Skeleton Sea

CHAPTER 35

“I'm not home!” Lanny's voice blared through the phone.

Sandy Keasling threw back the covers and sat up straight and switched the cell phone to her other ear, the ear that wasn't ringing from Lanny's shout.

“Pipe down,” she muttered into the phone. She was barely awake. What time was it? She glanced at her bedside clock. The glowing numerals said 6:05. Six in the friggin' morning.

Lanny lowered his voice to a whisper.

Wherever he was there was noise in the background and she couldn't make out what he'd whispered. “Where are you?” she said. “What's all that noise?” Engine noise, she thought. “Speak up.”

“I want you not to worry,” he said, in a softer shout.

She shook her head. She was up now, standing barefoot on the cold floor. She glanced out the window. Foggy morning. She shivered. She slept in the buff. Standing here now buck naked. “Hang on,” she said. She set the cell phone on the bed and fumbled into her fuzzy robe. She picked up the phone. “This better be good.”

“I'm going to make you proud.”

Now he was talking in a soft voice, his shy voice, and she could barely make it out but it was better than being shouted at. “Make me proud?” She headed out her door, down the hallway toward his room. “Where are you?”

“I can't tell you.”

She flung open his door. His room was empty. His bed was neatly made.

“I have to go now.”

“Wait.” Now she was shouting. “You can't call me at six in the friggin' morning and tell me don't worry you're going to make me proud and then go on your way. Where the hell are you?”

There was only the engine noise. And his rapid breathing. His upset breathing.

She recognized the engine noise now. Not cars. “Are you on the Sea Spray? Did you take my boat?”

He said, using his shy voice again, “I'm on my boat.”

She went to his window and peered out at the sea but the fog hung over the water and hid anything that rode it.

She was fully awake now, shivering in her fuzzy robe, and her thoughts turned cold. Whatever he's doing, whatever boat he's on, let him do it. Let him screw it up — she'd lay odds that he would screw it up, whatever it was. Go back to bed, she told herself. She was beat, she hadn't slept well, she'd gone to sleep with the radio on, torturing herself listing to the news reports about the day's craziness, and then there was a tribute to Linda Bannock, a marathon swimmer in her sixties who Sandy couldn't believe was gone from the sting of a moon jellyfish. Next thing she knew she was jolted awake by some crappity late-night loudmouth show and it took her an hour to get back to sleep. She was owed another hour's sleep. Go back to bed, she ordered herself, and when you wake up just go about your business. You'll hear soon enough what Lanny's got into this time.

“Sandy?” His voice rose. “Are you there? I called to tell you I want you not to worry.”

She cursed. Would she never be able to get free? She said, “Listen to me, Lanny. You tell me where you are and what you're doing, and if you don't tell me with your next breath then I'm going to take the Sea Spray out and find you. Little brother.”

He said, with his next breath, “I'll come and get you.”