Do Not Answer #2
The trip had been her mother’s idea. At least that was what her father said. Her mother said it had been his idea, but she thought it might be good for them. Lena suspected neither of them had wanted to say no once the other said yes.
Danny had wanted to go whale watching the year before. He had seen a video in science class of an orca throwing a seal into the air and had talked about it for two weeks. Their father said they would go when the weather warmed up.
By then Danny was dead.
Lena had not reminded anybody of that when the tickets appeared on the kitchen counter.
A burst of static came from the radio in the wheelhouse.
Keller reached for the microphone.
The speaker cracked and produced half a word.
It sounded like hey.
Then the static swallowed it.
Her father lifted his head.
Keller adjusted the dial.
A man’s voice came through, broken by distance.
“—south marker—visibility—”
Keller answered with the boat’s name and their position. Lena could not hear the response clearly.
Her father said, “Did that sound like a kid to you?”
She looked at him.
“The radio?”
“Before the other guy.”
“No.”
He rubbed his thumb along the edge of his phone case.
“I thought somebody said Dad.”
Lena listened to the radio.
The man on the other end said something about the weather turning faster than expected.
“It said hey,” she told him.
“Probably.”
He leaned back.
That should have been the end of it.
A few seconds later, the speaker gave another burst of static.
A voice said something with one syllable.
Her father sat forward.
Lena could not tell what the word was. It might have been down. It might have been now. It might have been nothing except two sounds touching in the right place.
Her father looked at her.
“You heard that.”
“I heard the radio.”
“It said Dad.”
Mercer turned from across the aisle.
“Channel skip.”
Her father frowned.
“What?”
“Signals bounce in storms. You hear people from all over.”
Keller glanced back but did not correct him.
Mason said, “Not usually on marine VHF.”
Mercer’s mouth tightened.
“I didn’t say it was usual.”
Ruth looked at Lena’s father.
“Do you have a son?”
The question sat there before Ruth understood she should not have asked it.
Lena’s father did not look at Lena.
“We did.”
Ruth’s face changed.
“I’m sorry.”
“He was twelve,” her father said.
Lena looked at the window.
Her father rarely said Danny’s age. He usually said his name or my boy. Twelve made him sound like somebody from the newspaper.
Ruth touched the chain around her neck.
“I lost my daughter.”
Mercer lowered his eyes. Even he understood there were times not to explain things.
Ruth said, “Long time ago.”
Lena’s father nodded.
Neither of them asked how.
The engine coughed again.
This time it did not recover.
The sound fell away in pieces until only the rain and the water against the hull remained.
The boat continued forward for a few seconds, then began turning sideways.
Keller swore.
Mason was already on his feet.
“What happened?”
“Sit down.”
“Can I help?”
Keller looked at the grease on his thumb.
“You know diesel?”
“Enough to make it worse.”
“Then sit.”
Keller tried the starter.
The engine turned but did not catch.
The boat rose on a wave and slid sideways down the other side. Ruth clutched the sink. Mercer braced both feet against the floor.
Lena’s father put his arm in front of her.
She pushed it down.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
He left his hand on the edge of her seat.
Keller tried the starter again.
Nothing.
The radio came alive with a rush of static.
For an instant Lena heard what sounded like breathing.
Then the man from before returned.
“—Alderman, respond—”
Keller grabbed the microphone.
“Engine failure. We’re drifting east.”
The response broke apart.
Keller repeated their position.
Mason moved toward the wheelhouse.
This time Keller let him.
They spoke quietly over the controls. Lena caught fuel line, intake, and no pressure. None of it sounded good, but men often made repair talk sound worse than it was.
Mercer stood again.
“What’s east?”
Keller did not answer.
“What’s east of us?”
“Land.”
“How far?”
“Not far enough.”
Ruth looked out the window as though land might already be there.
Mercer said, “What land?”
Keller pressed the radio button.
“Alderman to Coast Guard. Engine failure, six persons aboard.”
“Six?” Lena’s father said.
Keller looked back.
“You, Lena, Mason, Ruth, Mr. Mercer, and me.”
Her father’s expression stayed blank for a second.
Then he nodded.
“Right.”
Lena watched him.
There were six of them. She knew that. She had watched each person board.
Her father had known it too.
He looked toward the empty patch of bench beside her, where Danny’s sweatshirt had been before she pulled it over her knees.
Lena said nothing.
The radio hissed.
A voice came through, faint and clipped.
“—remain aboard—rescue—forty—”
Keller tried to answer.
The radio gave a sharp pop and went dead.
Mercer pointed at it.
“Channel skip?”
Mason opened the panel beneath the controls.
“Power surge.”
“You can fix it?”
“I can look at it.”
The boat struck something.
The impact came from below and behind them. The floor jumped beneath Lena’s feet. Ruth screamed. Mercer fell against the bench and knocked the tackle box loose.
Keller grabbed the wheel.
“What was that?” Lena’s father asked.
Keller looked through the rain.
“Could’ve been driftwood.”
Mercer laughed once.
“You don’t believe that.”
Keller did not answer.
Another wave turned them.
Through the front window, the rain thinned just enough for Lena to see a dark shape rising beyond the water.
At first it looked like part of the storm.
Then the boat climbed higher, and trees appeared along the top of it.
An island.
Keller stared at it.
Mason saw his face.
“You know it?”
“I know where we are.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
Keller tried the starter again.
The engine gave one weak turn.
Lena’s father said, “Can we land there?”
Keller kept watching the island.
“There’s no dock on this side.”
“Is there shelter?”
“Maybe.”
Mercer stood behind him.
“You said you knew where we were.”
“I do.”
“Then what island is it?”
Keller looked through the windshield as the land came closer.
“St. Orra.”
Ruth repeated the name quietly.
It meant nothing to Lena.
Mason wiped condensation from the glass.
“How far to shore?”
“Half a mile. Less if the current keeps pushing us.”
“That good or bad?”
Keller looked at the rocks along the waterline.
“Depends where we hit.”
He ordered them into life jackets.
This time no one argued.
Lena unfolded Danny’s sweatshirt and put it on before fastening hers. The sleeves ended above her wrists now. They had not when Danny wore it.
Her father watched her pull the hood free from the collar.
“Where did you get that?”
She stared at him.
“It’s been in the car.”
“I know, but why did you bring it?”
“I was using it as a pillow.”
He nodded, though she could tell he did not remember seeing her carry it aboard.
Mason helped Ruth tighten her straps. Mercer insisted he knew how to fasten his own and then put one buckle through the wrong loop.
The boat drifted toward the island.
Lena stood beside the window.
The trees were close enough now to separate from one another. Long grass moved above the rocks. A strip of gray beach appeared to the south.
Nothing moved on it.
Her father came beside her.
For a while they watched the island grow.
Then he said, very quietly, “I know what I heard.”
Lena did not ask which sound he meant.
She looked at his reflection in the glass.
He was staring at the radio.
“I didn’t hear Danny,” she said.
Her father’s eyes moved toward her.
“I didn’t say you did.”
“No.”
The boat lifted and dropped.
Something knocked beneath the stern bench.
Three slow knocks.
Nobody spoke.
Keller looked over his shoulder.
Mason crouched beside the bench but did not open it.
Mercer said, “Anchor line.”
His voice was louder than it needed to be.
The bench lifted against its metal clips.
Only a fraction of an inch.
Then it settled.
Mason put one hand on the seat.
The boat leaned, but the bench did not move again.
“Something shifted,” he said.
Keller looked back toward the island.
“Keep it closed.”
Mason glanced at him.
“Why?”
“Because if the latch breaks in this water, the gear comes through the cabin.”
That explanation was ordinary enough.
Lena wanted it to be true.
The bench gave another small jump beneath Mason’s palm.
He pulled his hand away.
From somewhere inside the locked compartment came a sound like a child coughing.
The cough came again.
Ruth made a small sound in her throat.
Mercer looked at Mason. “You heard that.”
Mason kept his eyes on the bench.
“Could be water in the vent.”
The bench gave a faint tap beneath his hand, like something hard rolling against the inside wall.
Mason reached for the clip.
Keller said, “Leave it.”
“Then tell me what coughs.”
Keller did not answer. The cough came again.
Ruth made a small sound in her throat.
Mercer looked at Mason. “You heard that.”
Mason kept his eyes on the bench.
“Could be water in the vent.”
The bench gave a faint tap beneath his hand, like something hard rolling against the inside wall.
Mason reached for the clip.
Keller said, “Leave it.”
“Then tell me what coughs.”
Keller did not answer. “Probably.”
“Then open it.”
The boat swung sideways again. The island disappeared behind a wall of rain and reappeared closer than before.
Keller glanced through the windshield.
“We don’t have time.”
Mason stood.
“That’s not reassuring.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
He pointed toward the rear door.
“There’s an inflatable raft under the stern deck. We may need it.”
Mercer stared at him.
“May?”
Keller ignored him.
“Mason, help me. Everyone else stays seated.”
Nobody stayed seated.
Ruth stood because Mercer did. Lena’s father stood because Keller had said not to. Lena remained where she was for another few seconds, then got up too.
Her life jacket rode too high beneath her chin. Danny’s sweatshirt bunched beneath it.
Her father reached to straighten the collar.
“I’ve got it.”
“It’s twisted.”
“I said I’ve got it.”
He let go.
Keller opened the rear door.