Deep Betrayal

chapter 18

CAMPING



Later that afternoon, Gabby, Jack, and I threw our camping gear into the Pettits’ Sun Sport. I found a seat at the stern. The only reason I was excited to go was that Calder had promised to meet me there, although I couldn’t imagine how that was going to work. There was no way he’d sit around a campfire with Jack—even if it was easier to stomach Jack’s moods in the dark—and we couldn’t risk Jack publicly accusing Calder of being a merman.

Gabby untied the bowline knot and held the line as Jack backed their boat away from the slip. At the last possible moment, Gabby stepped from the dock onto the side rail as Jack shifted from reverse to forward, and we pulled away from the marina.

I watched uselessly as Gabby scampered around the deck, pulling in the white rubber bumpers, and tightening this or loosening that. She gestured for me to stand and she lifted the lid of my bench seat, exposing a deep storage unit. She dropped two bumpers inside the compartment and was about to close the lid when she paused.

She reached inside and pulled out the sleeve of a jetblack wet suit. She tapped Jack on the shoulder and showed it to him, yelling over the engine, “Why is Dad’s old wet suit in here?”

Jack shrugged and furrowed his brow. He left the wheel for a second to stuff the rubber suit back into storage. He closed the lid and jerked his head at me to sit down again. Which I did gladly, because the boat was rising and falling over the ferry’s wake in spine-crushing jolts.

Jack threw the throttle into a higher gear and raced the twelve miles to Manitou Island, cutting the lake between Madeline and Basswood. I wanted so desperately to see if I could catch a glimpse of Maris and Pavati’s campsite on Basswood, but I didn’t dare look.

Jack wanted to get up to Manitou fast. He said he didn’t want to set up camp in the dark. I wondered if he just wanted to get there in time to make an appearance and then ditch us first chance he got. I mentioned that theory to Gabby. She only said, “So what if he does? At least we got a ride out.”

By the time we arrived, a dozen people were there. Blue and green tents spotted the campground. Two other boats were anchored offshore. Jack killed the engine and pocketed the key. He opened another storage unit and pulled out a cinder block with a long heavy chain.

“What’s that?” Gabby asked, reaching for it.

Jack knocked her hand away. “I lost the anchor,” Jack said. “I had to make a homemade one. Don’t tell Dad.” He glanced furtively at us as he attached the chain to a metal loop at the back of the boat and dropped the block, which made a deep sucking sound as it went under.

Gabby pulled off her sweatshirt and stuffed it in her duffel bag.

“So we swim the rest of the way in?” I asked.

“Go for it, if you don’t mind hypothermia,” she said, “but I’m catching a ride.” She pointed toward shore. Brady Peterman was rowing out to us in a dinghy.


By the time the sun set, there were around twenty kids in the campground. Most of them had graduated from Bayfield High School with Jack, although a few were from Cornucopia, including one whom I recognized as Serious Boy from the woods. I didn’t have to wonder if the recognition was mutual. He sat directly opposite me across the campfire, and he fixed his eyes on me, following my every move. It was like those creepy portraits in haunted houses with the eyes that shifted. I leaned left, his eyes went right. I leaned right, he narrowed his eyes and whispered to his friend.

I tried to end the war of stares by moving my chair closer, but it didn’t help. “Stay away from him,” the other Cornucopia boy said. I wondered if he had been one of the other baseball players I’d seen in the woods with Serious Boy, but I couldn’t recall his face.

“Excuse me?” I asked.

“You heard me,” said the boy.

“No, I’ve got this,” said Serious Boy.

“Lily,” I said, extending my hand. Serious Boy looked at my hand without taking it. He stood up quickly and walked away from the circle. The other boy followed, putting his hand on Serious Boy’s shoulder.

I moved back to my original spot and listened while Jack’s former classmates traded stories about their freshman years at UW and Marquette and Notre Dame. Jack poked at the fire with a long stick, now charred and smoking. When Serious Boy returned, Jack and he exchanged a few words. Serious Boy’s friend decided to cozy up to Gabby. So now there was no one for me to talk to.

Over the din of other conversations, I heard Serious Boy ask Jack, “Did she come with you?” He tipped his head in my direction. Jack looked up from the fire and met my eyes.

“Yeah. Guess so.”

“Do you think that’s smart?” Serious Boy asked.

“Probably not,” Jack said, smirking, “but I don’t think people expect that much from me anymore.” He jabbed at the coals, sending a shower of sparks into the air.

I pretended not to be able to hear. They didn’t seem to think I could. Was this another mermaid stat to add to my list? Was my hearing really keener than before?

I yawned and removed a poncho from my bag, pulling it over my head. It was a nonchalant thing to do; hopefully, they wouldn’t realize I was paying such close attention to their conversation.

“Yeah, we’ve heard about that,” said Serious Boy, and Jack looked at him sharply to see if he was picking a fight. “Hey, no worries, man. We believe you.”

Jack and I both waited for the punch line, but it didn’t come. My heart pounded furiously in my chest. Calder had said it would only take one to believe Jack.

“No one else will, though,” Serious Boy said, passing a bag of chips that was making its way around the circle.

“I’ll just have to try harder,” Jack said. He sounded confident, but across the circle I could see Jack’s sad eyes glistening in the firelight.

After that, they had nothing more to say to each other, and I grew impatient with the other conversations around the campfire.

A golden retriever lay under one guy’s chair. Now and then the dog lifted her head and sniffed the air, piquing her ears. Then she’d lay her head back down on her feet. I watched her closely. When Calder arrived, she’d be the first to know.

The campfire danced in the darkness, and as the wind switched, we’d get up and shuffle our chairs around the circle to avoid the smoke. Someone would say, “Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit,” to dispel the fumy cloud—which didn’t really work. By midnight, our game of musical chairs had me sitting by a guy named Connor.

“Who are you looking for?” Connor asked. “You keep looking around like you’re expecting someone.”

“Oh, no,” I said. “Not really.”

“I don’t really know anyone here either. I came up to visit my college roommate. That’s him there.” Connor pointed toward the tents where a group of guys were talking and shoving each other. “His name’s Erik. He graduated from Bayfield.”

Connor was smaller than the rest of the Bayfield crew: a tennis player, not football. After our initial introductions, he didn’t say much, which I appreciated, but he laughed too loud, and he rarely distinguished between what was truly funny and what was just plain stupid. He was harmless, but after a while, it got on my nerves. I got up to leave.

Serious Boy watched me stand and asked, “Going somewhere?”

“Do you have a problem with that?” I asked.

Gabby pulled away from the other boy long enough to ask if I wanted her to come with me and guard the outhouse door.

“No need,” I said.

“Take this,” Connor said, and he handed me his flashlight. “It’s pretty dark once you get away from the campfire.”

“At least there’s one gentleman in the group,” I said, and I think Serious Boy got the hint.

In the dark, the ground seemed more uneven than it did in the daylight. I staggered a little as I walked, sending beams of light zigzagging off the canopy of trees like a laser light show. A jar light mounted at the peak of the outhouse roof lit the way and kept me on course. A swarm of moths competed for the light. I was nearly there when a pale arm darted out from the trees and yanked me into the woods.

“Would you please stop doing that!” I whined. “That is so annoying. How long have you been out here?”

“Since sunset,” Calder said.

“I’ve been waiting all night for you,” I said curtly. “Maybe you should try being a little less antisocial.”

“No, I’m good.” He took me into an embrace, curling me up in his lap between a moss-covered rock, and a shaggy cedar tree. He touched his lips gently to mine, and the tingle of electricity off him felt like humming through a comb.

“Someone will come looking for me if I don’t get back soon,” I said, although I didn’t really believe it.

“Not for a while,” he whispered; then his lips were at my ear. “Who are you sharing a tent with?”

“Gabby, of course.”

“I’ve got another option, if you’re interested.”

“I’m interested.”

He leaned back and admired whatever colors I was putting off. They must have been bright because it was enough to attract a trio of white moths that flew halos above my head.

“But I do have a reputation to maintain,” I said.

“What’s that?” he asked, smirking. “Moody city girl? Or were you going for the less emo, artistic out-of-towner? I’ve been listening for hours, and you’ve barely said two words since dinner. And who wears a … what is this?”

“It’s a poncho. It’s chenille.”

Calder shook his head. “Who wears a chenille poncho on a camping trip?” He took two fingers and flipped the pompon ties that hung under my chin.

“The wind is cold,” I said.

“I didn’t think the cold ever bothered you.”

“That only applies to the lake, and it’s easier to stay warm when you’re around, but since you weren’t … I guess I had to resort to inappropriate outerwear.”

He kissed me quiet. “When everyone else goes to bed, you go, too. I’ll come wake you later.”

It was harder to pay attention to the campfire banter after that. Serious Boy had grown quiet, and he was the only one I was interested in hearing from anyway. Once or twice he looked at me with a strange wistfulness that made me squirm in my chair.

As the night drew on and people got tired, the conversation slowed. Some people seemed to be asleep in their chairs. Others got up and quietly retreated to their tents. Gabby snuck off with Serious Boy’s friend. Looked like I was going to have the tent to myself.

Before I had time to consider what that might mean, Brady broke the long silence with a sentence that brought everyone back from the dead: “So how goes the mermaid hunt, Jack?”

Serious Boy looked up quickly, his eyes wide and intent, first on me and then on Jack. There was a beat of silence, then the fire cracked on a pine log. Connor looked around the circle. “What’s this?” he asked.

“Jack here thinks we should spray mermaid repellant around our campsite,” said Brady. Connor snorted, then—when he noticed Jack’s serious expression—laughed so hard he fell out of his chair.

Jack glared at him in the darkness, vitriol in his eyes.