Anne Brown - Promise Bound

Gabby looked at Adrian hesitantly. “Is that okay with its mom?”

“I’m pretty sure. His mom is a … water enthusiast.”

She paused.

Come on, please , I thought.

“Well, if you’re sure it’s okay. I could use an extra pair of eyes.”

“What are you looking for?” I asked, dreading the answer and wishing I didn’t have such a big mouth.

But most of all, I was hoping—hoping Pavati would forgive me for using our son as bait.

GABRIELLE PETTIT

Danny Catron had been kind of a putz in high school, but he seemed to have filled out quite a bit since I saw him last summer at that horrible camping trip to Manitou Island. And I was glad to see his eyebrows had grown back. In a way, now that he was older, he looked a little like Jack. Same coloring, anyway. Different eyes, though. Who had blue eyes like that?

In fact, now that I thought about it, Catron wasn’t bad-looking at all. But there was something else—and not just his eyes or his mild resemblance to Jack—that kept my attention locked on him. Some distant memory of a fight. In the woods beyond the bent chain-link fence where kids went to light up in the morning before school.

Only about ten of us had gathered because the fight hadn’t been well advertised. Besides, it was a family matter. Brother on brother. Danny was getting the shit beat out of him, which wasn’t that interesting on its own, but the older brother said something that now, in retrospect, held possibilities.

“Mermaid,” he’d said. “Effing mermaid.”

Was it a coincidence Jack and Danny had both found their way to Lily Hancock? I doubted it. And what was with this baby?

“I’m babysitting for my cousin,” Danny said. “Want to give us a ride?”

The baby wriggled on the dock, head nestled in Danny’s well-worn Nike. His cousin must be a real piece of work to put him in charge of a kid that small. “Is that okay with its mom?”

“I’m pretty sure. His mom is a water enthusiast.”

Smooth, Catron. Okay. I’ll play along. We can see where this goes. “Well, if you’re sure it’s okay. I could use an extra pair of eyes.”

“What are you looking for?”

“Did you hear about my brother Jack?”

Danny’s face went slack, like he’d had a stroke or something, but his silence was all I needed. Obviously he knew all about Jack, and then some. I started up the boat and brought it up against the end of the dock. Danny handed me the swaddled baby, which felt surprisingly solid for something so small.

Danny picked up his shoes and threw them into the hull, stepping over the side rail. The bottom of his T-shirt was smeared with some yellow gunk. With my luck the baby was a puker.

Danny took the kid back from me right away. Maybe he wasn’t such a bad guy after all. A dude with a baby. It was cute in a bizarre kind of way.

“So, you heard about Jack?” I asked again, since he didn’t show any sign of answering.

He swallowed and looked down at his feet. “I heard he died. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Where did you hear that? From Lily?” I folded my arms over my chest.

He shook his head, eyes still downcast. “It was in the paper.”

“The paper said he was missing. His body has never been found.”

“Oh. Right.” He nodded. “I guess I just assumed.”

“What would you say if I said I thought a mermaid took him?” I paused to let that sink in.

Danny looked up. His eyes flashed and he dropped onto one of the seats, his face turning a little gray. “I don’t know. That it sounds a little crazy?”

“Maybe.” I studied the lake surface that lay between the Hancocks’ dock and Madeline Island. “But where would two crazy people look for a mermaid?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

I sighed for effect. “You’re a terrible liar, Catron.” Then I turned back to face him and smiled consolingly.

Danny fidgeted on his seat and wrapped the blanket tighter around his little cousin, who’d fallen asleep. “I suppose I wouldn’t be looking along the shoreline,” he said. “I suppose I’d try deeper water.”

“Hey!” called a voice. Danny and I both jumped, and jerked our heads toward the darkened Hancock house. Lily’s little sister was running across the yard for the dock. “You guys going for a boat ride? Can I come, too?”

CALDER

There are some moments in life you plan for. You’ve imagined it so many times you have to remind yourself it hasn’t really happened. Not yet. Maybe not ever. And then all of a sudden, it’s a day like any other, maybe a Tuesday, and you’re standing in The Moment.

For me, it was like riding on top of a soap bubble. I barely breathed for fear it would burst, and I would fall to Earth, and my mother would see me for what I was: unworthy, floundering, and clumsy. Because for all my imaginings, I didn’t know how to do this.

I watched my mother through the window, seeing my own reflection superimposed over my view of her as she moved around the room, touching this, straightening that. Her hands … My God, I remembered her hands, and a small red box of raisins in them. I followed the fingers to the wrist, up the arm. Was this the right face?

She must have felt the intensity of my stare because she looked up, then paused—surprised—before her face broke into a smile. I followed as she waved me toward the blue door and turned the dead bolt. She left the Closed sign in the window.

I stepped inside, inhaling the rich scent of ground coffee beans and the sweet slip of sugar glaze. “Mom.”

Another pause, but this time accompanied by a jerk of her hand. My eyes followed her every movement.

“Excuse me?” Mrs. Boyd asked.

Without planning, I threw my arms around her neck. She staggered back from the force of my weight and caught herself against the table.

“Calder? What’s wrong? What happened?”

The scent of her was a time machine. I was three years old again, sobbing on her shoulder with no ability to make voice and teeth and tongue work together and give meaning to the sounds coming from me. I clung to her too tightly, and she tried to break away.

“Mom,” I said again.

“I don’t know what’s going on with you, Calder.” She shoved me, and I let go. “But I don’t appreciate it.”

“It’s me,” I said.

“Yes, I see that.” Her pinched lips told me she was both annoyed and embarrassed about how I was behaving.

“I’m Patrick.”

A flash of pink joy turned to black as her hands shook like aspen leaves. “Get out.”

“It’s really me.”

“Get out!” she demanded, louder.

“I’m Patrick,” I repeated, suddenly comprehending how ridiculous I sounded.

“Patrick is dead.”

“I’m alive. I can show you,” I said, pulling her toward the door.

She yanked back her hand. “I’m not going anywhere with you. I don’t know how you know about Patrick, or what you’re trying to do, but I want you to leave.”

A swirling array of color spun out of my former employer— my mom— like a box of melted crayons. She was crying. In my impulsiveness, I’d hurt her again. I didn’t know if I should step back or put my hand on her arm. I didn’t know if I should stay or run.

“It’s me,” I said again, as if the words should have been enough.

“I don’t know why you’re doing this,” she said, “or what you think you have to gain, but you don’t look anything like Patrick.” She searched my face. Perhaps hoping to find something to make her believe? “Your eyes are all wrong.”

“I can explain that,” I said.

“And you’re far too young to be my son.”

“I see,” I said, bowing my head. I gathered the bits of information I had that might convince her and hoped against hope that they’d be sufficient. “It was the Rhapsody in Blue . It was my uncles’ boat. I fell overboard, and Dad dove in after me.”