He laughs and shakes his head.
“Fine!” I stand up fast and close the program angrily. “I’ll go. It’s my job anyway.”
“You know the old saying about catching more flies with honey?”
I push my eyebrows down. “Yes. That’s never really been my specialty.”
“Well, make it your specialty, darlin’. And go fix your hair.” He shakes his head at me again and waves a screwdriver wildly in the air.
I stomp off to the bathroom, dodging textbooks on thermo engineering and economics. “I don’t even need Kip. You’re annoying enough for the both of you.”
I look in the mirror. My hair is loose and wild. I turn on the faucet and wet my hand, smoothing my curls as best I can. I think about when Kip woke me up in the middle of the night to show me the USS New York. Frowning, I turn off the water. I need to apologize. I bite the inside of my mouth.
It’s getting dark as I head into Bournes. The sky reflects purple on the water, and the bridge is loud with lit cars passing over. The boardwalk is busy with kids playing and adults walking. I avoid eyes and slip into the store.
The bell dings when I step in, and Kip’s behind the counter. He’s the only one here.
“Hi,” I say, and remembering what Ford said, I push my hair behind my ears and try to smile.
“Hey.”
There’s a long pause, and I feel incredibly awkward. I tap my fingers against the linoleum countertop. “Umm, I need three marine batteries.”
He pulls them off the wall. They’re a lot bigger than I expected. “Anything else?” he asks, putting them between us.
“Not right now.”
He scans them, and I hand him my money. All my money, it feels like. I pass it over hesitantly, and when he gives me coins back, I jam them in my pocket. Everything feels too weird. I wish there were people in the store or that he would call me Murph or make a joke.
Two bruises line his nose, yellow skin and red scabs. Caution and stop. I bet everyone’s asking him about it, and he has to explain. Maybe his friends are teasing him. I want to brush the bruises away. They’re there because of me.
“Can I leave these here and pick them up tomorrow?” I ask. “I didn’t bring anything to carry them.”
“Sure. I’ll leave a note for Babe.” He taps one of them with his thumb.
The bell rings on the door, and we both watch his dad walk into the shop. Mr. Dwyer is a big, handsome man with red hair. He’s talking to a young woman in a bathing suit, and they don’t acknowledge us.
I turn back to Kip, who is still looking at them. He sticks his thumbnail in his mouth and bites.
I don’t know what to do. I have to apologize, even if Kip’s dad is a cheater. I close my eyes. Do it, Murphy. Apologize.
Mr. Dwyer tells Kip to go home for dinner, and he and the girl move into the other half of the store. Gross. I’m annoyed for Kip. “Are you okay?” I ask him.
“Because of that?” He points after them. “I’m sure it’s totally work-related,” he jokes. Kip arranges the batteries in a straight row, pushing them together, and sweeps off the top of the counter with his hand. “He’s a good dad but a bad husband.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“I’m fine,” he says. He kind of smiles. “Do you want to talk about your dad?”
“No.” Not one bit. I shake my head. “But I think I need to.” I keep my eyes down. “I’m sorry. About everything. I’m sorry he did that to you.” I look at his face. “I’m sorry I ran out of here.”
This is hard. So hard. Murphys don’t apologize. At least, I’ve never heard them do it.
“Okay,” he says. What does “okay” mean? Okay, he forgives me? I have no clue. He rubs the back of his neck, and I watch the freckles on his hand. Last week, we were hugging. We were holding hands. And now . . .
“We made a carbon dioxide thing to clean the air in the sub,” I blurt out. “So I don’t die. Hopefully.” I make the sign of the cross.
“That’s cool.” He smiles back. It’s something. I want to jump over the counter and squeeze him with a hug, but I attempt to keep it together.
“If you want to come back. If you want to work on it . . .” I scrunch my face. “I miss . . .”
He looks around the store. “Maybe I could drop off the batteries tomorrow.”
It’s not a joke. He doesn’t say, “You miss me, Murph, because I’m so hot? Because you’re in love with me?” But it’s something.
I don’t want to push him. “Yeah,” I say. “Up to you!”
The next afternoon, I’m nervous. Even though it’s only 4:30, and too early for Kip to leave the marina, I watch the door obsessively. Like a dog, I perk up at each little noise. Comparing yourself to a dog is never a good sign. Ford watches my bouncing leg.
“He’ll be here,” he says. Like he can predict the future.
“How do you know?”
“He’ll be here. Work on that.” Ford points to the list on my lap. I have to weigh each piece of the equipment and everything I’ll take in the sub, including me and the clothes I’ll wear. The weight needs to be accounted for and exactly the same the day of the launch. The total has to equal the water displaced. To reach neutral buoyancy, they have to balance each other out.
I weigh equipment until 6:30, making changes on the computer, and check the door while Ford makes dinner. I haven’t eaten at my own house in weeks and wonder if my mom even notices. I haven’t seen her since my dad was arrested.
At 7:30, I can’t handle it anymore. I can’t focus. I watch the door and stand up. If there were room in the clutter, I would pace.
“He’s not coming.” I bite the inside of my mouth. Joan of Arc probably never had to deal with this.
“We can do it ourselves.”
Where did his optimism go? I can’t stay here waiting. Maybe I’ll go to the Cliffs. I owe Mr. Jack some shark teeth.
There’s a small knock on the screen door, and I look over at Ford. He raises his eyebrows and waves his hands for me to answer it. After maneuvering around the mess, I open the door and feel immediate relief.
Kip.
Except Kip won’t talk to me. Ford hands him a lukewarm plate of what we just ate—sausage and salad—and Kip devours it in the kitchen. But he will only look at Ford.
I stand next to the table and tell him, “Our practice launch is in two weeks!”
He keeps his eyes on Ford and grunts.
So I try again. “We got a buoy that will float above me, tethered to the sub, so you can see where I am in the water.”
“Okay,” he says, his eyes on his fork.
I scowl. What is going on? Kip usually talks too much. Makes everything a joke. This is not Kip Dwyer.
For the whole night, he ignores me, and I bite my lip and stare at the back of his head when he laughs with Ford. And then a whole week goes by like that. I am confused. So confused. I thought him coming to the cottage meant everything was okay, or at least, getting better.
I have help with the sub, but my friend is gone.
The week before the practice launch, I go to Lydia’s to spend the night. Her house is the same size and shape as mine, but it feels younger, newer. Fresh paint on the walls and shiny, wooden floors. Nothing’s cracked or peeling.
But it does smell like vinegar and cabbage. The counter is covered in jars and cutting boards full of shredded vegetables. Lydia’s mother is making sauerkraut, mashing it with salt. She’s white and German, and Lydia’s dad is black and American. They met when he was stationed in Germany. Lydia thinks they’re too controlling, but they just love her and her older brother a lot.
Lydia runs down the stairs when she hears me come in. She’s wearing shorts and a big T-shirt with old cartoons.
“Mom!” She groans. “It smells so bad in here.”
Her mother clucks her tongue and says, “Go outside, then.” She sounds like she’s from Bournes.
“Do you want to go to the beach?” Lydia asks me.
<
br /> “No.” I know I don’t really have a choice.
Lydia rolls her eyes. “Come on, let’s get our suits on.” She pulls me by the arm. “Because I can’t get any work done when it smells like this in here!” she tells her mom. I love them. I don’t love the beach.
In her room, I stand over her set, looking at the clay dragon. She’s made individual scales on his belly. “How’s the animation?” I ask while she changes.
“Terrible. Barry’s friends were over last night, and they make so much noise.” Her brother is home from college. Lydia throws a swimsuit at my head. “I don’t want to talk about that. Tell me about Kip. How’s his face?”
I frown. “It’s healing? I don’t know. He still won’t talk to me.” I turn my back to her and pull on her old red bathing suit.
“What?”
I finish changing and flop on her bed, my hair making a cloud. “He’s probably never going to talk to me again.”
“That’s not true.” She lies down too. “Man, every time I think you two are gonna get together, you don’t. And then I’m stuck double-dating with the baseball girlfriends.” Lydia elbows me. “Think of me, Mary. Think of me.”
I tip my head to face her and smile as she gets up.
“Let’s go!” she says. “I’m gonna start gagging. The smell of cabbage when it’s a million degrees outside, what is wrong with her?”
I go to sleep with burnt shoulders. In the morning, I go to Ford’s. Kip shows up, not talking to me still, but joking with Ford about the state of the living room. I glare at him.
“Okay, you two,” Ford says. “I am sick of this lovers’ quarrel.”
I wrinkle my nose. What a gross word. For the first time in forever, Kip and I look at each other and smile.
“Outside. Outside.” He shoos us toward the door. “Go figure this out. I will not have this negative energy under my roof, y’all.” The more adamant he gets, the more southern he sounds.
Outside is hot. The crickets chirp in the tall grass behind the sub. On the water, a boat starts, a water-skier in tow. I squirm.
“It doesn’t look damaged now,” Kip says.
I put my hand on the metal. “Mr. Jack replaced the glass.” I push gravel around with my shoe. “We have to waterproof the seams with marine epoxy, but . . .” I trail off. Are we really going to talk about the sub?
Kip grabs Ford’s stool and plants it next to the sub. He climbs up and cranks the handle to the hatch. It doesn’t look easy to do, and because he’s bigger than I am, I worry I won’t be able to do it.
Peering down, he says, “It’s pretty dark down there.”
“Let’s hope. It wouldn’t be good if there were holes in the metal, would it?” I laugh to myself and fidget. Before everything bad happened, we hugged. Does he want to hug again? I do. My heart thumps faster thinking about it.
“Hey, I’m supposed to be the funny one.” He pulls his head out, his blond hair bright. “You’re doing a great job, Murph.”
The compliment makes me switch the weight on my feet. He’s acting normal. He called me Murph.
He steps down from the stool and stands in front of me. His white T-shirt is new and smells clean. “In two weeks, you’re going to pilot across the Bay.”
I have to squint to see him, the sun is so strong. “That’s the scary part.” I laugh and wrap my hands behind my back.
“Too scary for me, but you’re brave.”
I don’t know how to tell him what that means to me. He keeps getting closer to me, and I think all my organs have liquefied. It must be the fabric softener. That’s why his shirt smells like that. I want to hug him again. I want to kiss him.
Wait a minute. Five minutes ago, I thought he was mad at me. I rub my forehead. “You’re not mad at me anymore?”
“What?” Kip tilts his head and steps back. “I wasn’t mad at you. You were mad at me.”
“No,” I say. “That’s not true. Why would I be angry with you?”
“Because you said your dad couldn’t go back to . . .” He pauses. “Jail.” He whispers it. “And then—”
“No.” I fold my arms. “I feel like I can breathe when he’s gone.” I’ve never told anyone that. But I don’t understand. “You haven’t talked to me all week.”
“You didn’t talk to me!”
When I stare up at him, he says, “Okay, maybe it was me. I cussed at your dad when he came to the marina. I’m sorry. I feel like I started it.” He looks up at the sky, and I can see the whites of his eyes. “And I was embarrassed you saw my dad.”
I hug him like I did on Lydia’s porch. It feels so long ago. I might be a different person. “You shouldn’t be embarrassed. Or sorry. You’re not your dad. And I’m not mine.”
At the library the next morning, I smile while Betty’s voice sounds through the walls during story time. Distracted, I read about high-gauge wires. I need to replace the weaker wire on the fan with them. When we attached the batteries last night, the fan burned out because they weren’t durable enough.
In the afternoon, I’m still smiling. Thinking about hugging. About laundry detergent. About Kip Dwyer. Betty knocks on the doorway of the lab. “There’s a man here to see you.”
I frown and sit up straight, no longer grinning to myself. I know who it is. “Harris?” I sigh.
Betty looks surprised, her eyebrows above the rim of her glasses. “Yes, how did you know?”
I roll my eyes. “Social worker.”
“Should I let him in?”
“Okay.”
Mr. Harris’s face appears where Betty’s was, and I just watch him. He walks in, surveys the room, and pulls out a swivel chair.
“Mary,” he says, sitting perpendicular to me, a line of sweat on his forehead. “I thought I’d catch up with you today.”
“You always find me.”
“I’m like James Bond.” He chuckles.
As a reply, I frown at the computer screen ahead of me.
“I saw your father’s name in the police blotter.”
My eyes as far away from his as I can get them, I say, “Yes.”
“And something about a minor?”
“Not me,” I say quickly. “I’m not the minor.” It’s an old habit to protect him. But I don’t like it. It’s like a curve in a mirror that makes your reflection distorted.
“Okay, then who was the minor he assaulted?” Mr. Harris shifts in the chair.
I play with the nail on my thumb and weigh out my options. Social workers always act like if you just talk, everything will be solved. If you just tell, spill, pour out, they can fix your world with a magic wand. Wave it across your life and set it right. But that’s not how it works.
What happens when you tell the truth is change. Change you can’t control. Change that makes every decision for you.
But now I feel a narrow little nagging. He broke my submersible. He hurt my friend. The truth wrestles inside me, begging to escape.
“Kip,” I finally tell him.
Mr. Harris looks shocked that I provided information. He flips through the pages of my file. “Kip is from the base incident?”
I nod.
“And why would your father do that?”
Because I was trying to get away and Kip was helping me. Because Kip knows what kind of person Robert Murphy is. Because Kip stood up for me.
Mr. Harris asks so nicely, but my words don’t want to come out anymore. What would they do with me? Where would I go? And he hurt Kip once. Who knows what he’ll do next. “He’s in jail, Mr. Harris. He’s not home. I’m fine. Everything is fine.”
“How about we try a different approach, Mary? Did you feel safe when your father was home?”
“I barely saw him. He was on the water a lot.” More protection. It spits out of my mouth involuntarily. It’s a reflex. It’s the doctor hitting my knee and my leg kicking out.
“But when you did. When you were at home, and he was?”
I know if I say, “Yes, I feel safe,” Mr. Harris
will leave me alone. He will disappear until the next storm. But if I say, “No, I never feel safe,” my life will change.
I squirm. I can’t lie. And I can’t tell the truth.
“Are you staying at home?” He asks so gently, I feel like I’ve let him down.
“Yes.” Most of the time.
“I only want to help,” he says. “I can’t help unless you tell me something.” He hands me another bent white card. The other one is in my desk at home. Just in case. “If you ever change your mind or need to talk, you call me, no matter what.”
When I don’t reach for the card, he puts it next to the keyboard.
“It’s great you’re spending time here. Your aunt seems like a wonderful lady. It’s good to have people like her in your life.”
When he leaves, Betty comes back to the computer lab. She drinks from her water bottle. “What was he here for?” she asks.
“Dad.” I wrap a piece of hair around my fingertip, thinking.
My aunt tips her head to the side. “What kind of questions do social workers ask?”
“If I feel safe. Stuff like that.”
“Do you?”
I scratch my temple. “Feel safe?” I pause. No. “I don’t know. I feel safe here and at Ford’s and school. And Lydia’s. I always feel safe there.” Tears start to fill my eyes, so I blink them away. “I feel like Mom and I are always waiting. For the next explosion or when he comes home. I can never relax.” My voice is doing funny things, and I have to wipe my eyes.
“Did you tell Mr. Harris that?” Betty squats down and holds my hand.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I just . . .” I put my head in my hands.
“You shouldn’t have to feel afraid all the time, Mary.” Betty’s gruff voice is soft. “I know change is hard, but I’ve offered this to your mother before. I didn’t want to rush you or force you into anything. But if you would like to live with me, with us, we would love to have you.”
Change. Too much change. Would I leave the Bay? Leave Our Lady? Leave Lydia and Kip? And what would happen to my mother? What would my father do? Who would he punish?
Mary Underwater Page 10