Read Children of the Sea 02 - Sea Fever for Free Online Page B
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was gone.
43
Four
NICK BARONE EYED THE LITTLE BLUE SKIFF hauled up on the rocks with longing. He could take it out. He was old enough; he could handle it.
And if he went out on the water alone, his mom would probably kill him.
She was already mad. Not with him. With Nonna. Nick had heard them arguing, his grandmother’s raised voice, his mother’s low tones.
The sound made his stomach hurt until he couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand being cooped up in the boring apartment with nothing to do but listen to the two people he loved best in the world fighting with each other.
So he got out.
Nick hugged his knees and stared at the flat, bright water, waiting for his stomach to settle. His best friend, Danny Trujillo, was sterning on his dad’s lobster boat, so Nick couldn’t hang out at his house, and a bunch of summer people had taken over Nick’s favorite sitting-and-thinkingspot.
He watched them: a couple of moms and a half-dozen kids, from almost his age to a baby.
No dads. Probably the dads were fishing. Or maybe they worked on the mainland and joined their families on the weekends. Nick’s father worked on the mainland, but he never came on weekends. Or ever.
Nick kicked at the rocks and wondered if his mom and Nonna were still fighting. Probably not. Their fights never lasted long, but sometimes for hours afterward his grandmother would be grumpy and his mom’s face was all stiff. Nick’s stomach tightened just thinking about it.
After a while, the summer people packed up their lotions and towels and hunted for their shoes, and Nick had the beach to himself.
There was a sailboat coming in, bigger than the little sunfish Nick had learned to sail, almost too big for the one man Nick could see on deck. The sailor didn’t look like he was having trouble, though, even with
44
both sails up. And that was another weird thing, those full sails, because there wasn’t any wind where Nick stood.
The boat slid past the orange buoys that marked shallow water. Too fast, Nick thought. Too far. He opened his mouth to yell a warning, but then the sails collapsed like a big old gum bubble and the boat just stopped. Nick had never seen anything like it. He watched as the guy in the boat— he was tall, with long, dark hair— secured the lines and dropped anchor. The splash slapped the sides of his boat.
The guy looked at the distance between his boat and the beach and then at Nick. With a slight shrug, the man stepped off the boat and into water up to his wiener.
Nick giggled. He couldn’t help it. Man, oh, man, that must be cold.
The guy tossed back his wet hair and looked right at him.
Nick covered his mouth with his hand.
But instead of getting mad, the man grinned, too, a real grin, guy to guy. He sloshed toward shore.
Nick held his ground and waited to see what the dude would do next.
He came out of the sea, water streaming from his shorts and squishing in his shoes.
“You could have rowed a dinghy,” Nick said. “From your boat.”
“I could.”
Nick couldn’t tell from the man’s voice if he was agreeing or asking a question.
He sat on a rock to take off his shoes. Ordinary boat shoes, curled at the seams from repeated wettings. He emptied the water from one and wriggled his toes back inside.
Nick frowned. Something about the man’s toes . . .
He jammed his other foot into wet leather.
45
“Or you could have tied up in the harbor,” Nick said.
The man grunted and stood. He was very tall and not very old, for a grown-up. “I am looking for someone.”
Nick’s heart jumped and slammed into his ribs, because it was the sort of thing he used to imagine his father might say if his father ever showed up looking for him. It was a dumb dream; Nick knew it would never happen. His father didn’t care about him.
Besides, Nick knew what his father, his real father, looked
43
Four
NICK BARONE EYED THE LITTLE BLUE SKIFF hauled up on the rocks with longing. He could take it out. He was old enough; he could handle it.
And if he went out on the water alone, his mom would probably kill him.
She was already mad. Not with him. With Nonna. Nick had heard them arguing, his grandmother’s raised voice, his mother’s low tones.
The sound made his stomach hurt until he couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand being cooped up in the boring apartment with nothing to do but listen to the two people he loved best in the world fighting with each other.
So he got out.
Nick hugged his knees and stared at the flat, bright water, waiting for his stomach to settle. His best friend, Danny Trujillo, was sterning on his dad’s lobster boat, so Nick couldn’t hang out at his house, and a bunch of summer people had taken over Nick’s favorite sitting-and-thinkingspot.
He watched them: a couple of moms and a half-dozen kids, from almost his age to a baby.
No dads. Probably the dads were fishing. Or maybe they worked on the mainland and joined their families on the weekends. Nick’s father worked on the mainland, but he never came on weekends. Or ever.
Nick kicked at the rocks and wondered if his mom and Nonna were still fighting. Probably not. Their fights never lasted long, but sometimes for hours afterward his grandmother would be grumpy and his mom’s face was all stiff. Nick’s stomach tightened just thinking about it.
After a while, the summer people packed up their lotions and towels and hunted for their shoes, and Nick had the beach to himself.
There was a sailboat coming in, bigger than the little sunfish Nick had learned to sail, almost too big for the one man Nick could see on deck. The sailor didn’t look like he was having trouble, though, even with
44
both sails up. And that was another weird thing, those full sails, because there wasn’t any wind where Nick stood.
The boat slid past the orange buoys that marked shallow water. Too fast, Nick thought. Too far. He opened his mouth to yell a warning, but then the sails collapsed like a big old gum bubble and the boat just stopped. Nick had never seen anything like it. He watched as the guy in the boat— he was tall, with long, dark hair— secured the lines and dropped anchor. The splash slapped the sides of his boat.
The guy looked at the distance between his boat and the beach and then at Nick. With a slight shrug, the man stepped off the boat and into water up to his wiener.
Nick giggled. He couldn’t help it. Man, oh, man, that must be cold.
The guy tossed back his wet hair and looked right at him.
Nick covered his mouth with his hand.
But instead of getting mad, the man grinned, too, a real grin, guy to guy. He sloshed toward shore.
Nick held his ground and waited to see what the dude would do next.
He came out of the sea, water streaming from his shorts and squishing in his shoes.
“You could have rowed a dinghy,” Nick said. “From your boat.”
“I could.”
Nick couldn’t tell from the man’s voice if he was agreeing or asking a question.
He sat on a rock to take off his shoes. Ordinary boat shoes, curled at the seams from repeated wettings. He emptied the water from one and wriggled his toes back inside.
Nick frowned. Something about the man’s toes . . .
He jammed his other foot into wet leather.
45
“Or you could have tied up in the harbor,” Nick said.
The man grunted and stood. He was very tall and not very old, for a grown-up. “I am looking for someone.”
Nick’s heart jumped and slammed into his ribs, because it was the sort of thing he used to imagine his father might say if his father ever showed up looking for him. It was a dumb dream; Nick knew it would never happen. His father didn’t care about him.
Besides, Nick knew what his father, his real father, looked
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