The Graduation (11 page)

Haven
did not ordinarily require an entire night to reach Catalina. Usually the trip took only a couple of hours, but the captain was cruising slowly for the party; the engines were operating at only quarter power. Standing near the diesel-driven turbines, Michael was surprised at how quiet they were, especially since they must have been close to thirty years old. Michael had always had a special admiration for machinery that performed its function year in and year out, and for the men who built it.

Clark was not in engineering. Michael had serious doubts that he was on board.

Haven
’s chief engineer had explained the fundamentals of the propulsion system to Michael earlier. He was now in the crew’s galley having a cup of coffee. Michael had the engine room to himself. There was no wasted space. The turbines were housed in huge, twin white-steel tunnels, out of which sprang a complex array of pipes that stretched about thirty feet along the ceiling and walls before disappearing into a massive black fuel tank. The tank was set in the middle of the floor; it neatly divided the rear of the ship’s lowest deck from the front. It was amazing the amount of fuel a vessel like
Haven
consumed. Michael estimated the tank’s capacity at over a thousand gallons. If fire ever got to it, the whole ship would blow.

Following the narrow passageway to the right of the tank, Michael left the rhythmic drone of the engines and headed for the storage area. He had been through the place once already, but decided to have another quick inspection before he headed topside.

The crew for the cruise was at a minimum; besides the captain, there were only eight men on duty. It was probably plenty. Although the ship seemed large to most of the class members, he knew it would be dwarfed by a modern cruise ship. Also, the trip out to Catalina was little more than a warm-up for
Haven
. Michael saw no one as he went through the various sections: the janitorial supply area, the linen department, the food stores, finishing with the machine shop. The latter was small but uncluttered. It occurred to him the place might be ideal for the meeting he was hoping to have later in the night.

Another invitation to Alice’s party.

He surfaced into the night air at the ship’s stern. He was surprised to find Jessica standing alone and staring back the way they had come, staring into nothing; the fog had cut visibility to practically zero. Thank God for radar.
Haven
’s horn blared once from the bridge, sounding lost as it faded and died over the invisible waters. Michael wondered why Jessica had been spending all her time by herself. He tactfully cleared his throat, and she turned around.

“Hi, Michael,” she said, smiling, quickly removing her glasses and slipping them in her back pocket.

He climbed the last treads of the companionway and stepped onto the deck. “You should have a jacket on. It’s getting chilly.” He moved up beside her, the water softly churning beneath their feet. Despite his remark, he liked the way she was dressed—in tight white pants and a light blue sweater, her long brown hair reaching almost to her waist. He supposed she could have had on a canvas sack and he still would have found her perfectly presentable. She tugged at the arm of her sweater and looked at him expectantly.

“I had to wear this tonight,” she said. “It’s the last day of school.”

“Oh?”

“I had this same sweater with me my first day at Tabb. Don’t you remember?”

“I do now, yeah. I still don’t see how you got the grape juice out. I think you flew over to Switzerland and bought another one just so I wouldn’t feel guilty.”

Her eyes lingered on him. “Maybe I did.”

He laughed softly, feeling uneasy and happy. He was used to the contradictions she inspired in him. “Why aren’t you watching the game?” he asked.

“Why aren’t you?”

“No fair. I asked first.”

“It’s so loud inside. It was giving me a headache.”

He nodded. “I’m not a great party person myself.”

“I thought you weren’t going to come. You cut it pretty tight.”

“Yeah, I had some business to take care of.”

“What was it?”

“Ah, nothing. Just stuff.”

They had a big wooden lifeboat and dull yellow light at their backs. Jessica was staring at his head strangely. She reached out to touch his hair. He stopped her. He knew his head was still bleeding. He wished he’d had time to get it stitched. He couldn’t very well bandage it now. He had already wiped it several times with toilet paper.

“Your hair was wet when you came aboard, too,” she said, pulling her hand back, her face falling slightly. “You’re the one who’s going to catch cold. I should find you a towel.”

He could just imagine the color he would turn the towel. Fortunately, in his black hair, the blood was hardly recognizable for what it really was, even under better lighting. No one else on board had even said anything about it.

Clark had struck him a nasty blow. Michael was looking forward to repaying the favor. He was still annoyed with himself for having been caught so easily. “Don’t bother,” he said.

“It’s no bother.” She turned. “Really, you must dry it.”

He stopped her again, this time grabbing her arm, perhaps a shade too hard. He released her quickly when he saw her startled expression. “I know where a towel is, Jessie,” he said.

“OK.” She forced a smile. “So, what’s new? I loved your speech. It—touched me.”

“I’m just glad I got to give it before you sang. You stole the show. How come you never told me you could sing like that?”

“You really like my voice?”

“I do. Have you ever thought of doing anything with it? Like getting in a band?”

She smiled, pleased. “When I was younger, I used to fantasize about being onstage and having everyone chanting my name. Alice used to…” She paused. “Alice used to encourage me to do something with it.”

“You should think about it.”

“Yeah? I don’t know. I’ll see.” An awkward silence followed, during which a disturbing warmth began to spread over the right side of Michael’s scalp. He knew what it was. Jessica finally spoke. “I broke the ice with Maria.”

“How was it?”

She sighed. “Not horrible, not good. We only talked for a minute. But I felt like—this is going to sound weird—she’d like to talk more, but not yet.”

Nick had made a similar comment. Maria was waiting. Interesting. “Give her time. The fact that she’s here says a lot.”

“I hope you’re right.” Jessica shook her head.

“What is it?”

“I was just thinking of that morning at the hospital. It was awful. I couldn’t talk to her.” She peeked over at him. “I couldn’t talk to you.”

“You can always talk to me, Jessie,” he said, feeling a drop of blood trickle into his right ear. This was getting serious. He turned his head away from the water. He had better get to a bathroom. Jessica shook her head again.

“How? I never see you. You’re never at school anymore.”

“Well, from now on, you won’t be at school, either.” Here came another drop. He was lucky Clark hadn’t done a lobotomy while he was at it.

“That’s what’s bothering me,” she said. “We’re together long enough to become friends, then we have to go our separate ways.”

“You’ll meet a lot of people at Stanford.”

She chuckled sadly at the remark and brushed away a hair. “I’m not going to Stanford.”

The blood was a distraction. He had momentarily forgotten the SAT disaster. She never had told him her scores. “They didn’t accept you?”

“There was no sense in even sending in my application.”

“I’m sorry,” he muttered.

“It’s not your fault. I didn’t mean to give you that impression. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“I should have known they used different tests.”

She was getting upset at him. “That’s ridiculous. How could you…” She paused, staring. “Are you bleeding?”

He practically leaped away from the rail. “I scratched my ear. I think I’ll go clean it up. It’s nothing big. I’ll talk to you later.”

“OK. Let’s do that. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine, really.”

“I have to sign your yearbook.”

“Great.” He cupped his hand to his ear and backed away from her over the slippery deck. He had a regular vein pumping over his scalp from the feel of it.

“Michael?”

He stopped, for a second, caught by her eyes. She had the biggest eyes on the whole boat; he could have sworn it. “What?”

She thought a moment. “Nothing.”

The cramped and dimly lit bathroom behind the galley was empty. He was lucky, none of the blood had gotten onto the collar of his coat. Locking the door, he grabbed a whole roll of toilet paper and pressed it to the side of his head. The wound was deep and ragged. If he washed his hair in the sink, the bleeding would only worsen. When he had showered at home, the bathtub had been red as catsup. He needed a hat. Maybe Bubba would lend him his.

Michael had stopped the bleeding and cleaned up as best he could when another spell of dizziness struck. He grabbed the edge of the sink, fighting to steady himself, his reflection in the mirror splitting into two. Before he could force his eyes back into focus, he thought he saw—in the mottled glass—Clark standing behind him. Not the Clark of this afternoon, but the one from last fall, pale and drugged, arrogant and frightening. Michael jerked around frantically, his heart racing, then shook himself for being so foolish. Of course there was no one there.

The lounge was as noisy as Jessica had said it would be. The fourth quarter had just begun. Celtics 82, Lakers 78. Ordinarily Michael would have enjoyed such a game, but tonight was far from ordinary. He was beginning to think the ship was haunted.

Bubba was standing tall atop the bar, a half-empty bottle of Seagram 7 in his right hand, cheering on a Lakers comeback. Michael had once seen Bubba down a case of beer and a fifth of rum and an hour later ski off the top of Mammoth’s most dangerous slope. Michael suspected that that was not Bubba’s first bottle. Bubba was waving his sombrero around as if it were a pom-pom. Michael tapped him on the knee.

“You’re going to kill yourself up there,” he said.

“Worry not for the royal Bubba, my dear Mike,” he said. “If he should by chance fall, he will surely bounce.” Then he let out a howl and thrust his bottle into the air—spilling a few stinging drops of whiskey over the top of Michael’s head in the process—as the Lakers cut their deficit to two. “My men!”

“I have to talk to you.”

“What?”

“I have to talk to you!”

“Go talk to Sara! She likes to talk!”

“Bubba.”

Michael probably would have gotten nowhere with him if the Celtics had not chosen that moment to call a time-out. Bubba apparently had a full bladder. As the players walked to the sidelines, he leaped off the bar, shouting, “Show me to the captain’s toilet!”

Michael led him to the bathroom he had used a moment ago. Bubba was not inside long, and when he came out, Michael grabbed him by the arm and dragged him into the galley, to a quiet table in the corner. The lighting in the dining area was low. There was no TV, and few people were present. Bubba looked around in a daze.

“Where’re my men in purple?” he asked.

“Give me two minutes and I’ll let you get back to your game.”

“Where’s my bottle?”

Michael had taken it from him on the way to the bathroom and thrown it into a garbage can. “I’ll get you a fresh one in a minute.”

Bubba pounded the table with his fist, satisfied. “A kingly deal! Speak, Mike, and may your words be inspired.”

“I wanted to ask you about the night of Alice’s party.”

Bubba’s joyful demeanor faded. Michael also knew from experience that, although Bubba could drink like a sink, alcohol often brought out a hidden sensitivity Bubba shook his head sadly. “That poor girl. She was so beautiful. Had she lived, she may have gotten to know me better.” Then he paused and eyed Michael. “You don’t think I killed her?”

“Of course not.”

Bubba nodded, relaxing. “That is good. The Bubba can be nasty, but he only wants to have fun.” He burped. “I consider the killing of a beautiful girl to be a sin against the gods and the boys.” He glanced about. “What’s the score?”

“It hasn’t changed. I have a problem about that night, Bubba. I want you to help me with it. The bedroom next to the one where Alice died—who was in there?”

“Was it not the exalted Bubba himself?”

“Was it?”

Bubba hesitated. “Is this a trick question?”

“Were you in the room just before the shot was fired?”

He spoke reluctantly. “It was me.”

“Were you with Clair?”

“The Bubba is well known for his discretion and his silence. This is a delicate subject.”

“Please, Bubba, I have to know the truth. I have to cross that room out of the equation before I can go on. Was Clair in there with you or not?”

“Yes.”

“How about anyone else?”

“No. Yes.”

“What does that mean?”

“Bill was in there before I got there.”

“With Clair?”

“Yes.”

“What were they doing?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

“And then you entered the room? Right after Bill left?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this six months ago? Why did you lie to me?”

“The Bubba is well known for his—”

“Cut the crap.”

Bubba lowered his head and took a breath, a breath that seemed to sober him considerably. “I was trying to protect Clair’s reputation.”

Michael had to laugh. “But you bragged in the car on the way to the party, in front of both Nick and me, how many condoms you used on her before you even went out with her.”

“I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.”

“No. I didn’t have sex with Clair on our first date.”

“Why did you say you did?”

“At the time I thought the topic made for stimulating conversation.”

“If you didn’t have sex with her, how did you keep her from killing you when she found out you didn’t have any U2 tickets?”

“I gave her a gold necklace,” he admitted sheepishly.

“You bought her off?”