“The Coast Guard will find us in the morning,” Ben said suddenly, but I got the feeling he was saying it more to reassure himself than me. “I mean, we’re only ten miles off shore. It’s not like we’re in the middle of nowhere.”
“Oh, yeah. Of course.”
“And we’re smart people.” He tapped the hard edge of the bench frenetically. “Put our brain power together, we can find a way home.”
“Sure,” Candy said, leaning against the far side of the boat, taking a deep drag. “I am soooo glad I didn’t use up my lighter.”
“This ever happen before?” Ben asked.
“Not to me,” I said.
Candy flicked ash into the waves. “I mean, it would suck to be trapped out here with a pack of cigs and no fire.”
We watched the sun slip below the waterline, its orange glow lighting up the horizon in usual, spectacular Florida Keys fashion. Ben had become nothing but a white T-shirt now, his dark skin and hair blending into the shadows.
Even though I see a Keys sunset every day, it still knocks the breath out of me, and in a wonderful way. And any other night, watching this would’ve had my heart racing with excitement, because sunset on the water means the same thing to me that it does to you.
“Night dive,” I said, mostly because the silence was getting to me. “It’s what I’d be doing on a normal night. Watch the sun set. Help Mom play tour guide.”
Candy threw the last of her cigarette over the side. “Isn’t that scary? Diving in the dark?”
“Nah, the night shift is the best,” I said, the scuba talk taking the edge off my shyness.
“Why?” Ben asked.
“You know, the day shift’s clocked out—the snapper and yellow tail, the barracuda that hang above the reef,” I said. “In come the lobsters and the other night creatures. A completely different dive. So awesome.”
“Sharks, eels, and more sharks,” Candy said. “That sounds really fun. Girl, are you nuts?”
“It’s not dangerous. Not really.”
Candy shivered a little. “No freakin’ way. Couldn’t do it.”
I lay back on the bench and looked up at the stars, so bright the Milky Way was a clear band across the sky. “It’s like floating in space.”
“You going to study marine biology or something when you get to college?” Ben asked.
“Not going,” I said, twirling the end of my braid between my thumb and index finger.
The shocked silence that came back at me was no surprise. I’d heard it before.
“What are you going to do, then?” Candy asked, trying to keep her tone neutral and failing.
“I’m going to run a charter with my family. But not here. In Fiji.”
“Fiji, huh?” Candy seemed impressed.
“Yeah, Fiji. But I have to wait until Dad gets paroled.”
More shocked silence. I don’t know why I told them about you, because it always cools off a conversation. I guess pretending isn’t comfortable for me. Or for you. Mom has the corner on that.
“Oh, okay,” Ben finally said. “Cool. Family business.”
I watched his profile for a bit, wishing I could rewind and start over, not bring you up at all. The best I could do was change the subject. “Why aren’t you two over there with Teague and the others? Doesn’t the blue tarp”—I pointed to the shadow under the sunshade—“freak you out?” I had stopped thinking of him as Mr. Marshall a few hours ago. Now he was just “the blue tarp,” which somehow made it easier.
“Not really,” Ben said. “I can’t handle crowds. I’m claustrophobic.”
Candy huffed a laugh. “No, you’re not.”
Ben gave her a loaded look. I gave him a questioning one. Then he sighed. “Fine. My ex-girlfriend is over there.”
It was my turn to laugh, but I cut it off when Ben gave me a sharp glance.
“That bad, huh?” I asked.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
A voice floated over the water from the Ruby Pelican. “I can hear you, Ben.”
Candy stifled her giggle.
“You’d really rather be around the blue tarp than your ex-girlfriend?” I asked.
“Yep.”
Candy fished another cigarette out of her pack. “His parents own a funeral home. He sees dead people all the time.”
Somehow that surprised me more than our electrical equipment going out all at once. I’d never met anyone whose parents buried people. Or burned them to ash to put them into an urn. “You’re kidding,” I said, and then realized I sounded like a jerk, as if what his parents did was creepy—which it was—but I knew, even with my homeschooled social skills, that I had no business saying so.
“That wouldn’t be a very funny joke,” he said. Not defensive. Matter-of-fact, as if he’d gotten tired of digs at his parents’ chosen careers long ago.
I lay back on the bench, watching the stars and thinking about funeral homes and the blue tarp while Candy finished her cigarette. I wondered what that was like for Ben, having death woven into your workday, wondered if it seeped into your shut-eye. Half my dreams were about coral reefs and the inside of sunken ships.
I searched for a topic of conversation, something a cool girl would say. I came up with zip. So instead I put my foot in my mouth.
“Do you help your parents sometimes?” I asked.
“You mean, in the office?”
“No.”
“Then where?”
He knew where, but he was going to make me say it. “In the basement, where the bodies are.”
“We don’t have a basement. And yes, I help out sometimes.”
I sat up and leaned against the side of the Last Chance and looked out over the water. The moon hung high above us, its light caught on the tips of the waves for miles until the sea gave way to sky. The weird stink that had hung over the boat earlier was gone, and the world smelled good and clean, like salt and brine.
“Does it bother you?” I asked.
“Does what bother me?”
“You know, does it seem weird sometimes, doing your homework and then being called downstairs for ‘chores.’” I made air quotes he couldn’t see.
“You know what’s weird?” he said, his gaze still on the sky. “Pretending we’re not going to end up in an undertaker’s office once day.”
“Good point, I guess.”
“You ever wonder about it?”
“Death?”
“No. Wonder who will put you in the last dress you’ll ever wear.”
A voice came floating over the water from Matt’s boat. “Enough, Ben.” It sounded like a teacher’s voice. “You’re freaking everybody out. Things are bad enough without—”
“All right, all right,” Ben said, raising his voice. In a lower tone, he said, “That’s Mrs. Barnes, our teacher. She’s a little sensitive.”
Mrs. Barnes spoke again. “The Coast Guard will be here in the morning. Just get some sleep. No more death talk!”
After I’d gotten ready to sleep as best I could—rinsing my mouth out with seawater instead of brushing my teeth, rubbing a beach towel over my face to “wash” the sunscreen off, and undoing the tie to my bikini top so the knot didn’t bite into my neck all night, I lay flat on my back. Like a body in the morgue. I turned onto my side, even though it was uncomfortable on my hip.