Henry & Eva and the Castle on the Cliff by Andrea Portes

Author:Andrea Portes
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2018-10-16T16:00:00+00:00

9

PRETTY MUCH THE entire way back to the marina there is utter silence. Even Wayne, the gregarious New Zealander, has decided there’s really nothing to say. Nothing worth saying. I don’t blame him. What would you say to two kids who just found out their parents were killed by an explosion?

And the questions, the myriad of questions. Was it an accident? If not, who would do this, and why? What possible kind of lost, ruthless soul would do something like this to a marine mammal rescuer and an environmental scientist? Not just a husband and wife but the parents of two children? The parents of . . . us.

I’ll admit it. There was part of me, a little but not unsubstantial part, that was hoping all these ghost shenanigans and that Vine Thebo hullabaloo would end up signifying nothing more than a pile of lima beans. It hadn’t occurred to me that all of this might actually add up to something significant. Like a bomb.

Even though Henry isn’t speaking I can hear the gears in his head grinding, backing up, starting again, twirling, whirring, humming. He’s going through it, too. Every angle. Every question. Every outcome.

As we near the marina, a battalion of empty masts sticks up toward the heavens, hundreds of white toothpicks bobbing and swaying under the now-darkening sky.

“Henry, if we are so sure it was an explosion, should we call the police?”

Henry thinks. “Maybe we need more evidence. We don’t know what actually happened. We have to assume the authorities will just think we are dumb kids, grasping at straws.”

“But what if we—”

“Eva, I think we have to make it . . . credible. Oftentimes police can be persuaded by their own bias. And against kid investigators who are mourning their parents’ passing? There is definitely a bias.”

“Henry, this isn’t Law and Order. It’s Mom and Dad!”

“I know. But we just don’t know enough yet. That’s my instinct.”

We lock eyes and I know he’s right. The police would probably just shrug us off at this point. After all, this is Big Sur. Not Scotland Yard.

When we finally reach the dock, Wayne helps us out of the boat with what appears to be extra tenderness. A tenderness I assume is reserved for orphans created by foul play.

“Now you kids take care of yourselves, you hear? Anything you need, just don’t hesitate to call old Uncle Wayne here! Not that I’m your uncle. I don’t know why I said that. Mostly I just meant a person who had a warm relationship to you in a way that wasn’t your own parent or a complete stranger because that would be weird, wouldn’t it?”

Despite everything, Henry and I can’t help but smile at this affable SCUBA man, from the land Down Under where all those hobbits hail from.

“We will. We’ll take care,” Henry replies.

“And thank you,” I add, nodding.

Looking back at him, there on the dock, I can’t help but think there can be kindness in the world, a secret kindness like the current of a butterfly’s wings, and if you blink you could miss it.

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