“And you were guiding them on your own?”
“Yes. I’m fully certified. I can take up to twelve on my own.”
“How old are you?”
“Fifteen, almost sixteen. I’m fully certified.”
“You’re sure this man wasn’t on one of your tours?”
Jack was feeling more confident now. These questions were safe. She was safe. She was Paul’s most reliable guide.
“No, Detective. Not one of my tours. This group was my first today. Moondog, I mean Jorge, Jorge Savila, he did the nine a.m. tour. I was supposed to do the two p.m. And Travis Whalen has the sunset today.”
“Those will have to be canceled.”
Jack nodded dully. The prospect of phone calls to angry tourists made her feel tired all over again. Hopefully Travis would handle it.
“We’ll take you back in the other boat. Follow me.” Ramirez nodded to her partner and took small steps to the starboard edge, lining herself up with the bigger boat. Nicoletti reached out and yanked Ramirez toward him. Jack ignored the man’s outstretched hand and leaped aboard on her own. The older detective stared at Jack for a long moment. Then he turned to the pilot and gave the nod to depart.
Jack and the detectives chugged back to the marina in silence. Jack kept her eyes on the water, resisting the urge to point out the baby seals, the pulsing jellyfish, the schools of anchovy swimming laps in the glittering midday light. They crossed under the highway bridge, cut the engine, and cruised up to the dock.
When they got back to the Shack, the sheriff’s deputies were talking to the tourists from Jack’s group. Paul was still nowhere to be seen. Ramirez wrote down Jack’s address and phone number and promised to be in touch. Then she told Jack she could go home. And to be safe out there.
Jack unlocked the shop and tried Paul one more time from the office phone. Nothing. She debated calling home. Prima would be there. Maybe her mom by now too. Jack stared at the phone receiver in her hand until it turned into a foreign object, something alien and forbidding. She realized she was not yet ready to talk, not ready to be bombarded with questions and concern. She put down the phone, locked the door, and headed outside.
Her bike was waiting for her at the fence, as if nothing had happened. She clipped on her helmet and took the back way around the yacht club, avoiding the people clustered at the picnic tables. She turned out of the marina and pedaled across the bridge. She didn’t look out at the slough to see what was happening at the motorboat. She didn’t care to see anything alive. No seals. No jellyfish. No bodies. She kept her eyes on the cracked gray asphalt, letting the thin winter sun bounce off and blind her to everything but the road and the wind.
Chapter Seven
Beth got home late again. Gigi Montero had an allergic reaction to the soup at lunch, and she’d insisted on Beth accompanying her in the ambulance to the hospital. By the time they got back to Bayshore Oaks, Rosa was on duty, Miss Gigi was asleep, and Beth had missed her chance to make it home in time for dinner.
She tossed the greasy foil from her burrito into the trash can on her way into the house. Beth opened the front door, expecting to see Jack on the couch with her head in her phone, texting with friends. But the kitchen and living room were dark. No sound anywhere in the house.
Beth slipped into her moccasins and glanced at the family calendar of school holidays, Kayak Shack tours, overnight shifts, and chemo appointments affixed to the fridge. Nada. Maybe Jack was at Kayla’s?
Beth popped open a beer and rolled out her shoulders. She headed to the back bedroom to ask Lana about Jack’s whereabouts, steeling herself for another ambush from her mother about remodeling the house. Instead, she walked into an improbable portrait of grandmotherly care. Lana was reading a book in her robe, which was normal enough. But Jack was curled up next to her on the comforter. And Lana was stroking Jack’s hair.
Neither of them noticed when Beth entered. Jack had her eyes open, but she didn’t seem to be looking at anything. She was turned away from her grandma, staring at the blank wall above the desk.
Beth watched for a moment, transfixed by the hypnotic, gentle motion of her mother’s hand over her daughter’s tangled hair. She didn’t recognize either of the women on the bed as hers. She felt like a clumsy interloper, as if she had stumbled into someone else’s family by mistake.
Lana looked up from her book. She spoke in a soft voice Beth had never heard before. “It’s been a long day. Can you get us some crackers and cheese?”
Strange feelings of confusion and jealousy rose in Beth’s stomach. Back in the kitchen, she took another swig of beer. Then she set out a box of Wheat Thins, some Swiss cheese slices, a Diet Coke for Lana, a real one for Jack. She put out place mats, seagrass hexagons she’d woven with Jack years ago. And waited.