word, and something about this chilled Mason to the bone. Mason didn’t know how to make Henry understand that living here was eating him alive, and if he stayed any longer things would inevitably come to a head. It felt like an approaching storm on the horizon, crackling desperation like fire through his veins.

Mason had to leave. He could only be pushed so far before he’d explode.

Now

Luisa and I wait in the motel office on Sunday morning, the threatening note sitting on the desk between us. Luisa’s face is downcast and she’s come to work wearing a black dress and grey cardigan, like she’s going to a funeral. I have to wonder if Rina’s spoken to her about the catfishing already because she seems out of sorts, and it’s making me feel even more off-kilter than I already do. I’ve come to rely on Luisa’s warm smiles and colourful blouses as something of a comfort.

Tom came by earlier to drop off a couple of matching table lamps somebody donated to the shop, thinking we could use them in one of the refurbished motel rooms.

‘Feeling guilty about helping Jack Doherty, hmm?’ I teased, and he laughed it off. Our joking quickly subsided when he heard about our break-in.

‘So someone snuck in while Luisa was in the front yard?’ Tom asked. ‘That’s pretty brazen.’

‘Honestly, anybody could have slipped by Luisa while she had her head buried in the garden. She left the office unattended.’

‘In her defence,’ Tom said, ‘it is The Shallows. I bet your dad’s done it a million times himself. This is the last thing anyone would expect to happen.’

‘See, this is the problem, Tom. There are desperate people everywhere. I’m always saying everyone’s far too trusting around here.’

I won’t say this to Luisa, of course. She appears stricken as she glances at the note again.

‘He won’t be long,’ I say, referring to Dad, who’s on the phone in the other room. I suspect it’s my mother on the other end judging by the way his face fell after answering the call. Dad tries to keep their phone conversations short and detached because Mum has a tendency to start criticising the motel, this town and the people in it. Sometimes I think it’s because