Page 26 of Swept Away

The logbooks.Dad’slogbooks.

They’re scattered on the wardrobe floor, over my duffel bag and hers, as if Lexi just upended the box when she found them. And there’s a secret compartment left open in the back of the wardrobe—a cubbyhole. One of my dad’s classics. I recognize the mechanism.

My heart’s hammering. Dad always loved his hidden compartments. When we were kids, he built us our own secret drawers inside our IKEA desks. Mine was filled with marbles, then scrawled song lyrics, then the little scraps of evidence that my father wasn’t really my father.

“Zeke? You all right?” Lexi says from behind me. “Oh yeah, I totally forgot about those in all the Eugene excitement. I meant to read them as soon as we were done.”

I whirl to look at her. “They’re private, OK? You can’t read them.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “They’re yours?”

“No, they—they were my father’s.”

Dad filled those logbooks out religiously, the way he did most things. Meticulous and obsessive, that was my dad, and that’s Jeremy and Lyra through and through as well, though it looks different on those two. For Jeremy, it’s about getting everything just right: top marks in every exam, the perfect house, the perfect job. For Lyra, it’s more like she’s pissed off at the whole world for being so disorganized.

My dad’s logbooks were private—he’d stop writing the minute one of us came in. I used to look at their thick leather covers and wonder whether those books would tell me what my dad actually thought—about me, but also about my mum, our family, why the whole thing got so broken. Dad was an enigma, with his quotes and his riddles and his secrets. As a kid, even before I got suspicious about him being my real dad, I thought he didn’t really want me. He was always stilted around me, different from how he was with Lyra and Jeremy.

I bought this boat back to look for answers. But now that I’m staring at those old books, I feel like a child again, and the idea of finding out the real truth…it’s terrifying. Better to wonder than to know you’re not loved.

I slam the wardrobe door closed, leaving the logbooks scattered where they are.

“Just don’t read them,” I say, my back still to Lexi, my breath coming fast. “OK?”

“We’ve got to read them eventually, surely. What if they might tell us something useful?” Lexi says. “About the boat, I mean.”

“They won’t.”

“Zeke, there are very few things on this boat. We need to make use ofeverythingwe have.”

“Just leave it, Lexi.”

“Can you tell me why?”

There’s a gentleness to the way Lexi’s pushing that reminds meof Brady. He’s the one who suggested therapy, and who gave me the shove to apply to Davide’s restaurant when I was just a grill chef at a fast-food chain. All of a sudden I miss him so much—I wish he were here to crack a dumb joke, chill me out, distract me.

I’m breathing hard. That childlike version of me is still here, scared and unloved. Everything’s right on the surface and I can’t shove it down, but there’s nowhere to go, either, no way to walk away.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Lexi says.

I realize I’ve been standing here saying nothing for ages. My skin starts to prickle. I hate it when I don’t notice myself zoning out like this.

“As in,” she clarifies, “when you want to talk about why those logbooks make you so uncomfortable, I’ll be here.” She stretches her hands out. “Ireallydon’t have anywhere else to be.”

I swallow, keeping my face turned from hers. “Yeah, thanks.”

“And I’m like a dog with a bone once I want an answer on something,” she says, after a moment. “So sooner rather than later would save you some aggro.”

Eugene makes a noise out on the deck, a kind ofhaww-haaw-haaww, and it’s pretty earsplitting even from here in the bedroom. Both Lexi and I jump.

“Fuck me!” she yells, clutching her chest and glaring toward the door, but she’s already moving to go check on him. “Saved by the seagull,” she says over her shoulder at me as we cross the living area.

I breathe a little easier as the bedroom door closes, calming down now that the books are behind me. I knew rescuing that bird was a good idea.

We brought him out onto the deck to get some air while we were hacking away at the tarpaulin with my precious knife. I announced hours ago that he’s already looking better, which he definitely is. Lexi said he’slooking the same, mainly because he’s a bird and birds always look the same.

“Zeke,” Lexi says.

There’s something about her tone. I don’t know Lexi all that well, really, but I know exactly what it means when she says my name like that.

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