The Returning (36 page)

Rebekah breathed deeply, as though to take in the air that her father’s lungs had needed. She heard again her own screams—
“Dad! Daddy!”—
as she saw him struggling to stay afloat. She thought of how she had tossed him the life jacket; she saw him reaching for it. But then there was only the jacket floating uselessly on the heaving waves.

The dock beneath her creaked softly. Someone was coming. Rebekah slowly let out her breath before turning her head to look. There was her mother in a blue cotton dress, her hair drawn back into a clip.

“What are you doing out here so early, Beka?” she asked. She didn’t sit but crossed her arms and looked out over the lake.

“Thinking.”

“Did you get any sleep at all?”

“Not much.”

Her mother sighed. “Are you all right?”

Rebekah was quiet a moment. “I just don’t know why he did it.” She had her eyes fixed on the Castle on the far side of the lake.

“You mean why he insisted on taking the boat?”

“That, and . . . why he gave me the life jacket. Why did he have to give me the life jacket?”

“Because he loves you, of course.”

A weighty silence fell over them. Finally Rebekah said, “Dad and I both could have drowned, and it would have been my fault.”

“It would have been your father’s fault—”

“No, Mom.” Rebekah shook her head sharply. “I never should have gone to the party. Then nobody would have been out in the boat.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it? What’s done is done.”

“But Dad was never a good swimmer, you know.”

“Yes, I know that.”

“He shouldn’t have been out on the lake.”

“He wouldn’t listen to me. I tried to get him to call Owen, but he wouldn’t. He had to get you himself.”

Rebekah turned and looked up at her mother. “You know, Mom,” she said, “I don’t think I can ever really be mad at him again.”

Her mother’s face lighted up as she laughed. “Don’t count on it.”

“No, really, Mom. I mean, not like I was mad before. He was afraid of the water, but he was still willing to come and get me. He was even willing to . . .”

“To die saving you?”

Rebekah nodded. When she spoke, it was little more than a whisper. “Yeah. I’ve been thinking . . . I want to tell him . . .”

“Tell him what, Beka?”

“So many things. That I’m glad he came home, first of all. He didn’t have to, did he? I mean, after prison. He could have gone somewhere else and started a different life, but he came back to us.”

“Yes,” her mother conceded. “He didn’t have to, but he did come home.”

“I guess I wish I could go back to that first day and, you know, welcome him home a little bit nicer.”

“Well, it’s not too late, you know.” Mom nodded back toward the cottage. Rebekah followed with her eyes. Her dad, in dark shorts and white undershirt, stood on the porch steps. He lifted a hand, moved forward across the lawn and down the steep steps.

Rebekah rose to stand beside her mother as he approached.

When he reached them, he asked, “You two all right?”

Rebekah nodded.

Mom said, “Yes. We’re all right. Some night, though, huh?”

“Yeah.” Her father smiled sheepishly. “And some hero, huh?”

“But you are, Dad,” Rebekah blurted. “You are to me.” He shook his head. “If it hadn’t been for Billy’s getting the motorboat started . . . He’s the real hero.”

“You both are, Dad.”

He seemed not to hear. He was looking past her shoulder at something beyond her. “I never would have imagined Billy’s doing something like that. But he has no fear of the water, does he? And anyway, he’s all grown up now. He’s still got that determined streak, thank God.”

“Dad—”

“We’ll have to make sure he knows how proud of him we are, maybe do something special for him.”

“Dad?”

His eyes came to rest on her now. She locked onto his gaze to make sure he was listening.

“What is it, Beka?” His voice was gentle.

“I just wanted to say, well . . .” She glanced at her mom, back at her dad. “I’m glad you’re home.”

He blinked, looking puzzled. And then he seemed to hear the words and understand. He smiled. “Me too, Beka.”

“Only, Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“What if the kids at school find out we were the ones who called the cops?”

Her father frowned. Then his face opened up as he shrugged. “I guess I’ll just have to take you with me next time I do a dig in Peru. They’ll never find us there.”

Rebekah stiffened, chagrined by her old lie. But the feeling melted when she saw her father smile, heard him chuckle. Then they were laughing together.

“I don’t get it,” her mother said. “What’s this about Peru?”

“Just a little inside joke, Mom.”

“Oh. Well, then, while you’re making your plans, I think I’ll go up and make breakfast.”

When she was gone, Dad said to Rebekah, “You hungry?”

“Starving.”

He nodded toward the cottage. “Let’s go set the table for your mother.”

He held out an arm; she took it. Linked at the elbows, they moved along the dock toward shore.

“I hear Peru’s nice this time of year,” he said.

She pinched his arm and kept on walking.

C
HAPTER
F
IFTY-ONE

“Tell me again
, Billy!” Phoebe begged.

Billy laughed. “I’ve told you a hundred times today, Phoebe. You should be able to tell
me
the story by now.”

“But I want to hear you tell it.”

“Well, all right.” He pretended to frown, though secretly he was happy that his little sister wanted to hear it again. She had followed him around all day like a shadow, wanting even more than usual to be with him. On top of that Dad had taken the whole family out to eat, not at Laughter’s Luncheonette but at that nice restaurant on the edge of town where they’d never eaten before. Billy had asked if they could afford it, and Dad had answered, “You let me worry about that, son. This dinner is in your honor, and the guest of honor doesn’t ask questions.” Billy had felt like a real hero then. It was just about the best day of his life.

Now he and Phoebe were face-to-face in the bay window, Phoebe sitting cross-legged in her pajamas, waiting eagerly for Billy to start. “One more time,” Billy told her, “and then you have to go to bed. Okay?”

“Okay.” Phoebe nodded, and Billy smiled at the way her blond curls bobbed around her face.

“Well,” he said, “you know how Beka’s car died. She was stuck over there. You know, at the Castle.”

“Uh-huh!”

“So she called Dad. ‘Come get me!’ But Mom’s car had a flat. So Dad said, ‘Billy, we’re going in the boat!’ He wanted me to drive.”

Billy beamed while Phoebe’s eyes danced in the artificial light of the lamp.

“But you couldn’t get that old motor to start!” she piped up.

“That’s right. I tried and tried. It wouldn’t start. So Dad got in the rowboat, and Mom told me, ‘Come on out of the motorboat.’ She said, ‘Shine the flashlight for Dad.’ ”

“But you wouldn’t do it, would you, Billy?”

“No, I wouldn’t!”

“Yup!”

“I hit the motor a couple of times with my hand.” Billy made a fist and pointed to the fleshy part below his pinky finger. “Bam, bam! Sometimes that helps, you know.”

“I bet you were mad, Billy.”

“Well, yeah I was. Dad left in the rowboat. Mom swung the flashlight. I kept pulling the cord.”

“And then what happened, Billy?”

“It started to rain. It rained like you never saw before. Just out of nowhere the rain was coming down and the wind was blowing”—Billy waved his arms—“and thunder was booming, and I almost fell out of the boat. Then Mom yelled, ‘Get out of the boat!’ She didn’t want me to be hit by lightning in an aluminum boat. So I crawled up to the dock. And it rained real hard. I started to get scared. I prayed, ‘God help us. God help us.’ Just like that, Phoebe, because I didn’t know what else to say.”

Phoebe, wide-eyed, whispered, “I think He heard you.”

“Yeah.” Billy nodded. “He did. Because the rain slowed down. And I got back in the boat. Mom was yelling at me, but I did it anyway. I got in the boat and tried one more time. And this time the motor started.”

“Oh my!” Phoebe clapped, then laced her hands together in anticipation.

“So I headed out, Phoeb. I headed to the Castle. But when I couldn’t see the rowboat I got scared. Then I heard someone yelling. It sounded like Beka. I turned the boat around and headed toward the yelling. I thought it had to be Dad and Beka. Who else would be out on the lake at night like that, you know?”

A nod from Phoebe.

“But it wasn’t Dad and Beka. It was just Beka. She was standing in the boat, and I saw her throw something into the lake.”

“And what was it, Billy?”

“It was her life jacket. She was throwing away her life jacket, and I thought she was crazy. I didn’t know why she’d do that.”

“It was because Dad didn’t have a life jacket on.”

“That’s right, Phoeb.”

“He’d given her his.”

“Yup, that’s right.”

“And he was out in the water drowning.”

“Beka said she saw him go under.”

“What happened after that, Billy?”

“Beka saw me. She screamed at me, and you know how she can scream.”

A sympathetic nod this time.

“She said, ‘Dad’s drowned. Dad’s drowned.’ I didn’t want to believe it.” It didn’t matter how many times Billy told Phoebe about last night. Every time he reached this part, tears came to his eyes. He blinked them back. “I was going real slow, and I pulled up alongside the rowboat the best I could. I put the motor on idle and helped Beka get in the motorboat. She was screaming and crying. I was scared we’d both fall overboard if she didn’t stop. I made her sit down. I kneeled in front of her, and I put my hands on her shoulders and held on tight. She’d gone crazy, Phoebe. She kept saying she’d started the storm and killed Dad and it was all her fault. I shook her and told her to stop, but she kept screaming.

“I’ve never been so scared. Not ever,” he whispered. He looked past Phoebe into the night, remembering.

“But what about the hand, Billy?” Phoebe prompted.

He turned his gaze back to his sister’s eager face. “While Beka and I were crying and carrying on, the boat leaned way far over, and there was a hand holding on to the side!”

“It was Daddy!” Phoebe cried, clapping her hands again.

“Well, I didn’t know at first what it was, but I sure hoped it was Dad. I let go of Beka and reached over and grabbed that hand”—Billy grabbed the air—“and then another hand came up, and I grabbed it too, and then, Phoebe . . . then I was looking right into Dad’s face.”

“He was alive!”

“Yeah, he was. I yelled, ‘Dad! Dad!’ And you know what, Phoebe? I think he was kind of surprised to see me.”

Phoebe lifted two small fists to her mouth and giggled. “He must have thought you’d walked on water like Jesus to come save him.”

As many times as Billy had told her the story, she hadn’t said that before. Billy stopped short, cocked his small head. “If I could walk on water, I would have, to save Dad. But all I did was start that dumb old motorboat.”

“Oh no, Billy, you did more than that!” Phoebe shook her head hard. “You got right in the water with Dad and held on to him while Beka drove the boat home.”

But Billy wasn’t listening. He was looking past Phoebe again, toward the dark window. “You know, Phoeb, all day I’ve been feeling like I saved Dad.”

“You
did
save Dad.”

“Not without help.”

“What do you mean, Billy?”

“Like you said, I can’t walk on water.”

“No, but you can swim real good.”

Billy smiled at that. “Yeah,” he said. “Thank God.”

“Thank God,” Phoebe echoed. “So then what happened?”

Dad weighed a ton, and he was real tired. I tried to pull him into the boat, but I knew real fast I couldn’t. He’d end up dumping us all out, and then we’d all be goners. So I got in the water.”

“And what’d Beka say then?”

“She said, ‘Billy, what are you doing? What are you doing in the water?’ ” He shrugged, grinning. “Well, what did she think I was doing? Taking a bath? Going scuba diving?”

Phoebe threw her head back and laughed loud and long. Billy liked that. Nothing sounded better than his little sister’s laugh.

“I told her, ‘I’m helping Dad hold the boat.’ ” I told her, ‘Drive us home real slow.’ So that’s what we did, phoeb.”

“And Mom was still out there swinging the flashlight.”

“Yup. In a few minutes we were at the dock. Dad and I walked to shore and fell over. Then Mom and Beka were there, and then we were all hugging and laughing and crying all at the same time. Like I told you before, I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy in my whole life as I was right then.”