The Water Keeper(41)

While I followed instructions and she led me in the art of leading her, she said, “Nice watch.”

“Friend gave it to me.”

“Nice friend.”

I focused on everything she was telling me while she moved as easily as someone breathing in their sleep. While she moved around me, making me look like I knew what I was doing, she said, “Did you just say you have only danced once in your life?”

“This makes twice.”

“What on earth is wrong with you?”

“We’re gonna need a bigger dance floor to answer that question.”

“What’s the short version?”

“I’ve only been married once.”

“Certainly you danced with your wife somewhere?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“She left.”

“What, a year? Two?”

“No. More like an hour.”

She stopped spinning and returned to face me. This time she moved closer. “You were married for an hour?”

“Almost.”

She looked embarrassed. “Something terrible happened, didn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago. And to be honest, I think this dance was much better. At least one of us knew what we were doing.”

The music stopped and people actually stood at their tables clapping for Summer, who pointed to me, clapped, and then bowed. She was sweating, breathing slightly heavily. I wondered how someone so beautiful, so talented, so . . . wasn’t married.

Clay seemed distracted as we idled back to the hotel. After I tied up at the dock, I helped lift him out and said, “Mr. Pettybone, you okay?”

He coughed and wiped his mouth with a cloth handkerchief. “Yes, sir. Would you mind . . . ?” He eyed his door, so I locked my arm in his and walked him to his room. As he inserted the key, he said, “Mr. Murphy, I don’t want to tell you your business, but you’ve got somebody else on that boat.”

I glanced back at Gone Fiction. Summer stood on the dock, tying up the stern line. “What do you mean?”

He threw his head to the side and rear, suggesting something from his past. “In my life, I learned to listen. I’m still pretty good at it. There’s somebody else on that boat.”

I glanced at Fingers’ orange box tied to the bow. Not sure what to reveal, I shook my head. “Still not following you.”

He pointed to the small door that led into the even smaller head housed in the center console.





Chapter 17


It dawned on me that I had not opened the latch door to the head since I’d finished packing the boat at my island the night before I left. I had thought about it when I almost stowed Fingers’ box in there, but I’d never done it. That meant it had sat untouched since I’d left the island.

Summer noticed the wrinkle between my eyes. “You okay?”

I didn’t want to leave the orange box out overnight, plus it gave me the excuse I needed. So I untied it and said, “Yeah . . .” I pointed to the head and placed one single finger to my lips. I spoke to her while looking at the door. “I just need to lock this up for the night.” I didn’t know what or who might be in the head, so if need be I planned to use Fingers’ lunch box as a weapon.

I pulled on the latch leading into the head and gently swung the door open until it clicked into its magnetic hold. When I did, I found two wide eyes staring at me from the darkness. They darted from me to Summer and back to me. Slowly a shape took place. She was small. Sitting inside the console, surrounded by towels and a cushion. I scratched my head and started thinking back through all the rough water we’d crossed. The idea that someone had been in there for any length of time at all was mind-boggling. A pinball would have had an easier go.

Seeing another face to lick, Gunner moved in for closer inspection. Finding willing hands, he began licking her face, which brought a giggle. A beautiful laugh. Which explained all the time Gunner had spent sniffing the crack around the door. With Gunner’s tail wagging at full speed, I pulled him out and stuck my head inside the console. Then my hand. A much smaller hand took mine, and she climbed out of the head.

A girl. Maybe not quite a teenager. Jeans. Backpack. Running shoes. Short, Audrey Hepburn–length hair. She stood studying me and said nothing.

Summer looked at me, the girl, then me again. She stepper closer. “Honey, are you okay?”

The girl shrugged.

“You lost?”

The girl shook her head but didn’t take her eyes off me. It was as if she was looking at something she’d heard about but never seen. Like something hanging on a wall in a museum.

Summer kept trying. “You’re not lost?”

Another shake. Matter-of-fact. She looked around. “No.”

“Well, baby doll—” Summer tried a laugh to break the ice. “What are you doing?”

The girl looked at me. “I’m wondering if you can tell me who I am.”

I pointed to myself. “Why me?”

She held up a yellowed piece of paper.

“May I?”

She passed it through the air that hung between us. It was an older, detailed navigational chart showing the island I call home. The grounds around the chapel had been circled in red pencil. There was no name. No writing. “What’s this?”