Summer of Lost and Found

by Rebecca Behrens

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Eventually, despite the wild wind and the salt brine stinging my eyes, I spotted a spit of land to our left. The boat pitched back and forth like a bathtub toy. We started to take on water—only enough that it sloshed my ankles, but it still worried me. Ambrose crouched at the bow, exclaiming with each shudder and roll of the boat. I stayed huddled by the stern. At one point, I leaned over the side and heaved my sandwich and scuppernongs into the depths. I hoped barf didn’t attract sharks.

  “Ambrose,” I said weakly. I cleared my throat and called his name a little louder. He turned and shaded his eyes to look at me.

  “Alas, poor Nell! You look green around the gills.” He scooted closer to me.

  “Let’s try to get over there. I need to be on land again.” I also really, really needed to pee, but I was too embarrassed to tell him that.

  “Good idea. Try to steer us o’er there.” He gestured to the oar.

  I stuck it in the water. Luckily, the wind helped by pushing us in the direction of the land. Couldn’t Ambrose try to paddle for once? I was the one who had been puking her guts out. I felt weak and scared. And, I guess, increasingly crankypants. “Can’t you take the oar for a while? I’m not feeling well, and I have blisters on my palms.”

  “Er, okay,” Ambrose said tentatively, taking it from me. But as I sank back onto the wet bottom of the skiff, I noticed that he barely attempted to move it through the water. The wind did all the work for him.

  A few minutes later, the skiff slammed into something hard, sending both of us tumbling from our perches. Land. I stepped onto the wet sand with relief, taking a minute to dig my toes in. Then I dragged the boat far up onto the beach. No way did I want to leave it near the waves and watch it drift out to sea without us. I unsnapped the life jacket and left it on a dry spot of sand.

  Ambrose scrambled out behind me. “I’ll see if there’s a place to tie up the skiff.” But there wasn’t—if what we were on was an island, it was totally deserted. No trees or anything, just patchy dune grass, sea lavender and sea oats, rocks, and shells surrounded by pebbly caramel-brown sand. At least it was a relatively dry place, where we could wait out the rough weather. But I needed to figure out the logistics of peeing, without any trees or shrubs or anything to hide behind.

  I pulled out my phone to see what time it was—my sense of that had skewed, and we could’ve been at sea for minutes or hours. The roiling sky hid any time clues based on the sun. But my phone must’ve gotten wet either when I was on the bottom of the skiff or when one of those big waves smacked us. I kept trying to refresh the screen, but it stayed blank. I pressed and depressed the power button repeatedly. Nothing. This is not good.

  No matter how weird or bad or whatever  things got, my cell phone meant that Mom was only a call away. Mom and Dad, once upon a time, although I wasn’t sure whether that held true anymore, even in an emergency. And this was turning into an emergency, fast.

  “Do you have a watch?” I asked hopefully.

  Ambrose shook his head.

  “My phone is dead. I think it got wet or something. Any idea what time it is?”

  “It can’t be much past midday,” he said. “We were at sea for not very long at all.”

  It hadn’t felt like “not very long at all.” But I had to trust Ambrose on this one. He was, literally now, all I had.

  I plopped onto the sand and put my head in my hands.

  “Nell, you should have some water.” A worried pause. “Are you okay?”

  I shook my head, blinking back tears. I was afraid to open my mouth, afraid that vocalizing how I felt right then would mean that I would start bawling. And when I cry, I look like a red-faced, snotty-nosed baby. Even if I was frustrated with Ambrose, I didn’t want him to see me that way. I grabbed my water bottle and took a big swig, even though I still hadn’t figured out how to solve the bathroom problem. I nervously tapped my fingers along the bottle’s metal sides.

  Finally, Ambrose pushed himself up from the ground. “While we’re here, let’s see if your contraption will find anything.”

  I supposed he was right—it would be silly to have gone through all this to sit on the sand and sulk while waiting out a storm. We were out here to find clues, so even if I was wet, scared, and in truly desperate need of a toothbrush or at least a stick of gum, we might as well make the epic trip worth our while. Although I wasn’t sure what we could find this far from Roanoke. I had gotten so turned around, I didn’t know if we were in the sound, the bay, or even near the inlet to the ocean. “Okay.”

  Standing up made my head spin. I took another sip of water, then reached into my bag to grab the other sandwich. “Are you sure you don’t want—” I stopped when I found the bagel, which like everything else in my bag was thoroughly soaked with seawater. “Never mind.” So now we were on a desert island, in a storm, with no means of communication, no food, and limited fresh water. Once again, I found myself in what sounded like the beginning of a survival TV show, and I didn’t like it one bit. I sighed and grabbed the metal detector.

  Ambrose and I walked side by side along the sand, the waves crashing against our feet and breaking above my calves. Even though it was the height of summer, it was cold out here in the wind and drizzly rain. I couldn’t stop shivering. Goose bumps covered my skin. Only my ears were warm, because I had on the detector’s headphones. I listened carefully to the bleeps and blips of the detector, hoping that I’d hear them accelerate and this whole thing would turn out to be something other than the Stupidest Idea Ever.

  I had opened my mouth to suggest we give up when bleep . . . bleep . . . bleep turned into bleep! bleep! bleep!  Which then turned into blipblipblipblipblipblipblip! Eyes wide, I turned to Ambrose.

  “We’ve got something!” we exclaimed at the exact same time. Although Ambrose added a “Zounds!” In spite of myself, I grinned. Maybe the currents and winds of this storm had stirred up the bottom of the sea and found something for us.

  “Onetwothreefourfive jinx!”

  Ambrose tipped his head in a way that said I’m confused. “ ‘Jinx’?”

  “We said the same thing at the same time.” Maybe saying “jinx” was a New York thing.

  Ambrose bounced on his toes. “Let us see what it is!” We waded into the water, the blips intensifying with every wet step. When we were up to our knees, I stopped. The waves and the current were so strong, we were in danger of being knocked out to sea with one big swell. There could be a sharp drop-off from the sloping beach. Who knew how deep it got out there; we could be in over our heads in seconds.

  “Wait,” I said. “I don’t want to go out any farther.”

  “Good idea—keep a lookout on shore.” Ambrose forged ahead, the waves crashing higher onto his thighs. “I see something!” he shouted.

  A gust of wind, combined with the sea swirling around my ankles, almost knocked me over. “How can you tell?” I looked down at the foamy water. I could barely see my freezing toes through it. What could Ambrose possibly be seeing? Fish? Seaweed? He didn’t even have my goggles.

  “Verily, I can feel it. Over there!” The wind carried his voice away from me, and the headphones muffled all sounds. He turned and cupped his hands around his mouth like a megaphone. “I’m going to swim out for a better look.”

  I pulled the headphones off my ears. “Ambrose!” Ignoring the huge, dark clouds gathering over our heads, I splashed closer toward him. “Are you crazy? You don’t have any equipment. We’re in the middle of a storm! There are probably rip currents. You’re going to get killed!”

  “Nell! Please stay back where it’s safe!” There was a longing in his face, a terrible sadness, which rattled me more than the skiff had. I shuddered as I watched him wave good-bye. “I’ll be fine, Nell—nothing will hurt me.” Then he dove underneath an incoming wave.

  “Ambrose!” I shouted into the howling wind. I backed up a few feet and sank into the sand, burying my head into my crossed arms. The water sucked at my
legs from the strong undertow. I felt like when I had realized that my dad was gone—this desperate need to be not here. In my room that night, I’d covered my ears and pretended that while I was blocking out all noise, Dad had actually come home. The key had scraped in our lock, he had noisily dropped his laptop bag and kicked off his shoes in the front hall, then he had wandered into the kitchen and slammed the cupboard doors. My mom had probably chided him for it, pointing out that our cupboards were already in rough shape and it wasn’t like we had the money to get new ones anytime soon. But maybe their voices had softened and eventually they’d hunkered down in front of the TV, watching one of their boring shows about wealthy British people or real estate in exotic places.

  I’d tried to convince myself that all those sounds had really happened while I had my ears plugged. But when I’d removed my hands, the silence in our apartment had been deafening.

  As I sat on the beach, I put the headphones back over my ears, squeezing my eyes shut, too. Ambrose is coming out of the water right now. He’s walking up the sand, shivering, and he’s about to plop down next to me. We’ll look at each other and laugh about what a crazy idea this was, and then as soon as the wind dies down we’ll hop in the skiff to go back to Roanoke. The wind will push us right to the beach with no effort. Then we’ll go to the ice-cream shop. I am definitely getting extra sprinkles. I opened my eyes and gazed out to sea, in time to see Ambrose’s head—his tangle of hair, really—bob up from the water. I jumped to my feet, waving my arms around wildly. “Ambrose! Come back!”

  I don’t know whether he heard me, but he dove under again. This time I watched for him, willing myself to not blink as I stared at the surface, waiting for him to emerge. I don’t know much about free diving, but I know enough to guess that people typically don’t do it during conditions as rough as these. Or alone. I counted the seconds to see how long he was staying under. One-Mississippi, two-Mississippi, three.

  I got all the way to one-hundred-Mississippi before I saw him surface again. How was that even possible? I was counting slowly. I must’ve missed him bobbing up at some point; it’s the only explanation. You’d have to be some kind of world-record holder to hold your breath that long underwater.

  The waves pounded the sand with even more force, and the sky had darkened so much that it looked like night was falling. Rain pelted me, cold and stinging on my bare arms. I remembered the poncho in my bag. I tore my eyes away from the patch of sea where I’d last seen Ambrose and turned toward the skiff. Just in time to see a wave coax it from its sandy cushion back into the water.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Screaming, I dropped the detector and ran after the boat, pushing myself through the waves until my feet couldn’t stay on the sandy bottom anymore. Then I swam, fighting terror with each kick and stroke. I was so close to catching up with the bobbing skiff. Just keep moving. Finally, after swallowing a big gulp of seawater, I reached the boat. I clung to the side as it drifted farther out to sea. It took all my strength to heave myself over the edge, and then I half fell, half collapsed inside. I realized then that the life jacket was still in the sand.

  At first, I curled up in the bottom of the skiff and sobbed. It wasn’t just possibly-lost-to-the-sea Ambrose, and the raging storm, that made me cry. It was everything. Missing New York, and missing the summer I’d planned with Jade, whose texts had grown farther apart and always mentioned Sofia. Missing my father, and missing the kind of relationship with my mom in which she didn’t keep huge secrets from me. I’d felt lost ever since the day he’d disappeared. I’d wanted so badly for something—anything—to be found. But it looked like I’d only worsened things. Now, trapped in a rickety boat in the middle of the Graveyard of the Atlantic, I was in danger of losing not only Ambrose but myself.

  The skiff rocked me as my tears started to slow. A lot of my problems had just happened to me—I didn’t do anything to make my dad go away or my mom bring me here. I also hadn’t done much to solve my problems, although how I could solve my dad sneaking off to England was beyond me. But I was the one who’d put myself in the boat. I couldn’t blame anyone else for that choice—even Ambrose. Maybe right now, I thought, I need to stop letting stuff happen to me. It was time for me to paddle my own way home, or die trying.

  I seriously hoped that last part wouldn’t be literal.

  Sniffling, I sat up and grabbed the oar. I tried to steer, but the waves had other plans for me. The boat drifted toward the area where Ambrose and I had stood with the metal detector, which was still lying on the sand, probably getting ruined by the beating waves—not that I’d be able to recover it. Returning it undamaged to Lila’s garage should have been the least of my worries, but I felt a slap of guilt about stealing and then losing it. That was another problem I would have to own up to. If we get back to shore. I gripped the oar tighter.

  Clambering up to the bow, I leaned over and yelled to the waves, “Ambrose! Ambrose!” If he surfaced somewhere near, I could stick the oar out and drag him in. Panic rose in my throat, and I felt like I might throw up again. Where was he, in all those whitecaps? Salt water and tears stung my eyes. I clutched the oar and stared at the angry sea. “Ambrose!” I called again, my voice overshadowed by a clap of thunder. I am not giving up.

  The sky lit up with lightning, shining a spotlight on Ambrose popping up from the deep. “Nell!” He was only a few feet to the right of the boat, but he was facing away from me.

  “Behind you! I’m here!” I frantically rowed closer. Ambrose treaded with one arm, the other clutching something underwater. The glint of his signet ring showed me which way to go as the sky further darkened. “Look behind you!”

  Finally, he turned and saw me. Who cares that I was crying like a baby and soaking wet. I wept a little harder because he was okay—or would be, so long as I could get to him.

  I stuck the oar out. “Swim to me. Hurry!” The current and the wind had shifted and were moving the skiff quickly in the other direction, away from him.

  Ambrose dipped under the waves. Now that I was so close, I could see him underneath the surface, moving through the churning water with speed and precision. Was Ambrose part fish or something? He could navigate the roughest surf I’d ever seen, and he could hold his breath underwater for a ridiculously long time. It wasn’t normal. I shuddered. Something weird is going on, and it’s not just the weather.

  He surfaced right next to the side of the skiff, which teetered back and forth so much that he was only visible in between rocks of the boat. But I still saw that he barely gasped when he popped above the waves. “Take this!” he shouted. He held out an object to me—another oar? I dropped the one I was holding into the bottom of the boat and grabbed for it. It almost fell out of my hand because it had such a weird, slippery texture. Like the posts on that dock: wood that was slimy from years underwater and slick with algae.

  Ambrose was beneath the waves again. I held my breath as I waited for him to surface. My lungs were bursting when he did. He grabbed hold of the skiff, clutching something with his right hand. The boat barely moved as he hopped in next to me. Or maybe I simply didn’t notice it because of the waves.

  “Where did you get this?” I held up the slimy oar. Another crack of thunder sounded, and a gust of wind washed a huge wave over us. I braced myself against the sides of the boat, shivering. My relief at Ambrose being safe was speedily being replaced by exhaustion. I wanted to be back at the cottage, in my little slant-ceilinged bedroom. I wanted to be curled up in a chair in the garden, reading. It seemed to be wishing for too much in the moment, but I wanted to be back in my New York City apartment, watching TV on the perfect-size-for-three couch. Holding a bucket of microwave popcorn, with my parents on either side.

  Ambrose’s eyes were wet and shining. Maybe it was from the salt water and swimming, but it also looked like perhaps he had been crying. Otherwise, he was remarkably unruffled. His clothes were plastered to him, but he didn’t shiver. The gusts of wind threatened to knock me over unle
ss I crouched near the center of the skiff, but he sat up tall.

  “I found it.”

  “Found what?” I asked. “The oar?” It would help us try to get home.

  He shook his head. “Aye, but there’s more. That oar is from the pinnace. Shipwrecked, half-buried in the sand.”

  Pinnace. Hadn’t he said that his father had left on one of those? I felt a sinking sensation in my stomach, not related to the churning sea. What if Ambrose’s dad got shipwrecked? Maybe that’s why he never came back. I had to swallow three times over the catch forming in my throat before I could ask him. “What—what pinnace?”

  “The one the colonists took.”

  I sucked in my breath so fast I gasped. “Wait—you found it ? I mean, them? How do you know?”

  “I could tell when I saw the boat. There were cannons on board, poking up out of the sand. I felt them with my hands. Then I found this.” He held out a tarnished object. “Take it; keep it safe,” he said. “In your bag.”

  I grabbed it from him. It was rough and corroded, but I could tell what it once had been. “An old cup.” I zipped it in my bag, which I slung across my body.

  “A silver cup, the kind the colonists brought from England. One caused a big fight between the first group of Englishmen and the Aquascogoc people.”

  “Wow.” It definitely looked old enough. “How are you so sure?”

  “I also saw . . .” He trailed off, staring into the waves. “There had been a tempest that day. Most fierce.” He stopped and cleared his throat. “Much like today. The storm blew up quickly, barely after they left the beach. Then they must have wrecked on a shoal. Alas, they ne’er got any farther.” He grabbed the oar and clutched it to his chest. “All this time they have been so near,” he said, his voice breaking a little.

  I had the strangest feeling then, a cold shock. Like stepping into the freezer aisle at the grocery store on the hottest day of the year. “There had been a storm. Much like this.” How in the world did Ambrose know that the colonists had left the island in a storm? What else did he see in that shipwreck to get the details?