“Of course,” said Jax suddenly. “I won’t.”
“Won’t what?” asked Hayley.
“Don’t worry about it,” said Cara.
“And about the key,” went on Jax. “We’re covered.”
“Later, when I’m not totally wiped out?” said Hayley. “I’m gonna need the 411.”
They rode quietly again. They’d forgotten to take towels with them so their hair was still wet and full of salt, their fingers and toes were just coming out of numbness, and they shivered in the chill early morning air as they pedaled. Cara could barely keep her eyes open; her arms and legs ached, and she wondered if it was tiredness or some lingering pain from the Pouring Man’s invading her.
“Uh-oh,” said Jax as they cruised slowly down their street.
Hayley peeled off down her driveway; there was Lolly, waiting for them at their front door.
Her toddler grandson was holding on to her leg beside her, his face smeared with applesauce.
It was a good question, Cara thought, whether he or Lolly looked more disgusted with Jax and her.
“We’re really sorry,” said Cara humbly as they trudged up the steps.
“We’re very sorry,” agreed Jax, nodding.
Lolly seemed like she was about to yell at them. But then she must have noticed the state they were in, because her face softened a bit.
Maybe, thought Cara, she was deciding she had priorities other than yelling.
She shook her head, turned, and disappeared down the hall, and they followed her in. When she came back she was carrying plush bath towels that were still warm from the dryer.
Gratefully, Cara took one. As she rubbed her wet hair with it she realized the exhaustion she felt wasn’t necessarily bad; it was a sweet tiredness. It had a sense of accomplishment. She saw the dolphins’ glittering trails as they moved up through the water toward the surface, toward sunlight, and knew she and Jax had actually done something.
She’d been happy plenty of times in her life, but she couldn’t remember feeling glad like this.
“Both of you: hot showers. Right away. You, Jax, downstairs. Cara, you take the upstairs bathroom. Meanwhile, I’ll make oatmeal. Brown sugar and cinnamon. Your lips are blue! As if your poor father doesn’t have enough to worry about with Max laid up in the hospital and the family car crumpled up like an accordion! He’ll be home in less than half an hour. You hear me? He just called. I didn’t say anything about all this, because thankfully I hadn’t checked your rooms yet. If I’d known you’d disappeared I would have ended up scaring the bejaysus out of that man for absolutely no reason. He’s in a cab from the ferry dock right now. Headed for the rental-car place to pick up a car to use, then home, then to the hospital. And you should both go with him. Half an hour at the most! I want you warm and dry before then. And sitting at the table for breakfast. Go! Now!”
All Cara wanted to do was sleep, but as Lolly grabbed Jax by the elbow and steered into the nearby bathroom she headed up the stairs to immerse herself—this time in water that was not freezing and not salty, not home to the Pouring Man and not shining with billions of microorganisms.
At the hospital, they left their dad sitting next to Max’s bed, patting the hand that wasn’t in the cast. Max was too big and tough for hand-holding these days and looked pretty close to his old self to Cara—not upset or in pain or anything, just bored of the hospital room and restless to be released.
Still, it was pretty obvious that her dad, who felt so bad about not being there when it happened, wanted time alone with him; the story of what had happened last night would have to wait till later. So she and Jax closed the door behind them and took the elevator down to the cafeteria.
It smelled like processed cheese food mixed with plastic. They lined up and pushed their trays along the metal rails, each grabbing a small plate with pudding and a whorled flower of whipped cream on it. Apparently it was the only dessert that was served here, at least in the morning.
Then they found a table near a big window, where they could see into the tops of the trees outside.
“So tell me,” said Cara. “You said it was OK, about the key. I mean—did she tell you where it was or something? What did she tell you?”
Jax spooned up pudding, smearing it on his mouth and chin. Not unlike Lolly’s grandson, who was two.
Telepath. Genius. Slob.
“The key,” he said, with his mouth full, “isn’t a physical object. The key is something we have to do.”
“It’s always something we have to do!” burst out Cara, exasperated.
She’d been hoping the key would be real—i.e., an actual key. A key to a locker or a box or a chest that would give them what they needed to get their mother back.
A key to buried treasure, she realized, basically.
Was that too much to ask?
So maybe it would have been too good to be true. But part of her had still hoped.
“I know,” said Jax.
“And actually? I don’t really need to see your food while you’re eating it,” said Cara.
“Huh,” said Jax, chewing. “Well, you’re the one who asked me to talk.”
“It just—it seems like whatever we do, the next step is to do something else. Find the leatherback. Solve the poem. See the tide. Meet the selkie. Free the ghosts. Fight the fear!”
“What’d you expect? I mean there’s a reason they call them quests. It’s not like sitting on your butt and watching TiVo,” said Jax, and pushed away his empty plate.
“You have an answer for everything, don’t you?” said Cara.
“Hey, it’s who I am,” said Jax. “What can I say.”
“So, spill it.
