“Nice view,” I said, joining him at the bow’s tip. Across the harbor, the lights of downtown Winter Harbor glittered.
He set down the pizza, took a slice, and lowered himself to the edge of the bow, letting his legs hang over the side. “Why’d you say you were here again?”
I sat a few feet away, my back to the railing, my legs pulled to my chest. “I didn’t. I’m checking on my family’s lake house.”
He nodded. We ate silently, him staring off at the dark horizon, me wondering what he was thinking. He seemed distracted, removed. Whatever had happened with his dad earlier must’ve been pretty bad. I thought about bringing up our time by the river, but it didn’t feel right. I didn’t want to make him feel worse, and clarification didn’t seem as pressing now, since making out with me was clearly the last thing on his mind. In fact, rather than worrying about putting him in his place, the longer we sat there, the more I wanted to help him feel better.
“So,” I said, my heart rate quickening. “College applications are due soon.”
“Rumor has it.”
“Do you have a first choice?”
“You mean besides taking a boat—a real boat, not a floating McMansion—down the East Coast then up the West Coast after graduation? Stopping at random ports, meeting people who know nothing about my family or me? For a year, maybe longer?”
I paused. “Yes?”
“Then no. But I’ll probably end up at Princeton. I don’t have the grades, but Dad has connections.”
“I hear the campus is beautiful.”
He laughed once. “Okay, Ms. Mulligan.”
A fresh wave of warmth spread across my face. I was glad it was dark so he couldn’t see.
“What about you?” he asked. “Joining the crimson tide? Barking like a bulldog? Roaring like a lion?”
As he referred to Ivy League mascots, I looked across the harbor, recalled the other lights that had broken up its darkness a few months ago. “None of the above.”
“Ah, a tony liberal arts college. Intellectually stimulating, yet highly impractical,” he said, lowering his voice like he was repeating something he’d heard many times before. “So Williams? Amherst? Or are you going to make Matt Harrison’s dreams come true and go to Bates?”
“I’m not going to college.” It was the first time I’d said it aloud, the first time I’d admitted it to anyone but myself. I almost expected Ms. Mulligan to storm the bow, grab me by the shoulders, and try to shake some sense into me.
“But you go to Hawthorne,” Parker said.
“And?”
“And everyone who goes to Hawthorne goes to college. That’s why our parents shell out gobs of money—to secure our futures before we’ve given them any thought.”
“Well then, I guess I’m bucking tradition.”
He looked at me, really looked at me, for the first time since my arrival. “Is it because of what happened? With your sister?”
His assumption was wrong, but I gave him credit for asking the question other people would’ve only thought to themselves.
“It’s because I don’t see the point,” I said.
“What did your parents say when you told them?”
“That it’s my life. That they respect and support any decision I make.” This, I knew, was what Justine would’ve wanted to hear if she’d ever summoned the courage to tell them the truth. “That they love me, no matter what.”
My voice hitched on the last word. Fortunately, if Parker noticed, he didn’t say so. Shifting his gaze to the invisible horizon, he gave me space to get past the moment.
“Today,” he said some time later, “when my dad got an e-mail from my coach saying that I quit the water polo team, he told me I wasn’t allowed to make a joke out of him like that. He said that, besides my last name, water polo was one of the few things I had going for me—and that he was proud of me for.”
Any surprise I felt learning he’d quit the team was quelled by his dad’s reaction to the news. My parents would be upset when I finally told them I wasn’t going to college—but for what they thought it meant for me, not them.
“You know what he’d say if I told him I wasn’t sure about college? That I didn’t know if it was right for me?”
Our eyes met. I expected his to flash anger, but they were dulled, sad.
“He’d tell me to leave, to not even think about coming back until I had proof that I’d applied to and been accepted to one of his pre-approved schools.” He looked out at the water. “I don’t know what’s worse. Getting kicked out… or being too scared to tell him what he doesn’t want to hear.” He hesitated. “You just might be the bravest person I’ve ever met, Vanessa Sands.”
“Actually—”
I was cut off by a sudden swell that caused the yacht to drop then lift. The movement was so sharp I grabbed the railing to keep from sliding off the bow. In the next second, a long, narrow cigarette boat roared past us and out of the harbor. Squinting through the darkness, I could just make out the name painted on the back of the boat: Deep Sea or Die.
I was still clutching the cool metal when I heard a light thud and the fiberglass trembled beneath me. Forcing my eyes from the rippling water, I glanced in the direction of the noise—and saw Parker standing there, wearing only cargo pants. My eyes traveled from his bare chest to the shirt, shoes, and socks by his feet, and then past him, to the lights glowing downtown.
“What are you doing?” I asked, gripping the railing even tighter.
“Going swimming.”
“The water’s freezing.”
He stepped to the left—and into my line of vision. “I haven’t been once since quitting the team. It’s the one thing I miss.”
I stared at his olive skin. White spots burst before my eyes with each heartbeat.
Fortunately, since I couldn’t seem to look away, he moved out of my line of vision. Unfrozen, I released the railing, stood, and walked backward, my sneakers squeaking on the fiberglass.
“I should go,” I said, watching his torso as it turned toward me. “It’s pretty late.”
“It’s eight o’clock.”
“Simon—my boyfriend—will be calling any minute. I don’t want to miss him.”
“Well, wait,” Parker said, starting after me. “I’ll walk you out.”
“Don’t!”
He stopped. My gaze finally shifted to his face, which was scrunched in confusion.
“I’m fine,” I continued, trying to sound casual. “Thanks for the pizza. See you at school.”
I spun away, hurried across the bow, and hopped over the chain. I waited until I was halfway down the deck and pretty sure that Parker could no longer see me before running the remaining distance. As I reached the top of the ramp that led to the dock, a splash sounded from the front of the boat.
I held my breath and listened. For water moving, arms paddling, legs kicking.
There was nothing. Even the wake left by the cigarette boat had faded, and the harbor, which only seconds before had lapped against the sides of the yacht, was still.
I pictured Deep Sea or Die, the bold, black script like a crooked finger inviting unassuming swimmers closer. I thought of the divers who’d accidentally discovered the icy tomb. I felt pressure around my abdomen, the same kind I’d felt when Parker had pulled me out of the river.
“Don’t do it,” I said quietly, stepping back from the ramp. “He’s fine. Just leave him—and everything else—alone.”
But I didn’t. I couldn’t. And in less time than it had taken me to reach the ramp, I was at the bow’s tip again.
“Parker?” I whispered, scanning the water’s dark surface. “Parker?” I tried again, louder.
I was about to run to the cabin to look for a flashlight when I caught something long and flat out of the corner of my eye. It floated away from the yacht and toward the center of the harbor like a piece of wayward driftwood.
I darted to the side of the bow and leaned over the railing for a better look
. Barely making out Parker’s profile, I raced to the deck, yanked the S.S. Bostonian life preserver ring from the wall, and ran back to the side railing. The water was as black as the sky, but I imagined it glowing, pictured tall beams of light shooting up from its depths the way they had during the sirens’ final attack last summer. Then, summoning Justine’s athletic abilities and all of my upper-body strength, I reached the preserver as far behind me as my arm would allow, and flung it forward.
It landed with a plop several feet from Parker. He didn’t move.
You know how, when you’re floating on your back on the lake, the water rises and falls against your ears? So that for half a second you can hear everything around you and then for the other half a second everything’s muted? It’s kind of like that.
Simon. That was how he’d described Zara’s effect on him when they’d been alone in the woods… and it was exactly what Parker seemed to be experiencing right now. In the freezing water. Which could kill him if something else didn’t first.
“Parker,” I whispered.
Nothing.
Gripping the railing, I searched the water for flashes of light, signs of life beneath its smooth surface. If he was under a siren’s spell, what would happen if I jumped in after him? I was a strong enough swimmer that I might be able to escape a single siren, but I’d be defenseless against any more than that.
Security. They were probably still in the parking lot, monitoring activity aboard the S.S. Bostonian and making sure nothing was amiss. I could find them, tell them the truth—that Parker had decided to go swimming and might be hurt—and let them deal with it. Of course, if they weren’t fast enough, or if the sirens were too powerful, then the three men would—
My eyes locked on a patch of frothy water.
He was gone. He’d been lying there, as stiff and motionless as a corpse… and then he’d flipped over and disappeared, shooting into the water headfirst.
“No.” I didn’t look away as I kicked off my sneakers, tore off my jacket and sweatshirt. “No, no, no.”
I hesitated only briefly before taking off my jeans and tossing them aside. Down to a T-shirt, bra, and underwear, I scrambled up the railing, climbed over the top rung, and slid down the other side. My toes stuck out over the side of the boat, and my hands grew slippery around the railing now behind me. Closing my eyes, I breathed in the moist, salty air, pictured Parker bandaging my knee in the Boston Common bandstand.
And jumped.
The instant infusion of salt was exhilarating, but the water was pitch-black. I might be able to paddle for hours, but if I couldn’t see my hands in front of my face, how would I ever find Parker?
I somersaulted and was about to swim toward the surface when something grabbed my ankle.
My scream created a blinding cloud of bubbles. I kicked and pulled, but whatever it was hung on, letting me drag it several feet before letting go. Once freed, I lifted my legs and flew through the harbor facedown, scanning the darkness for Raina, Zara, any of the other Winter Harbor sirens.
I was so focused on the water below me I didn’t see the body in front of me until my head collided with its chest, its arms locked around my shoulders.
I squirmed and struggled, but it was no use. In seconds, my head was back above water.
“Parker!” I tried to shove his chest. This time, he let me go. “What’s wrong with you?”
“What’s wrong with me?” He spat out water, wiped his eyes, brushed back his hair. “What’s wrong with you? You run out of here like someone’s chasing you, then come back, throw your-self in the water, and practically drown. If I hadn’t been here—”
“I didn’t practically drown,” I shot back before realizing why he might think so. Unlike other swimmers, I didn’t need to come up for air… and hadn’t before he’d grabbed me. He must’ve thought I’d been underwater too long. “And I jumped in the water because you disappeared.”
As I spoke he shook his head, mouth open, prepared to launch into a rebuttal… but then his head stilled. “You thought I was in trouble?”
I reached forward, swam in the direction of the yacht. “Forget it.”
He was by my side instantly. “I don’t want to forget it. I mean, I was fine—I got cold floating on my back and swam underwater to warm up my muscles, but…”
He kept talking, but I no longer heard him. I’d stopped paddling to grab my head, which suddenly felt like it had been caught in a boat propeller and was now sinking underwater. The pain was so intense I couldn’t seem to kick and breathe at the same time.
If not for Parker, who eventually swam next to me, then under me, with one arm across my chest and his hand cupping my shoulder, I would’ve drifted all the way to the harbor floor.
“I can do it,” I gasped when we reached a ladder on the side of the yacht.
I was wrong. He stayed in the water as I attempted to climb—but was next to me the second my foot slid off the first rung. We climbed the ladder the same way we’d swum to it, with his arm around me, pulling me with him, relieving me of enough of my own weight to step from one rung to the next.
On the deck, he shifted his position so that one arm was under my back and the other under my knees, and lifted me easily.
“I’m fine,” I said as he carried me down the deck, fully aware of how unconvincing I sounded. “Really. It’s just a little headache.”
“You just need to be quiet. And let me do this.”
I was too tired to argue. Plus, besides the pain throbbing between my ears, this wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Parker was concerned, protective. Kind of like someone else I knew.
That’s what I would tell myself later, when I wondered why I didn’t protest as he carried me into a cabin and gently lay me down. Even though we were in a bedroom. On a boat, at night. Alone.
“I’ll get you some aspirin,” Parker said quietly.
I closed my eyes and tried to clear my head. Gradually, the pain dulled. By the time he returned a few minutes later, I could sit up enough to take the aspirin with water.
“You should probably change out of those,” he said as I handed the glass back to him. Avoiding my eyes, he nodded toward my soaked T-shirt and then put a stack of dry clothes on the nightstand next to the bed.
“Thanks,” I said. “Do you mind… ?”
I didn’t have to finish the question for him to know what I was asking. He left quickly, closing the door gently behind him.
As the headache continued to fade, I took off my wet clothes and pulled on my jeans, which Parker had retrieved from the deck, and a Boston Red Sox sweatshirt. I slid under the covers and told him to come in when he knocked.
He opened the door slowly, like he was nervous about what he might find inside. Relaxing when he saw me completely covered, he took a washcloth from the stack he’d placed on a nearby desk and sat carefully on the edge of the bed.
“It’s a little cold,” he said.
“That’s okay.”
He pressed the washcloth to my forehead, my temples, my cheeks. When he reached my chin, I lifted it slightly and he held the cloth to both sides of my neck. The coolness felt so good, I closed my eyes and tried to ignore the guilt percolating in the bottom of my belly.
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