For once it didn’t matter. Robbie’s hangovers dissolved as he waded into water as warm as blood, then floated on his back and watched pelicans skim above him. Afterward he’d carry equipment from the house to the dunes, where Emery had created a shelter from old canvas deck chairs and bedsheets. The boys helped him, the three of them lugging tripods and digital cameras, the box that contained Leonard’s model of the Bellerophon, a cooler filled with beer and Red Bull.
That left Emery in charge of household duties. He’d found an ancient red wagon half buried in the dunes, and used this to transport bags of tortilla chips and a cooler filled with Tecate and limes. There was no store on the island save the abandoned wreck they’d passed when they first arrived. No gas station, and the historical society building appeared to be long gone.
But while driving around, Emery discovered a roadside stand that sold homemade salsa in mason jars and sage-green eggs in recycled cardboard cartons. The drive beside it was blocked with a barbed-wire fence and a sign that said BEWARE OF TWO-HEADED DOG.
“You ever see it?” asked Tyler.
“Nope. I never saw anyone except an alligator.” Emery opened a beer. “And it was big enough to eat a two-headed dog.”
By Thursday morning, they’d carted everything from one end of the island to the other, waiting with increasing impatience as Leonard climbed up and down dunes and stared broodingly at the blue horizon.
“How will you know which is the right one?” asked Robbie.
Leonard shook his head. “I don’t know. Maggie said she thought it would be around here-”
He swept his arm out, encompassing a high ridge of sand that crested above the beach like a frozen wave. Below, Tyler and Zach argued over whose turn it was to haul everything uphill again. Robbie shoved his sunglasses against his nose.
“This beach has probably been washed away a hundred times since McCauley was here. Maybe we should just choose a place at random. Pick the highest dune or something.”
“Yeah, I know.” Leonard sighed. “This is probably our best choice, here.”
He stood and for a long time gazed at the sky. Finally he turned and walked down to join the boys.
“We’ll do it here,” he said brusquely, and headed back to the house.
Late that afternoon they made a bon-re on the beach. The day had ended gray and much cooler than it had been, the sun swallowed in a haze of bruise-tinged cloud. Robbie waded into the shallow water, feeling with his toes for conch shells. Beside the fire, Zach came across a shark’s tooth the size of a guitar pick.
“That’s probably a million years old,” said Tyler enviously.
“Almost as old as Dad,” said Zach.
Robbie flopped down beside Leonard. “It’s so weird,” he said, shaking sand from a conch. “There’s a whole string of these islands, but I haven’t seen a boat the entire time we’ve been here.”
“Are you complaining?” said Leonard.
“No. Just, don’t you think it’s weird?”
“Maybe.” Leonard tossed his cigarette into the fire.
“I want to stay.” Zach rolled onto his back and watched as sparks flew among the first stars. “Dad? Why can’t we just stay here?”
Robbie took a long pull from his beer. “I have to get back to work. And you guys have school.”
“Fuck school,” said Zach and Tyler.
“Listen.” The boys fell silent as Leonard glared at them. “Tomorrow morning I want to set everything up. We’ll shoot before the wind picks up too much. I’ll have the rest of the day to edit. Then we pack and head to Fayetteville on Saturday. We’ll find some cheap place to stay, and drive home on Sunday.”
The boys groaned. Emery sighed. “Back to the salt mines. I gotta call that guy about the show.”
“I want to have a few hours with Maggie.” Leonard pulled at the silver skull in his ear. “I told the nurse I’d be there Saturday before noon.”
“We’ll have to leave pretty early,” said Emery.
For a few minutes nobody spoke. Wind rattled brush in the dunes behind them. The bon-re leaped then subsided, and Zach fed it a knot of driftwood. An unseen bird gave a piping cry that was joined by another, then another, until their plaintive voices momentarily drowned out the soft rush of waves.
Robbie gazed into the darkening water. In his hand, the conch shell felt warm and as silken as skin.
“Look, Dad,” said Zach. “Bats.”
Robbie leaned back to see black shapes dodging sparks above their heads.
“Nice,” he said, his voice thick from drink.
“Well.” Leonard stood and lit another cigarette. “I’m going to bed.”
“Me, too,” said Zach.
Robbie watched with mild surprise as the boys clambered to their feet, yawning. Emery removed a beer from the cooler, handed it to Robbie.
“Keep an eye on the fire, compadre,” he said, and followed the others.
Robbie turned to study the dying blaze. Ghostly runnels of green and blue ran along the driftwood branch. Salt, Leonard had explained to the boys, though Robbie wondered if that was true. How did Leonard know all this stuff? He frowned, picked up a handful of sand and tossed it at the feeble blaze, which promptly sank into sullen embers.
Robbie swore under his breath. He finished his beer, stood, and walked unsteadily toward the water. The clouds obscured the moon, though there was a faint umber glow reflected in the distant waves. He stared at the horizon, searching in vain for some sign of life, lights from a cruise ship or plane; turned and gazed up and down the length of the beach.
Nothing. Even the bon-re had died. He stood on tiptoe and tried to peer past the high dune, to where the beach house stood within the grove of palmettos. Night swallowed everything,
He turned back to the waves licking at his bare feet. Something stung his face, blown sand or maybe a gnat. He waved to disperse it, then froze.
In the water, plumes of light coiled and unfolded, dazzling him. Deepest violet, a fiery emerald that stabbed his eyes; cobalt and a pure blaze of scarlet. He shook his head, edging backward; caught himself and looked around.
He was alone. He turned back, and the lights were still there, just below the surface, furling and unfurling to some secret rhythm.
Like a machine, he thought; some kind of underwater wind farm. A wave farm?
But no, that was crazy. He rubbed his cheeks, trying to sober up. He’d seen something like this in Ocean City late one night-it was something alive, Leonard had explained, plankton or jellyfish, one of those things that glowed. They’d gotten high and raced into the Atlantic to watch pale green streamers trail them as they body-surfed.
Now he took a deep breath and waded in, kicking at the waves, then halted to see if he’d churned up a luminous cloud.
Darkness lapped almost to his knees: there was no telltale glow where he’d stirred the water. But a few yards away, the lights continued to turn in upon themselves beneath the surface: scores of fist-size nebulae, as soundless and steady as his own pulse.
He stared until his head ached, trying to get a fix on them. The lights weren’t diffuse, like phosphorescence. And they didn’t float like jellyfish. They seemed to be rooted in place, near enough for him to touch.
Yet his eyes couldn’t focus: the harder he tried, the more the lights seemed to shift, like an optical illusion or some dizzying computer game.
He stood there for five minutes, maybe longer. Nothing changed. He started to back away, slowly, finally turned and stumbled across the sand, stopping every few steps to glance over his shoulder. The lights were still there, though now he saw them only as a soft yellowish glow.
He ran the rest of the way to the house. There were no lights on, no music or laughter.