Deep Water

by Sarah Epstein

  I dump the wad of motel mail on the table so I can get to my purse.

  ‘Who’s in Manly?’ Sabeen asks, draining her tea cup.

  ‘Sorry?’

  She taps her finger on the corner of a glossy card poking out between two white envelopes. I crane my neck to see what’s caught her attention. Greetings from Manly Beach, Australia is stamped in gold foil lettering along the lower edge of a postcard.

  I pull it out and stare at the image of surf and sand, a long stretch of Norfolk pines against a cloudless blue sky.

  Who does Dad know in Manly?

  Frowning, I turn it over. To my surprise it’s addressed to me care of the motel’s PO Box number. It’s postmarked nine days ago.

  Hi Chloe, it reads. I saw the Facebook page. Just wanted to let you know I’m okay. Please tell everyone not to worry about me. – Henry.

  I suck in a sharp breath.

  ‘What is it?’ Sabeen says.

  Reading it a second time, I take in the curve of every handwritten character, the varying pressure of the ballpoint pen. I stare at the sentences for so long they no longer resemble real words. My nerves twitch and I can’t quite put my finger on why.

  ‘Chlo?’

  Passing the postcard to Sabeen, I watch her scan the letters and see the exact moment she reaches the final line.

  ‘Oh my god,’ she says, eyes widening.

  Is it possible? Manly is less than thirty minutes from the terrace house I share with my mother in Glebe. The idea that Henry has been so close all these months feels like some kind of cruel joke. Why wouldn’t he contact me?

  ‘I … I think we have to tell everyone,’ I say, feeling dazed.

  I had no idea Henry was on Facebook. He’s never sent me a friend request. Maybe somebody told him about the page and it prompted him to get in touch.

  Who is he with? Where are they staying?

  Sabeen flips the card over and back again, examining the message for a long time.

  ‘Do you think Ivy and Mason received one as well?’ I ask.

  ‘Chloe,’ Sabeen says.

  ‘We’ll need to update the Facebook page—’

  ‘Chloe,’ Sabeen repeats, more firmly. ‘I don’t think this is what you think it is.’

  That niggle returns and my heart thumps faster. I sense Rina approaching from the corner of my eye. Sabeen quickly slaps the postcard down on the table and flashes me a warning with her eyes: Don’t say anything.

  ‘Finished with these?’ Rina asks, reaching for our cups. Her gaze goes straight to Sabeen’s hands, the way her fingers are unnaturally fanned out across the table. The beach side of the postcard is facing up, slivers of sand and sky peeking through the gaps. Between Sabeen’s middle and ring fingers, two gold-stamped words are perfectly legible.

  from Manly

  Rina hesitates. Sabeen presses her lips together and bugs her eyes at me again, and I respond with a frown. Rina glances from one of us to the other, and I realise she’s expecting an answer.

  ‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Yes. We’re finished with them. Thanks.’

  Sabeen slides the postcard off the table and into her lap in one swift movement. If it wasn’t obvious we were hiding something from Rina before, there’s certainly no doubting it now.

  ‘Don’t stop talking on my account,’ Rina mutters, stacking the cups. Does she think we’re talking about her? ‘I’ll get out of your way.’

  ‘Thanks, Rina,’ I say brightly. It comes off sounding passive aggressive.

  She gives me a chilly smile. ‘Pay at the front when you’re ready.’

  I wait until she’s all the way in the kitchen before I groan. ‘Well, that was awkward.’

  Sabeen covertly slips the postcard back into the middle of the mail pile, gathers up all the letters and hands them to me. ‘Don’t show this to anyone yet.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Sabeen stands abruptly, her chair scraping across the floorboards. She joins me at my side of the table, encouraging me to stand.

  ‘It might get everyone’s hopes up,’ she says in a low voice. I glance down at the pile of letters in my hand and feel that nervous flutter again. ‘Can you come to my house later? I’ll text you after I finish at Bernie’s.’

  ‘Okay.’ I swallow. ‘What’s this about?’

  ‘I need to show you something.’

  Sabeen holds eye contact and something in my mind finally clicks into place. I realise I already know what she’s about to say.

  ‘The postcard says it’s from Henry,’ she tells me, ‘but that’s not Henry’s handwriting.’

  Ten weeks before the storm

  31 OCTOBER 2018, 12:49

  Missy: Happy Halloween, if you’re into that kind of thing.

  1 NOVEMBER 2018, 13:07

  Missy: Guess not.

  3 NOVEMBER 2018, 17:05

  Henry: Hi! Sorry! I can’t check messages every day. I use the computer at the library.

  Missy: No worries.

  Henry: Whoa! Fast reply.

  Missy: My phone pings whenever you reply in our message thread.

  Henry: Oh right. Nice.

  Missy: Did you think I was stalking you from across the library?

  Henry: ()

  Missy: You just looked over your shoulder, didn’t you? :P

  Henry: Nah … haha. How was Halloween?

  Missy: Pretty quiet. It’s not much of a thing around here.

  Henry: Same.

  Missy: Took my little sister trick-or-treating along our street.

  Henry: Did you all dress up?

  Missy: She was a ballerina.

  Henry: With a tutu and stuff?

  Missy: Yeah, the whole pink tizzy thing. Hanging out with siblings is just sooo much fun.

  Henry: I wouldn’t know.

  Missy: That’s right. I forgot you don’t get along with your brother.

  Henry: He’s my half-brother. We have different dads. Mine lives in Sydney.

  Missy: Whereabouts?

  Henry: Northern Beaches, I think.

  Missy: You don’t know?

  Henry: My mum doesn’t want us talking to him.

  Missy: Why not?

  Henry: He has a new family now. A new wife and two little kids. Mum says he wants the shiny new family, not the crappy old one.

  Missy: That’s really harsh. How long ago did he leave?

  Henry: When I was about four.

  Missy: Does he call at least?

  Henry: We don’t have a home phone.

  Missy: So you don’t hear from him?

  Henry: He’s sent me a few birthday cards. Last one had twenty bucks inside.

  Missy: That’s something.

  Henry: I bought a hat from the service station. I tell everyone my dad gave it to me because he sorta did.

  Missy: Have you ever written back?

  Henry: Don’t have his address.

  Missy: Isn’t there one on the back of the birthday cards?

  Henry: It’s always blank.

  Missy: Surely your mum must know?

  Henry: She won’t tell me. That’s why I joined Facebook. I’m gonna look for him.

  Missy: What will you do if you find him?

  Henry: Message him. But I can’t tell my mum.

  Missy: Why?

  Henry: She’d kill me if she found out.

  Now

  I forgot about Henry.

  That’s the truth of it. I’d forgotten all about inviting him over that January night for a movie and a sleepover. Henry rolled up on his bike outside the motel office around seven o’clock wearing his green Lucky-7 cap and a backpack, and it was then I realised I’d unintentionally double-booked myself.

  Henry didn’t know that, of course. Nobody knew I was planning to sneak out sometime after eleven, and I couldn’t exactly do that with Henry here. Even if the movie finished and we all went to bed, I’d need to walk right through the living room to get to the back door. Henry would be set up on the couch with a blanket and pillow, and would most
likely still be awake. He’d want to know where I was going, who I was meeting. He’d want to tag along, and even if he didn’t, he’d end up blurting out everything to my dad.

  Henry staying over would completely ruin my plans. I wanted to kick myself for not remembering to cancel on him sooner.

  Between the storm warning and my mother’s curfew, I was completely distracted about the logistics of getting myself to the bush hut, let alone what might happen with Raf once I got there. He originally pitched it as a dare for my last night in town – sneak out and meet him at midnight and he’d show me his new hobby. He’d wiggled his brows suggestively and I rolled my eyes and asked him if hobby was code for something else. We were both joking around to hide our nerves.

  Ever since we were young, Raf and I have built a connection based on humour and good-natured teasing. He was always the one making subtle jokes in the background, almost as if they were for his own amusement, and if anyone else laughed it was an unexpected bonus. He was always daring me to do stuff because I think he enjoyed how stubborn and competitive I got – I only ever agreed if he was prepared to do the dare as well. Last year we jumped into the reservoir in the dead of winter, and it felt like swimming through thousands of icy razorblades. My leg cramped almost immediately and Raf had to help me back to dry land. As he supported me on the walk up the bank to our towels, a look between us lingered for a beat longer than usual. Anything might have happened if we’d just leaned in, but we both chickened out at the same time.

  After that I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I found myself analysing glances and conversations, noticing a million tiny things about Raf ’s appearance I found attractive, as though suddenly seeing him through new eyes. My crush kind of snuck up on me until I realised the reason I’d agreed to all of Raf ’s dares over the years was because I wanted to spend time with him. The thought of being alone with him at the bush hut made my stomach fizz with anticipation.

  It’s cruel and selfish when I think about it now, but the minute I saw Henry’s bike cruising up the motel driveway that evening, I knew I had to get rid of him.

  He spotted me cleaning the motel office window and smiled, his face carrying that expectant expression he’d worn since he was small. In recent months his nose had broadened and his cheeks had hollowed out. Despite the smattering of tiny freckles across his skin, he was starting to lose his little boy looks and straddle that line between child and adolescent.

  I pressed the wad of paper towel against the glass and circled my arm faster, my mind spinning faster still to invent an excuse. He nudged his bike’s kickstand as he dismounted, stopping long enough to pick dry grass out of the spokes. He always doted over that mountain bike, a hand-me-down from Raf two years earlier when, truth be told, Raf hadn’t even outgrown it yet. It’s like he, Sally and Liv simply knew Henry needed it more.

  ‘You’re smearing that around,’ Henry told me as he walked into the motel office. ‘Looks gross from outside. You might need some more spray or something.’

  What could I say to him? I’d never really had reason to cancel plans with Henry before. Things in The Shallows were always so laid-back that we all simply drifted from one thing to another. If you’d agreed to be somewhere you just turned up and that was it, nothing like the scheduling and Google calendars and confirming the day prior like Mum and I have to do in the city.

  ‘Hope we don’t lose power,’ Henry said, shrugging off his hoodie.

  As he unzipped his backpack to shove it inside, I caught sight of his orange toothbrush and a change of clothes. My heart sank.

  ‘Did you hear about this storm coming through tonight?’ he said. ‘It’s meant to be a whopper.’

  I stepped down off the footstool and tossed the wad of paper towel aside. ‘Listen, Henry, about our movie night …’

  ‘Nuh-uh. It’s my pick this time,’ he said, wagging a finger at me. ‘You agreed to Interstellar. We should start it soon, though, ’cause it goes for hours.’

  ‘It’s not that,’ I said. ‘I’m afraid I need to cancel tonight.’

  His smile vanished. ‘What? Why?’

  ‘I’m just not up for it,’ I lied.

  ‘You can go to bed whenever you want. Your dad will sit up and watch it with me.’

  ‘Dad’s tired as well,’ I said quickly. It was only later that I realised I’d made it sound like Dad was rejecting Henry too.

  ‘But you invited me. Why would you cancel when I’m already here?’

  His words were sulky and I was reminded about the age gap between us. He’d become moodier since starting high school; more touchy and less reasonable. Even though he didn’t talk about it much, I knew he’d struggled all year to relate to his peers. He didn’t have a phone or home computer, any gaming systems or streaming services, and his internet access was limited to a couple of hours a week at the library. Henry was on the outer with kids his age, in large part because he wasn’t tech-connected.

  I know this is why he loved school holidays, why he tried to cram so much into them when I came to visit. This would’ve been the third movie night in a week, though. Surely it wasn’t the end of the world?

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I told him. ‘I forgot all about it until you turned up.’

  ‘Well, that’s not fair,’ he complained. ‘Who skips out on family movie night?’

  ‘Except we’re not technically family,’ I pointed out, my impatience growing. ‘You don’t live here.’

  Henry flinched like I’d thumped him. I regretted the words instantly.

  ‘Rightio,’ he muttered, folding his arms.

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.’ I reached for his shoulder but he shrugged me off and backed away. ‘It’s just this once, I promise.’

  ‘You go home tomorrow,’ he said. ‘And then you won’t be back here for months.’

  ‘I know. I’m just tired.’

  ‘Tired of me?’

  I sighed. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m used to it.’ He snatched up his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. ‘Ivy says it all the time.’

  That was when I should have caved. I should have texted Raf and called the whole thing off. I knew Henry viewed our place as a refuge and I’d pulled the rug out from under him without any warning. In hindsight, I should have recognised his anger as desperation, the way he was clinging to our movie night like a life raft to avoid going home.

  But I wasn’t thinking about Henry. I was thinking about myself. I was thinking about Raf ’s hazel eyes and how they made my insides flutter with nerves way more than any thunderstorm blowing in.

  I didn’t stop Henry as he yanked the glass door open and stomped over to his bike. I didn’t call after him as he flew off down the motel driveway, barely slowing as he hit the road. Even now, months later, the shame of that conversation burns from the tips of my ears all the way down to my toes. The words I said to Henry, the way I said them, how it seemed like I didn’t care.

  Can I blame him for leaving without saying goodbye?

  * * *

  It’s late afternoon by the time Sabeen texts me to let me know she’s arrived home, explaining she’ll leave the back door unlocked so I can let myself in while she takes a shower. I could never leave myself vulnerable like that in Sydney, and I’m not sure I’d feel comfortable doing it here in The Shallows either. I’m always telling Dad that country people are far too trusting. Everyone may know everyone in small towns, but can we ever truly know anyone?

  I climb the wooden steps leading up to the Nolans’ back deck and find the sliding glass door slightly ajar. I step inside, pausing for a moment to take in the view. From here you can see right across the dense green treetops of the national park to Shallow Reservoir.

  It’s an easy twenty-minute bushwalk to the reservoir from our motel, which has given us an edge over the Traveller’s Rest on the opposite side of town. Shallow Reservoir supplies water to the local area, so you’re not allowed to s
wim in it or take a boat out on it, although that doesn’t stop people breaking the rules. You can also fish from the bank in three designated fishing spots, like Henry often did. It gave him somewhere to think and be alone. But if his line ever snagged between rocks or on a sunken log, he had to cut it free and lose his plastic lure rather than wade out up to his waist to coax it free. He’d never learned to swim properly because he was afraid of the water. ‘You don’t know what’s down there,’ he’d say. ‘What if you slip under so quietly no one even knows you’re gone?’

  In my mind the reservoir has always taken on a sinister edge at night, as though secrets are submerged in those murky depths. I read an article online recently about a man who killed his elderly neighbour in a lakeside town in country Victoria. He weighted her pockets with broken bricks from a wall he’d knocked down on his property, then rowed out to the middle of the lake at night to throw her overboard. A few weeks later, when police divers found her body, detectives were able to match the broken bricks in her pockets to the pile in the skip bin outside her neighbour’s house. No one in the town could fathom what had happened because the neighbours had been friends for thirty years.

  You think you know someone, but you don’t really know what they’re capable of.

  I slide the glass door shut and flip the lock. As I turn, a figure steps through the living room doorway.

  ‘Fu—!’ I clutch my chest, swallowing the swearword. ‘Sabeen! You scared the crap out of me.’

  She pads across the floorboards in a white bathrobe, a towel wrapped around her wet hair like a turban. ‘Geez,’ she says. ‘Why are you so jumpy?’

  ‘You should really lock the doors if you’re home alone.’ I collapse onto one of the suede couches. ‘Just to be on the safe side.’

  ‘I left it open for the cats,’ she says, wandering into the kitchen. As if on cue, one of their tabbies slinks across the room towards the hallway, nudging open Raf ’s bedroom door to jump up on the bed. The corner of Raf ’s desk is visible as well as the edge of his large computer screen. Behind the desk is a pinboard of photos, all too dark for me to make out from where I’m sitting. I’m suddenly dying to know what he deems pinboard-worthy.