The Deepest Blue Read online

  “Coffee?” he asks. His voice sounds scratchy, and his hair shoots up in fourteen different directions at once.

  “In the pot and getting old already,” I answer.

  Dad trudges into the kitchen, and I can hear the clatter of the ceramic mug on the counter as he pours a cup from the pot I made when I got up. I print a copy of the brochure, fold it into thirds, and take it in for him to look over. He is sitting at the table in a T-shirt and his boxers, leaning back in the chair and sipping from a red mug with black and brown dots that I made him for Father’s Day when I was about seven. He takes the brochure from my hand and sets his mug on the table. He reads the information on the inside, flips to the back, looks at the picture on the front panel, opens it again, flips to the back again, and then looks at me. “How long did this take?”

  “About an hour. It’s not done. This is just a rough draft to see if you think it might work.” I’m not happy with some of the layout, but I wanted to get something for him to see before he leaves for Raleigh.

  Dad looks at me, his eyes wide open. “An hour?”

  I nod.

  “Son, if this only took you an hour, I’d love to see what you could do with a whole day, or a week.”

  “I don’t like some of this.” I point to the way the information on the inside flows around the bullet points I put in. “But I know how to fix it so it will look smoother.”

  Dad sets the brochure on the table, picks up his mug, and then looks at me again. “I just can’t tell you how impressive that is.” He takes a big swallow of coffee. “Not in a million years could I come up with what you’ve done there, and you’ve only been at it an hour.”

  It’s hard to keep the smile off my face. “I really think this would help us. And if you can find a printer that makes us a reasonable offer, I think we could get them distributed within a few weeks.” My excitement is building.

  Dad takes another gulp and then stands and stretches one arm over his head. “I’m leaving in an hour. Fix what you think you can or need to, and I’ll take it up to Raleigh with me and see what I can find out.”

  I sprint to the computer in the front room and get back to work. I can hear the shower running and Dad singing some old Eagles song. An instant message pops up on the monitor. It’s Rachel.

  Sweetthang101: U alone?

  Mr.Mike2U: Not yet. Dad’s leaving in an hour.

  Sweetthang101: Can I come over later?

  Mr.Mike2U: I guess. Call me around 12.

  I don’t want to be rude to her, but I really want to get this brochure done for Dad to take. I adjust the fonts I’m using and select different bullets. The shape looks better, but I’m still not satisfied.

  Sweetthang101: Why 12?

  Geez, Rachel, what does it matter?

  Mr.Mike2U: Busy, call at 12.

  I move a block of the text around, sharpen the picture in the background, change the color of some of the type, and zoom out to look at the whole page.

  Sweetthang101: Busy with what? Too busy for me? Thanks a lot.

  One of the things I am so totally confused by is how I can like a girl as much as I like Rachel, but how she can drive me nuts like nobody else at the same time. Does that even make sense?

  Mr.Mike2U: Boat stuff. For my dad. Gotta get it done before 10. Then I’m surfing. Call around 12, ok?

  I mess with a few more details. I can hear Dad crooning, “Welcome to the Hotel Cal-i-forn-ya.” I hurry and print the brochure to see how it looks. I fold the paper in thirds and hold it up for inspection. I like it. It’s not perfect, but I like it. Dad leaves the bathroom and heads into his bedroom. I take the brochure and follow him.

  “Can I come in?” I yell when I’m about halfway there.

  “Give me a second.”

  In the front room the computer chimes, and I know Rachel has sent me another instant message, but this is more important. She’ll have to understand—or not. I’m starting to think I don’t care which.

  “Okay, it’s safe,” Dad says.

  “It’s not on glossy paper, or even card stock, but you get the idea.”

  His wet hair drips down his back. He has pulled on a pair of jeans and is tugging on a T-shirt with a marlin on the back and a picture of a boat called the Water Witch on the front pocket.

  “Dad,” I say, “it’s gotta be eighty degrees outside already, and the humidity is way high. You’re gonna die in those jeans.” I hand the brochure to him.

  He looks at me. “And you suggest?”

  I tug on my shorts. They are yellow and black with white specks. I have on a black tank with a white skull and crossbones on it.

  Dad nods. “I’m fine, thanks.” He looks over the brochure. “I like this,” he says, pointing to the inside bullets. “It looks better. Real professional.”

  “We can still make changes, but I wanted you to have something to show the printers.” I sit on the edge of his bed, and it squeaks with its age and my weight.

  Dad tucks the brochure into the front pocket of his shirt and then stuffs a pair of socks into a black duffle bag on the bed next to me. The round handle of his brush pokes out at one end, and he pushes it down as he zips the bag shut.

  “Maggie’s at work late, so she said she’ll pick you up when she gets done.”

  “How late were you over there?” I ask. I came home from the boat and crashed. I didn’t even eat dinner. I heard Dad drive off around seven o’clock, but I didn’t hear him come home. I was completely wrecked.

  “Not too late. I tried to be quiet when I came in. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

  “I was dead,” I say.

  “You worked hard yesterday. You earned a good sleep.” Dad grabs the duffle bag and heads out of the bedroom toward the front room. The bed squeaks its relief as I get up and follow. Dad checks the computer as he passes. “Who’s that?”

  I look at the screen. Rachel has sent another message that reads, “Can I come over at 1?”

  “Rachel,” I say. “She thinks she’s coming over today.”

  “I think not,” Dad says. He drops the bag on the sofa and then heads to the kitchen.

  My heart rate picks up a little. I want to see Rachel, and I’d like to spend some time alone with her. Nothing too heavy duty. I have learned a few things of value from my dad. But I know what he’s thinking, and there is no point to my arguing.

  “That girl is starting to sound like trouble.” He pours the last of the coffee into a travel mug and snaps on the lid. “I don’t want you having girls over here when I’m not home.”

  “Not gonna happen,” I say. “Rachel just wants to manipulate the situation. I’m not sure what her game is, and I don’t want to know.”

  Dad looks me square in the eye. “I mean it, Michael. That temptation isn’t worth the consequence.”

  “Dad—Not. A. Problem.” I emphasize each syllable. “She’s not all that, and I don’t even think I’m going to keep dating her. She makes me crazy.”

  Dad laughs. “She’s a girl,” he says, as if that explains it all. “So what are you going to do today?”

  “Surf, maybe. Watch TV. Play computer games. Basically hang out.”

  “No girls.” He grabs the duffle in his free hand and walks down the steps to the truck.

  “I’m not five, Dad. I heard you the first twenty times.”

  “Good. Maybe after twenty more, you’ll listen to me.” He hops into the truck, tosses the bag on the seat, puts the coffee cup in the holder, shuts the door, and waves. He mouths the words “no girls” one more time and then drives off.

  I head to the computer to message Rachel.

  Mr.Mike2U: You there?

  Sweetthang101: Yeah. Where were you?

  Mr.Mike2U: Getting chewed out by my dad, thanks to you.

  Sweetthang101: What did I do?????

  Mr.Mike2U: I told you he hadn’t left yet. He saw your last message. He specifically said “no girls” so now I’m stuck here by myself.

  Sweetthang101: It’s not
my fault he doesn’t trust you.

  My hands ball into fists, and I bang them on the desk.

  Mr.Mike2U: Actually, yes it is.

  Dad is normally pretty cool about things, but Rachel is kind of pushy, and she definitely has a big mouth. I know he just wants me to be smart about my choices.

  I’m waiting for the computer to chime with another message, but instead the phone rings.

  “Hello?” I already know who it is.

  “It is not my fault that your dad doesn’t trust you, and I resent the fact that you would even say that.”

  “Rachel . . .” I try to explain, but she won’t let me speak.

  “If you and your dad don’t have a decent relationship, that is not my fault. If you have done something that has caused him not to trust you, then you did it and not me. Don’t try to blame your problems on me. I am totally not the source of your problems, Mike. You are.”

  With that, she hangs up. I decide I’m going to go surfing before I rip the phone out of the wall.

  I change into my black-and-green swim trunks, but I leave the tank top on. I keep my board in a storage closet under the steps. After looking for my sandals for several minutes, I remember I slipped them off outside the door. I fix a sandwich, throw it, some water, and a towel into my backpack, grab my board, and then walk the block and a half from my house to the public beach. The tide is on its way in, so the waves are picking up nicely. Iron Steamer Pier is not the greatest surfing in the world, but it’s fun when you need to kill some time or blow off steam. There are the remains of an old steam ship about a hundred yards off shore. Sometimes when the tide is low, you can see the very top of the wreck out in the water. You can’t surf there at low tide or you could seriously mess up your board. There used to be an old fishing pier, too, but it blew down in a storm a long time ago; my dad tells me stories all the time about fishing off the end of the pier and getting his line caught in the wreck.

  I spike my board in the sand, throw my towel out flat, and drop my pack on it. The tourists are already out in force, slathering themselves in sunscreen and flattening out like lizards trying to soak up as much sun as possible.

  It’s times like this I wish October wasn’t so far away, so I could have my license and drive farther up the island to a better spot for waves. But it will get here soon enough. And I’m not ready to get through my summer that fast.

  I tug off my shirt and then pull my board out of the sand and head into the water. The waves have a pretty good surge to them. When I’m about waist deep, I float my board and flop on top of it. I paddle out about thirty feet, pushing the water with my hands. The ocean is warm, but a little breeze is raising goose bumps on my back, and I’m thinking my wet suit might have been a good plan.

  I raise up on my elbows and watch a few swells move under me. I can feel the draw of the water pulling urgently out toward the ocean. It signals a rush of adrenaline in me: a big wave. I start pushing hard with my arms as the water crests beneath me. I hop on the board and fight gravity to stand as the wave swells and begins folding over on top of itself. Spray hits my face and my skin. I push with my legs, guiding the board upward to stay inside the curl, then coast off the edge and head behind the churning froth as the wave breaks and rolls into the shore. I drop back down to my stomach and paddle out again.

  For about an hour, I paddle out and surf in. A few more good waves arrive as the tide comes in, but most of them are weak and shallow. I ride a few more, loving the smooth feel of the water and the summer sun on my back. I’m trying to decide if I might luck into another big one, when I spot someone waving from the shore. I sit up, shielding my eyes against the sun reflecting off the water. It’s Rachel. I ride a wimpy little swell most of the way in before I pick up my board and cross the sand.

  “What’re you doing here?”

  Rachel has on a red bikini top and white shorts.

  “Looking for you,” she says. “I figured this is where you’d come if you were mad at me.” She stands with her arms folded across her bare stomach. “Besides, my dad’s home again.”

  I spike my board in the sand again. Rachel’s dad has a drinking problem, so she doesn’t spend much time at home. My anger eases a little, and I drop down on the towel. She sits next to me.

  “I’m sorry if I got you in trouble,” she says. She sounds genuine.

  “Why do you have to be so pushy?” I ask. “I mean, you know I care about you, but it’s like you’re in some sort of race or something.”

  “I don’t know,” she says in a soft voice.

  “You do, too, Rachel.”

  She sits in silence. A breeze plays with her hair.

  “The other night at the arcade you were complaining because I didn’t kiss you soon enough. Then you find out my dad’s gone for the day, and you’re in this big rush to come over to my house.” I let out a sharp breath.

  Her skin is pale except for the rush of color to her cheeks. I’ve embarrassed her, and I sort of feel bad. Maybe Maggie is right and girls don’t know what they want any more than guys do. I feel stupid for getting mad at her.

  “Maybe we should just do it right here on the beach,” I say, trying to sound casual. “We could give the tourists a few vacation memories.” I waggle my eyebrow at her. Rachel’s eyes fly wide open as I untie the drawstring on my still-wet trunks and start sliding them down. I manage to get them to just about mid-hip when she grabs my hands.

  “Stop it, Michael. Right now.” She laughs, but her face flushes a deeper red.

  “Aw, come on,” I say. “They won’t even notice.” I nod over my shoulder at the pale bodies slowly roasting in the sun.

  She giggles and then tries to pull up my trunks. “You’ll get us in trouble. And the last thing I need today is to have a beach cop call my dad.”

  I laugh and sit beside her. I brush a strand of hair from her face. The waves crash and whisper at our feet. I want this girl, I think, but fear of the unknown stops me. Fear of the consequences, of not being any good at this, of disappointing this girl and having her tell the whole island what a failure I am.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell her.

  “I’m sorry,” she says. “I love you,” she adds.

  “I love you, too,” I say before I realize what I’m saying. But it’s mostly true. I’ll figure out the rest later. We lie on the beach, listening to the water and the occasional gull, and little kids who run into the waves and shriek as the water races up to meet them. Rachel drifts off to sleep, and I watch her breathe. She is so beautiful, and she can make me so insane. I lie next to her. The sun bakes our skin, but the breeze cools the air around us.

  After a while she stirs and sort of blinks her eyes. I smile at her. “I designed a brochure for the boat,” I tell her. “Dad took it to Raleigh to see about getting a printer. He thinks it’s pretty good.”

  “So do you want to take over your dad’s boat?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t want to be like Trevor, doing what his dad tells him to do.”

  “You’re better than that,” she says. “You want something more, even if you don’t know what that is. And even if what you want is to run your dad’s boat, it won’t be because that’s what your dad wants. It’ll be what you want.”

  My stomach gurgles and rumbles. Rachel laughs. I sit up and grab my pack, which she has been using as a pillow for the past hour or so. The peanut butter and jelly sandwich I tossed in has become a peanut butter and jelly decal: flat and sticky. Rachel giggles again.

  “Wanna grab a burger somewhere?”

  “Sure,” she says.

  “I need to run my board home first, but that’ll only take a second. We can just walk to Sandy’s or something, if you want.”

  “Sounds good,” she says.

  We brush the sand off each other and then head back to the house to drop off the board. “What time is it?”

  Rachel looks at her cell phone. “Three forty-five, and I need to be home by six.”

  “Gotcha.” We get
to my house and stow my board. I run inside to grab my wallet, then we walk the two blocks to Sandy’s Drive-In. We order burgers, onion rings, and chocolate-caramel milkshakes.

  “Will you be online tonight?” Rachel asks between slurps of her shake.

  “I’ll be at Maggie’s tonight, so I don’t know. If she says I can, I’ll get on. She usually lets me.”

  “How come you’ll be at Maggie’s?”

  “Dad’s staying in Raleigh overnight. He doesn’t want me home alone, ’cause I might sneak a girl over or something.” I wink at Rachel, and she smiles.

  “Are they seriously getting married?” she asks.

  I draw a deep breath. “About that,” I say. “You can’t say anything to anyone right now. I shouldn’t have even told you. But yeah, I think so. That’s why my dad went to Raleigh. To buy the ring. He hasn’t officially asked her, though.”

  Rachel grins. “I won’t tell anyone. But that is so cool! Are you excited?”

  “I don’t know. Maggie’s been like my mom for so long now that it sort of seems like getting married is silly. Then again, I haven’t lived with her full time, so I don’t know what that’s going to be like.”

  “I think it’s great, and I think your dad should have done this a long time ago.”

  “Yeah. Me, too.”

  We finish eating, and Rachel calls her sister to come and pick her up.

  “I’ll try to catch you online,” I say as she drives away.

  I head back to the house and climb the steps just as the phone rings.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Mike,” Dad says. “I talked to a couple of printers today, and I think we found one we can work with.” He sounds excited. “He wants you to email what you’ve got to him so he can fix it up a bit, but he said it looked like a professional job.”

  A grin spreads across my face. “Awesome. Give me his email, and I’ll get it to him.”

  “I’ll bring it home with me tomorrow.” He clears his throat and then says, “No girls at the house, right?”

  “Not a one, unless you count the twelve I hid in the shower just now.”

  “Very funny.”