Blue Skin of the Sea (25 page)

We sat side by side on the sand between the rocks, arms and knees touching. Could I even survive if I didn’t go with her?

Shelley tapped me on my arm and pointed toward the lighthouse on the far point. A boat I’d never seen before was heading in toward the harbor—a yacht. Shelley leaned into my shoulder, and we watched it approach.

As it got closer I could tell by the way it cut
the water that it was easily the best-made boat I’d ever seen. A man stood at the wheel in a sunken cockpit, and a woman coiled a length of rope on the bow. The yacht sailed past, toward the harbor, silent as a cat’s ghost. It said
Moineau, Papeete,
in gold script across its dark wood stern.

“Holey, moley,” I whispered, then whistled softly.

“Sparrow,” Shelley said. “What a beautiful name.”

“Huh?”

“Sparrow, that’s the name of the boat.
Moineau
is sparrow in French.”

I nodded, half listening, mesmerized by the yacht’s sharp, clean lines.

Sparrow.
Pure, fluid. It fit.

I floated away, daydreaming. I was at the helm, sailing at my own speed to wherever I felt like going, the wheel smooth and steady in my hands. The yacht belonged to me and Shelley. Alone, we were sailing the oceans of the world.

Then, suddenly jolted in my daydream, I thought of Dad’s sampan, only it was a dark, deserted ghost boat—a shadow chugging slowly away. It disappeared under the sharp, blue line that divided the sea from the sky.

Where did
that
come from?

I closed my eyes and shook the thought away, wiping my sweating hands on my T-shirt.

The
Moineau
anchored close in, bow to the sea, stern tied to the end of the pier. Shelley and I swam past its clean, white wooden hull on our way out of Thurston’s Harbor. I ran my hand along its side at the waterline, felt its smoothness.

The man and woman worked side by side, furling the sails and stowing gear without speaking, as if they’d been sailing together forever. Neither of them looked much older than twenty or twenty-five. How could they be so young and have a boat like this?

The man stood a moment when he saw us watching him. He nodded, and I lifted my chin. Then he turned away and took a bucket up onto the pier.

We found Keo and Uncle Raz sitting in Uncle Raz’s truck drinking beer, the two of them slouching in their seats with the doors open. When we walked up Uncle Raz waved his bottle toward the
Moineau.

“Foo-foo, yeah?”

Keo smirked, then waved past Uncle Raz to Shelley.

“A boat like that,” Uncle Raz went on, “is good for nothing but a tea party.”

I turned and glanced back at the yacht. Uncle Raz never had taken to people who didn’t work for a living, even people like Shelley’s father who’d earned enough to retire while still pretty young. And he’d sooner get caught driving a pink Cadillac convertible than fiddling around on a cocky boat like the
Moineau.

“I think it’s kind of … beautiful,” I said.

“Beautiful!”
Uncle Raz pinched up his eyes and pulled his head back into his neck, then turned to Keo. “What is he? A fisherman or a macaroni?”

Keo peeked over at me and smiled. “Macaroni. No doubt aboutit.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Shelley asked.

Uncle Raz looked like he’d just licked a lemon. “What can you do with it? Can’t fish. Can’t take a lot of people anywhere. Can’t even say the name. You can go for a boat ride, that’s all.”

Shelley held his gaze and Uncle Raz blinked. He could stare a man down for days, but Tutu Max had beaten him into learning about women a long time ago. He waved his beer toward me and said to Shelley without looking at her, “You go fishing with this boy’s daddy and he’ll show you what a boat is for.”

“Where is he, anyway?” I asked Uncle Raz. “He should have been back an hour ago.”

“Last I heard he was way down past Milolii.”

I squinted into the sunset and scanned the horizon. No boats. Fishermen were funny sometimes—superstitious. And Dad was no different from the rest of them. Taking a female fishing was bad luck, like bananas. I wondered what he’d say about taking Shelley along. He didn’t know her very well. He was nice to her, but he usually just nodded and went on with what he was doing. It didn’t seem to bother Shelley.

“I’ll ask him,” Shelley said.

Uncle Raz smiled. “You not bad, girl. Got a little bit of boy inside you, I can see.”

Shelley stuck her arm through mine and said, “Maybe … maybe.”

Uncle Raz swung his beer again, his favorite pointer. He said to Shelley, “Maybe you can show Sonny some things, eh? Straighten him out about boats.”

I pulled Shelley away. “Come on. It’s embarrassing that I’m related to this babooze.”

The sky had darkened by then, and the
Moineatfs
night lights stretched off its beam in long, wobbly reflections. For an instant it hit again, that eerie thought—Dad’s boat, a ghost boat, sinking into the horizon.

I strode off quickly, dragging Shelley along behind me.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. She stopped and made me look into her eyes.
“What?”

“I don’t know. Something doesn’t feel right, that’s all.”

“Well, what does it feel like?”

I looked up into the black sky, my hands on my hips, and took a deep breath. “ … Ghosts,” I said.

Shelley giggled, then stopped. “I’m sorry, Sonny. Really. It just sounded funny the way you said it. What do you mean, ghosts?”

“I don’t know … I guess I’m just worried about Dad. He should have been back by now.”

Shelley wrapped herself around my arm and snuggled up close to me. It was a small gesture. But it melted me down like ice in the sun.

She stared at me a moment, then gave me a nudge. “Come on, you need to get yourself home for some hot soup and a good night’s sleep He’ll show up.”

I waited up most of the night, dozing at times, but fitfully. At five the next morning, I called Uncle Raz’s house, but he didn’t answer. Right after I hung up, the phone rang.

“Uncle Raz just called from the pier,” Keo said. “Your dad’s boat isn’t there. Did he ever come home?”

“No.”

Keo was silent a minute. Then he said, “We’re on our way down to the pier. Start walking. We’ll pick you up on the road.”

I felt my hands sweating again. Where
was
he? Why didn’t he radio in?

The dogs whined when I turned on the kitchen light, crowding around on the porch by the screen door as if they knew something wasn’t right. I fed them and hurried out to the shadowy road. The sun was still far below the mountain, but the sky was beginning to turn an early-morning pale.

Keo and Uncle Harley picked me up a mile from town, the brightness of the Jeep’s headlights dimming when Uncle Harley took his foot off the gas pedal. I climbed over the spare tire into the backseat.

“Tell me everything you know about where he might have gone yesterday,” Uncle Harley said.

“I don’t know anything,” I said. “He just went out as usual. Where do you think he is?”

“Who knows? But he would have used the radio if he was in trouble.”

“Maybe he ran out of gas.”

“Maybe. But still he would radio.”

No one said anything for a while. I glimpsed the ocean through the trees, gray and calm, the ghostly white of breaking waves flaring up below the palms.
What do you know?

Nothing.

It surprised me to think that. And it scared me. I knew nothing about where Dad was. Did I even know much about
wbo
he was? Our lives went on. That’s all.

When we drove out to the end of the pier, Uncle Raz was just pulling the
Optimystic
away from its mooring in the harbor, walking the boat in toward us. Dad’s buoy was pale white against the flat sea. The skiff was still tied to it.

Keo and I jumped out of the Jeep and studied the ocean, straining to see a sign down the southern coastline, a light, a dark speck.

Uncle Harley pushed himself up and stood on the seat. He panned the horizon with a pair of binoculars. “Nothing,” he said. “Only a sailboat.”

I turned to where the
Moineau
had anchored the night before. It was gone.

Uncle Raz parked the boat and walked over. “I’ve been trying to call Raymond for the last hour, but he still doesn’t answer.”

“Or can’t answer,” Uncle Harley said. “What do you think?”

“Keep calling and go look,” Uncle Raz said.

We decided that Keo and I would go with Uncle Raz on the boat, and Uncle Harley would drive down the coast checking the harbors. We’d search until three o’clock. If Dad hadn’t shown up by then, we’d call the Coast Guard.

“Sonny,” Uncle Harley said. “Think hard—did he say anything at all about where he was going yesterday?”

I shook my head.

Uncle Harley pressed his lips together, then said, “Okay, let’s go.”

“Sonny.” Keo nodded down the pier. “Your girlfriend.”

Shelley and her father drove up to us in the Alfa Romeo. Shelley got out.

“Did he come back?”

“No,” I said. “We’re going out to look for him now.”

Shelley turned toward the car. “Daddy … ”

Her father turned off the engine and got out. “Mick Pierce,” he said, sticking his hand out to Uncle Harley, then to Uncle Raz. “Hi, boys,” he said to Keo and me. Then he put his hand on my shoulder. “Shelley told me you were worried about your father.”

Shelley watched me, eyes pinched with concern.

“We’re all worried, Mr. Pierce,” Uncle Harley said. “He didn’t come back to the harbor last night, and we can’t raise him on the radio.”

“Call me Mick,” he said, smiling. “I can help. I’ve got a little single-engine Cessna out at the airport.”

Uncle Harley glanced over at Uncle Raz. Uncle Raz shrugged and said, “He’ll cover a lot more water than I will.”

Uncle Harley thought for a second. Then he looked Mr. Pierce in the eye. “We could use your help, Mick … it could be a wild goose chase, though. There’s a lot of water out there.”

Mr. Pierce nodded, his smile gone.

“You’ll be looking for a blue and orange sampan,” Uncle Harley added. “About thirty feet long. Open deck.”

“I know the boat. Shelley pointed it out to me. I’ll fly north and work my way south. We can keep in touch by radio.” He called for Shelley as he started back to his car.

Shelley looked at Uncle Raz, not following.

“Why not,” Uncle Raz said, cracking his sour expression. “Get on board.”

Mr. Pierce nodded and drove off.

As we sped out of the harbor, the morning sun burst over the mountain, pouring color into the ocean. I stared out to sea with my knees braced against the gunwale. Shelley surrounded me with her arms from behind.

At ten minutes past ten, Mick Pierce’s voice spat over the radio, his words broken by heavy static.

“ … the
Opti
…
stic,
callin … the
Op
…
ystic
… ”

Uncle Raz grabbed the transmitter.
“Optimystic
back, over … ”

“I foun … th … boat … about fifteen mil … northwest of … airport … I’ve circ … twice, but don’t se … anyone aboard … she’s running, though … head … away from the island, but slo … maybe … couple of knots, over … ”

“He could be down in the hold,” I said to Uncle Raz.

“Mick … can you see if the hold door is open? Look by the wheel, over … ”

Continuous static rushed over the speaker. No one spoke.

“The door … open, but ther … sn’t seem to be anyone in ther … from here … over.”

Uncle Raz held the transmitter to his mouth but didn’t say anything. Had Dad somehow fallen overboard?

“I’m on my way,” Uncle Raz finally said. “Can you stay in the air until you see me coming … just long enough to give me a bead on the location? Over … ”

“Roger … I can give y … twenty min … s, then I have t … back, over … ”

“Hang on, Mick,” Uncle Raz said.
“Optimystic
out.”

Uncle Raz swung the boat around and blasted up to three thousand RPM. Still in the lee of the island, the ocean was smooth, and Uncle Raz’s boat skimmed over it like a flying fish.

Mr. Pierce had located Dad’s sampan miles from where he usually fished. Why? And the boat was under way with no one aboard. Was he sick? That was it, he was sick and sleeping in
the hold out of the sun. Too sick to crawl out when he heard the plane.

Shelley put her hand on my chest. “Sonny … ” she said softly.

“We’ll find him,” Uncle Raz said. “If we have to search from here to New Zealand, we’ll find him.”

Keo took Uncle Raz’s binoculars up on the roof. He’d been quiet all morning. What would we find on the sampan? Would Dad be inside?

For the first time in my life I was afraid to climb aboard Dad’s boat.

When Mr. Pierce spotted the
Optimystic
racing out toward Dad’s boat, he called to tell us we were right on line. “ … Still no sign of life … ” he added. “Maybe he fe … overboard.”

Uncle Raz answered slowly. “We’ll take it from here, Mick … You alert the Coast Guard.” Uncle Raz paused, then said, “ … I’ll buy you a beer when we get back … out.”

“ … You’re on.”

Uncle Raz turned the static down. He didn’t say anything. But I knew what he was thinking. If Dad was in the water, he was going to be hell to find.

Dad’s sampan appeared and disappeared in the growing swells, slowly making headway to the northwest. Probably on auto pilot, Uncle Raz said. It was holding a steady course. Looking at it through the binoculars made me feel strange inside, hollow, like I wasn’t really there but was dreaming about it.

We caught up around two-thirty. The deep-sea swells had risen noticeably, though the wind hadn’t picked up.

“Keo,” Uncle Raz called, sticking his head out the window and shouting to the roof.

Keo dropped onto the stern deck and came into the cabin.

“I’m going to pull up next to it,” Uncle Raz said. “I’ll ride alongside until you can jump over.”

“I’m going with him,” I said.

“No. I need you here.”

“But … ”

“Just wait a minute,” Uncle Raz said.

Uncle Raz slowed the
Optimystic
and crept up to Dad’s sampan. The swells were choppy, and Uncle Raz had to keep eight or ten feet away because the sampan could veer into us unexpectedly. There was always a good deal of play in an automatic pilot device.