The Secret of Othello Page 5

  Somehow her mouth had gotten very close to his. Twilight had given way to night, and a breeze was pushing the hem of her dress against his bare knees.

  “Absolutely,” Steven said, and then they were kissing.

  Which was wrong, all wrong, and totally against his summer vow, but this was Jen. He’d taken off her blouse in eighth grade and her shorts in ninth grade and everything else the Christmas of their junior year. She was clever and sometimes mean and totally not his type—except when she was.

  Steven spent a full minute enjoying the taste of cherry lip gloss and the smoothness of her shoulders under his hands. Then he forced out, “Jen, I can’t—”

  “Show me what’s below deck,” she whispered.

  No normal American teenage boy could possibly resist that, Steven decided. He took her down the short steps into the galley and to the forward cabin. The bed wasn’t big or luxurious, but Jen tested it with a grin before reclining on Nathan Carter’s beat-up old pillows.

  “Come here, sailor,” she said.

  Steven decided to throw his summer vow out the window.

  He had just taken two steps forward when footsteps sounded on the deck above. Quick, forceful steps. Angry.

  “Denny?” Steven called out.

  His brother stomped down into the galley.

  “Just to make it official,” Denny announced, “Mom has the lousiest timing in North America.”

  “What? She’s back?” Steven asked.

  “With Aunt Riza.”

  Steven couldn’t help but laugh. “She interrupt something important?”

  Denny flinched. “I’m glad you think it’s funny.”

  “I don’t,” Steven said, but of course it was, in a tragic sort of way.

  Jen came to Steven’s side and adjusted the shoulder of her dress. “Who’s the lucky girl, Denny?”

  Denny made a sour face, as if he’d sucked on a lemon. “I thought you were on vacation,” he said to Steven.

  “Vacation from what?” Jen asked.

  Steven hoped that Denny didn’t answer that. And he got his wish, because Denny immediately turned around and went back on deck.

  “Where are you going?” Steven asked.

  “To drown myself!” Denny yelled.

  A moment later, something splashed into the water.

  Steven turned to Jen. “Sorry. Got to go fix my brother.”

  Jen pouted. “You can’t reward him for being a drama queen. Wouldn’t you rather stay here with me?”

  “Good-bye, Jen,” Steven headed up the steps. “Say hi to Cole for me.”

  By the time he’d kicked off his shoes and peeled off his shirt, Denny was several yards away in the dark water. He was swimming steadily toward the channel markers. Steven could have caught up quickly, but he figured it was better to trail behind. The water was calm and warm, the breeze barely noticeable. Starlight dappled the surface.

  Steady strokes, the comfort of the ocean, no place to be. The world narrowed down to breath and motion, the pleasure of stretching his muscles. Steven almost forgot about Jen and the SEALs as he followed Denny to the markers. For a moment it looked like his twin was going to keep going, out to open ocean, maybe across the sea to Africa or Europe, but Denny stopped to float on his back.

  “If I’m lucky, a shark will come along and put me out of my misery,” Denny said.

  Steven ignored the melodrama and treaded water. “What did Aunt Riza say?”

  Denny stared up at the sky. “Nothing good.”

  “Such as?”

  Denny paused for so long that Steven almost repeated the question. Then, reluctantly, he said, “She looked at Brian like he was some kind of sex offender. Then she said I was being foolish and jeopardizing my entire career and why hadn’t Mom told her.”

  Steven could hear Aunt Riza’s shrill voice in his head. “How did Brian take it?”

  “Better than I did. But not by much. Mom tried to make it better, but you know. When Riza gets going, she gets going. He went home and now he’ll probably want nothing to do with this family.”

  Denny stopped talking. Steven didn’t have anything to offer, so he shut up as well. They floated in the ocean, buoyant and quiet, far from the problems of shore. In a few weeks Denny would be gone off to his new life, and Steven left behind with uncertainty, but this moment—well, Steven could hold on to this, and the beauty of the night sky, and the way the ocean tugged him in different directions but also held him aloft.

  Eventually Denny started swimming again, and Steven followed. After they climbed back onto the Idle, Steven tossed Denny a towel and said, “She’s wrong.”

  “Of course she is.” Denny seemed much calmer now, or maybe that was just because he was as exhausted as Steven. “About which part?”

  “About being foolish. It’d be more stupid if you had someone who liked you and you just ignored it because you’re afraid.”

  Denny rubbed the towel down his arms and around his feet, which were dripping water on the deck. “It’s still illegal in the military.”

  “You’re not in the military yet,” Steven reminded him. “Besides, it’s not like you’re taking him to Reporting In Day and giving him a big smack on the lips in front of the whole student battalion.”

  Denny cocked his head. “Maybe one day, if the rules change.”

  Steven snapped his towel at him. “Just ignore Aunt Riza and focus on the next few weeks with Brian.”

  “When did you turn into Mr. Relationship Advice?”

  “About the same time I gave up dating.”

  “Dating as in bringing girls here and taking off their dresses?” Denny asked. “I don’t think that’s what Carter had in mind when he said we could use the boat.”

  “Her dress was still on,” Steven protested, but it was a weak excuse. No more women, he vowed once again. And since most of the week was going to be taken up by Tristan and her dad, that would be no problem at all.

  Chapter Nine

  Brian had never been thrown out of anyone else’s house before.

  Well, to be fair, it wasn’t like Mrs. Anderson had shoved him out the door with his pants in his arms. For one thing, his pants had never come off. And Mrs. Anderson had been pretty okay about finding her son getting frisky on the sofa. Denny’s aunt Riza, though—well, she was going to be trouble. Brian would be happy never to see her again.

  On his way back to the resort he stopped by the Dreamette for a consolatory milkshake. He was surprised to see Sean there.

  “Steven tried to put Robin and me to work on his boat, but we lied our way out of it,” Sean explained as he paid for a hot fudge sundae.

  They sat on one of the picnic benches by the water and Brian explained the sad tale of Aunt Riza.

  “Oh, man,” Sean said sympathetically. “I’ve met her. She makes Fidel Castro look like a nice guy. Don’t hold her against Denny.”

  “I won’t,” Brian promised.

  Brian had never hung out with Sean before. He was surprisingly easy to talk to. Unlike a lot of other kids on Fisher Key, he had no grand plan to escape to somewhere bigger and more cosmopolitan. He had enrolled at Key West Community College and never wanted to leave the Florida Keys.

  “You never want to see the world?” Brian asked.

  “I want to see it,” Sean said. “I just don’t want to live out there. You can keep the snow, traffic, parallel parking, freeways—”

  “Museums, universities, concerts, public transportation—”

  Sean slurped hot fudge off his spoon. “You must have hated moving here.”

  Brian didn’t deny it. He’d spend his first few months loathing just about everything about Fisher Key, including the flat landscape and beautiful weather. But then he’d met Denny and started to see the islands through his eyes—the endless beauty of the ocean, the casual lifestyle, the ridiculously romantic sunsets.

  “You think you’ll ever come back to visit after you go to MIT?” Sean asked.

  “I don’t know.”
Brian stirred his milkshake. “I haven’t thought that far ahead. I guess it depends on where my mom ends up. And if Denny—well, I don’t know. There’s always Thanksgiving break and Christmas break. If we’re whatever by then.”

  “You’re lucky you found someone around here,” Sean said. “And you’re both going to be in New England, and what, only a hundred miles apart? If my boyfriend was going to a big fancy college in Boston, I’d spend Christmas making snow angels with him in the middle of the campus. And warming up afterward.”

  Brian tried to picture Denny in the snow, snug in a winter coat, his nose and cheeks pink from the bitter wind. Denny and winter were concepts that did not easily coexist.

  “You know him much better than I do,” Brian said. “Any tips?”

  Sean squinted thoughtfully. “He’s not the most transparent guy. I mean, not as transparent as Steven. Do you know that when the Titanic hit that iceberg, most of it was underwater? The iceberg, not the Titanic.”

  “Icebergs are usually bigger under the water, yes,” Brian agreed.

  “Denny’s like that iceberg.”

  “So I shouldn’t be the Titanic?”

  “So you should just, you know.” Sean pitched his cup toward the trash bin. “Don’t be Kate Winslet.”

  Brian’s phone beeped. It was a message from Mom, making sure he was okay. Which meant she was probably lonely, and drinking. He didn’t want to go back to the suite—but he should.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Brian said. “Kate Winslet’s character survived the movie.”

  Sean replied, “I’ve never watched the end. It’s too sad. You know, just let Denny be Denny. Everything will work out okay.”

  Back at the suite, Mom was sitting on the sofa in her plush bathrobe. She was drinking white wine and eating celery.

  “Did you eat dinner?” Brian asked.

  “Sure,” she replied. The TV was showing a documentary about whales. “There’s some in the refrigerator for you.”

  Brian poked at a covered plate of ziti and broccoli. He didn’t feel especially hungry. When he reached up into the cabinet for a drinking glass, his fingers brushed against a large flat envelope that had been tucked up there.

  He pulled it down. His name was on the label and the end had been slit open.

  “Mom, what’s this?” he asked.

  “What’s what, honey?”

  Brian scanned the letter. His throat tightened up as phrases flew by: tuition adjustment and unexpected shortfall and unfortunate circumstances. When he reached up again he found more envelopes, some from his stepdad’s lawyer and others from banks or brokerages.

  He took them to his mother and dropped them on the coffee table. They thumped softly.

  Brian asked, “When were you going to tell me we’re broke?”

  Chapter Ten

  By seven thirty Monday morning Denny was on deck, drinking a very large cup of coffee, his eyelids as gritty as sandpaper. His restless dreams had been full of falling trees and Aunt Riza’s frowns and Brian going off to MIT without even saying good-bye. He figured that as tired as he was now, he’d be even more tired during basic training at the academy. At least for now he could relax and enjoy more coffee.

  A patrol car parked up near the marina convenience store. Dad came down the dock. He was in full uniform and carrying a bag of groceries along with a doughnut box.

  “I thought my children might starve if I didn’t bring them nourishment,” Dad said as he came aboard.

  Denny rescued the box and lifted the lid. He tried not to drool over the chocolate and sprinkles and frosting. “This was Mom’s idea, wasn’t it?”

  “I’ll never tell.” Dad brushed a touch of sugar from his uniform. “How’s your bump?”

  “Doesn’t hurt at all. How’s the house?”

  “Roofer’s coming out today to do the estimate.” Dad sat down on one of the padded benches. “I saw your brother out on the highway. You didn’t go running with him?”

  “I figured someone should be here if our charter shows up early,” Denny said.

  “What time’s he supposed to?”

  “Eight o’clock.”

  Dad nodded. He poked around in the doughnut box, but didn’t take one. Denny broke a plain one in half and dipped it into his coffee, but the serious expression on Dad’s face kept him from eating it. Seagulls whirled over their heads, hoping to score a free breakfast.

  “Mom wants you to come to the apartment tonight for dinner,” Dad said.

  One of the gulls landed on the Idle’s railing. It only had one foot. Denny always felt bad for one-legged birds. He would have thrown it part of his doughnut, but didn’t want to make Dad think he didn’t appreciate the gift.

  “Aunt Riza’s going to make chicken and maduros,” Dad added.

  Denny very carefully did not say where Aunt Riza could put her food.

  “I know you’re upset with her,” Dad said. “But she is your aunt, and she practically raised Mom after they all came from Cuba. Last night maybe went badly—”

  “Badly!” Denny said. Talk about an understatement.

  “Horribly?”

  The one-legged gull hopped along the railing, closer to Denny. He said, “I don’t want to have dinner with her.”

  “I know, and I can’t blame you,” Dad replied. “On the other hand, family’s family, and maybe you two can hash this thing out.”

  “Like the fact she can’t stand anybody gay?”

  “Did she say that?”

  Denny dunked the doughnut again. Little bits of it broke off to sink to the bottom of the cup.

  Dad said, patiently, “Denny. Look at me.”

  Reluctantly he met his father’s gaze. One of the hardest things about being a cop’s son was that he always expected honesty.

  “Not in those exact words,” Denny admitted. “But you know that what you look like and your body language say more than words do. That’s a principle of human communication.”

  Dad said, “I’m glad I have a smart kid. So be smart. You know not everyone in the world is going to be delighted that you’re gay. They’re going to be prejudiced and wrong. That sucks. And it sucks worse when it’s your own family. Think of this as an opportunity to show Aunt Riza that being gay doesn’t change who you are.”

  “I shouldn’t have to show her,” Denny muttered.

  “Agreed. But since when is the world fair?”

  Steven appeared at the top of the dock, slick with sweat and breathing hard. Denny checked his diving watch. They had fifteen minutes before Brad and Tristan were supposed to arrive. As Steven drew closer he lifted his nose and sniffed appreciatively.

  “Are those doughnuts?” he asked. “Yum.”

  Denny passed him the box. “Eat up. We’re having chicken and maduros for dinner.”

  “That’s my boy,” Dad said.

  *

  Steven skipped taking a shower. In an hour or two, he’d be underwater anyway. Instead he hosed himself off, took a bar of soap to his underarms, and then hosed himself again. All done. Their clients were supposed to be on the dock at eight, but the appointed time passed and there was only Denny, Steven, and the diminishing box of doughnuts.

  “You want this jelly one?” Steven asked, already reaching for it.

  Denny said, “Go ahead. It’ll look good on your hips.”

  “I ran five miles,” Steven replied. “My hips can afford two hundred more calories.”

  Down on the dock, they practiced some blocks and punches in anticipation of Saturday’s black belt test. They also ran through a half dozen katas. The katas, or intricate sequences against imaginary opponents, had to be done precisely and forcefully. Sensei Mike was particularly tough on kata mistakes. He’d been teaching Okinawan Kenpo karate for more than twenty years. The “surprise” that he’d mentioned sounded ominous.

  “Maybe he’s just trying to psych us out,” Steven said, once they’d finished pinon shodan.

  Denny reached for a water bottle. “Or h
e’s got something really bad planned.”

  After the katas, Steven dropped and did fifty of the push-ups required at BUD/S, the SEAL training school. Denny texted someone on his phone—Brian, probably—and Steven turned to sit-ups. Finally, at eight forty, a white van parked in the marina lot and Tristan got out from behind the steering wheel.

  Steven was nervous, seeing the wheelchair on the bobbing deck, but Brad navigated with ease. He was fully outfitted in his black wet suit. His mouth was set in a mulish, unhappy line.

  “Good morning,” Denny said.

  “Morning,” Tristan echoed, a sunny smile on her face. Princess Chirpy, Steven thought to himself. She said, “Sorry we’re late.”

  Her father scowled at Carter’s boat. “You’re sure she’s seaworthy?”

  “She’s awesome,” Steven said. “Come aboard, see for yourself.”

  It was a little tricky, getting the wheelchair across the gangplank, but they managed. Brad couldn’t get down into the galley or up to the wheelhouse, but he studied the contents of the emergency locker and rattled the portable dive platform they’d borrowed from a friend.

  “I guess she’ll do,” he finally said.

  Steven asked, “Where’s your gear?”

  “In the van,” Tristan said.

  “Let’s go get it, then,” Steven said, irritated. They’d been hired to take Brad diving, not to be private valets.

  In addition to their scuba gear and tanks, Brad and Tristan had brought cases of camera equipment, a cooler full of snacks and sandwiches for themselves, and a book bag with Tristan’s initials on it. Steven peeked inside and saw the titles were all about astronomy. So she was some kind of science geek. He knew his constellations but couldn’t imagine spending four years studying them.

  They’d also brought an extra wheelchair—a rusty, decrepit thing that Steven wouldn’t trust to carry a bunny rabbit.

  “It’s a prop,” Tristan said. “For the photo shoots.”

  It took a half hour to get everything out of the van and stowed on board the Idle. It was almost nine thirty before they were ready to set off from Fisher Key. Brad had brought his own charts as well as laminated tables to double-check their dive computers. He’d also printed out pictures from the Internet and drawn up some plans for where he wanted to sink and place the prop wheelchair.