Greg Weisman - Rain of the Ghosts

Her mother was already up and cooking. Rain helped serve the guests. Neither Ms. Vendaval nor Callahan (nor any dark ghost) came down to eat, but the DeLancys were demanding enough that she didn’t miss the extra work. As it was, Rain still had to wash the dishes, fold some towels in the laundry room and beg Iris to make the beds for her. By the time she met Charlie at the docks, she had all but forgotten how her morning had begun.

Miranda was waiting at the gate to the Columbia Yacht Club. She seemed immediately relieved to see them, as if she hadn’t been sure they were going to show up.

“I wasn’t sure you were going to show up,” she said. Rain looked at Charlie and rolled her eyes. He elbowed her to lay off.

Miranda led them down a gangway to a sleek thirty-foot twin-engine speedboat. It was brand new, and Rain figured it was worth about ten times her dad’s charter. A woman in her late twenties with short blond hair and tan skin held out her hand to help Miranda board. Rain and Charlie followed. As an afterthought, Miranda said, “Oh, this is Ariel.” Rain and Charlie both said hi. But the woman only nodded silently and untied the line. She took the helm and piloted the boat smoothly out onto the water beyond Pueblo Harbor.

On most any map, they were labeled the Prospero Keys: a chain of tropical islands on the edge of the Bermuda Triangle—southeast of Florida, midway between the Bahamas and Cuba. Locals, however, never referred to the Prosperos by their official name. To the native born, they were the Ghost Keys, or simply, “The Ghosts.”

The Keys were an American Territory. The main industry was tourism, but there were also substantial fishing and agricultural interests, a U.S. military base and burgeoning industrial growth. The capital city, Pueblo de San Próspero (where Rain and Charlie were both born and raised), was a medium-sized destination resort. Tourist trade made it seem bigger than it really was. For full-time residents, the Pueblo was really just a small town on the edge of the jungle where everybody knew everybody else’s name, business and secrets.

There were eight islands. San Próspero was the largest. Sycorax Island was a ferry ride to the west. Five others arced to the northeast in a gentle curve: Tío Samuel, Malas Almas, Ile de la Géante, Teatro de Fantasmas and a strip of sand that locals called “The Pebble.” The eighth island, Isla Soraya, was some small distance south of the other seven.

Miranda’s father’s boat took the kids beyond the already crowded Próspero Bay and into the Florida Straits. Ariel cut the engine and immediately began helping the three teens get prepped. Charlie and Miranda were gamely trying to generate some small talk between them. But Rain watched Ariel. There was something strangely compelling about the woman. It wasn’t simply that she was beautiful. It was the way she went about her business. There was a precision, an economy of movement. There was nothing loose about her. She never spoke; in fact, she might have been a mute for all Rain knew. She seemed somehow coiled and ready to spring.

Miranda still felt nervous around Rain, as if Rain had put her on some kind of probation, which wasn’t exactly an inaccurate assessment. Trying to gain some points, Miranda asked her new companion if she wanted to go first. Rain jumped at the chance, and a few minutes later she was out on the water, wind and spray in her face. An electric guitar was rockin’ out fifties-style in her head as she rode the single wide ski and called out for Ariel to open her up. Ariel complied, and Rain’s smile broadened with the increased velocity. All thoughts of school and tourists and unfulfilled dreams were forgotten. She was in the moment. She was free.

Back on the boat, Charlie and Miranda watched as Rain began sliding her ski back and forth across the boat’s wake, getting a little bit of air with each pass. Miranda was impressed. “Wow. She’s great.”

“Yeah,” Charlie said dreamily. He was in major crush mode, and Miranda immediately picked up on it and turned to look at him. Charlie caught the look and snapped himself out of it. “I mean her skiing.”

Miranda nodded. She was mildly disappointed. The hug she had caught them in the night before had been a tip-off, but Charlie was really nice, and she had thought maybe… Still it was good to know. These were her first friends since moving home. She definitely didn’t want to come between them. She did wonder if Rain felt the same way about Charlie, or even if she knew how he felt. It didn’t seem like they were a real couple.

Meanwhile, Charlie was babbling. “See, this is her routine. She’s got it down to a science. Wake-jumping. And look, left hand in the air. She’s gonna do a turn-around.” On cue, Rain, holding on with just her right hand, executed a sweet three-sixty on her ski. For a split-second, she released the line completely then grabbed for it again with her left hand.

And missed! Instantly, she started to lose it. A look of panic swept over her face as she wiped out big time.

Charlie shouted, “Rain!”

And Miranda: “Stop! Stop the boat!” Ariel was already decelerating and bringing it around. She had the speedboat dead in the water within five seconds, but they had already lost sight of Rain. Charlie was ready to dive in—in fact they all were—when Rain’s ski abruptly popped up to the surface without her. Charlie froze. Exactly three more seconds passed.

Rain surfaced, sputtering. Fine, but embarrassed, she treaded water and waved sheepishly. Ariel pulled the boat alongside, and Rain climbed aboard. Charlie glared. Rain shrugged. “Whoops.”

Charlie took his turn skiing. Then Miranda. Rain again. Charlie. Miranda. As Charlie helped Miranda back aboard, Rain offered to take the boat and let Ariel go next. Ariel looked at her. Then she shook her head; it was a tiny back and forth movement, just exactly what was necessary to convey the message “no.” Maybe she is mute, Rain thought.

They headed back to the bay, to the harbor. Ariel at the helm. The three kids stood on the deck, enjoying the sun and the salt air. Rain toweled off, then suddenly turned to Charlie. “Oh, I had the weirdest dream this morning.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You were in it. And this woman—a new guest at the Inn. I don’t remember exactly. I think we were all in New York City.”

“What would you know about New York City?”

“I watch television. Duh. Anyway, the dream changed, and I was back in my room. There was a man standing over me. It felt so real, I jumped out of bed.”

“That’s creepy,” Charlie said. He glanced over Rain’s shoulder at Miranda. Rain had virtually turned her back on the new girl, and Miranda was clearly feeling unincluded and borderline lonely. She took a step away.

“I searched the entire room,” Rain was saying. Charlie tapped her knee with one hand and nodded toward Miranda. Rain turned. “Hmm?”

She took another look at the girl. As much as Rain wanted to leave the Ghosts, it must be even tougher to come back here to stay. The place was so insular. Rain and Charlie were so insular. So self-sufficient. A wave of empathy washed over Rain. “Miranda?” she said. Miranda turned toward her.

“¿ Hablas español? ” Rain asked.

“Hey, wait!” Charlie sputtered. This was backfiring.

Miranda’s eyes ping-ponged between them. Cautiously, she said, “ Si. Por supuesto. ”

Charlie shook his head, mock furious. “I seem to recall that English is the official language of the Ghost Keys.”

Rain ignored him and leaned toward Miranda conspiratorially. “ Que bueno. Porque Charlie no habla y esto le vuelve loco.”

Charlie recognized the word loco , knew Rain was trying to drive him crazy and bellowed, “ENOUGH!” at the top of his lungs. The girls laughed. Charlie shook his head. But he saw how Miranda was smiling. How Rain had finally opened up and let her in. It was a good thing, even if it had been at his expense. Soon he was smiling too.