I laid awake for a while, thinking about getting out of bed.

Ordinarily, I got right up, looking forward to the day ahead, but that urge left me a few days before. I spent time wondering where my father was diving today. I wondered what he was seeing in the Gulf. Soon, my mind was on Daddy-O. Where was he. Why was he there.

I wondered about what I saw and what it meant. The adults all had opinions about what it was. My opinion was that I didn't have enough information to know what I thought. It was big, but I wasn't absolutely convinced that was true either.

At fourteen years eleven months and 20 some days, I caught the same disease all adults seemed to have. From the time I opened my eyes, I craved a cup of strong steaming hot coffee. I'd stay in bed all day if someone would bring me coffee. It was the reason I got up.

Since no one was going to bring me a cup, I got out of bed. I still needed plenty of sugar and cream to get my coffee to taste the way I liked. No one did coffee the way I did it. Little of what I did agreed with the way adults did stuff. That still didn't bother me. No one ever told me I was supposed to do things the way other people did it.

Mama used a dollop of cream, and I'd seen Aunt Lucy use sugar from time to time. Most of the men drank it straight out of the pot. Maybe when he was older, he'd do it that way too, but the stuff was awful without cream and sugar. Maybe your taste buds wore out, like so much other stuff seemed to do, once you got to be an adult.

I tied my sneakers, pulled on my shirt, and I headed for the galley. I smelled the biscuits once I was in the passageway. It was a dirty trick that even though I had no appetite, as soon as Greek's cooking reached my nose, I was starving. I could taste a biscuit slathered with butter and with some sausage and bacon on it for good measure. I picked up my pace. Time was a wasting.

The galley was empty. I remembered Captain Hertzog inviting Logan to take coffee on the bridge first thing today. I piled some bacon and sausage on a biscuit I had buttered first. While gobbling it down, I fixed a second one to take with me. I headed to the bridge for the coffee I needed.

Rolf stood at the windows looking over the Pacific. Captain Hertzog, Dolf, and Logan sat in three of the five deck chairs stretched out around the table with the coffee. Someone remembered to bring the sugar and cream. They were expecting me, and I swallowed the remnants of my second bacon and sausage biscuit, I fixed my coffee.

"I don't know what that was," Logan said. "But it sure smelled good. I should have stopped at the galley on my way up here."

"I did stop. Biscuits, bacon, and sausage are on the counter. I waited to get up here to get my coffee."

"You've been off your feed for a few days. Sounds like your appetite is back," Logan said.

"Not really, but how do you pass up Greek's food? I'll weigh a ton before I get home."

"Not a chance," Captain Hertzog said. "Boys your age burn more calories eating than you can possibly consume. My sons haven't stopped eating for six years and neither one has gained any weight."

"I have too," Rolf said. "I'm five pounds heavier than I was this time last year."

"I weigh the same as I did when I was fifteen," Dolf said.

"Take a seat, Dylan. Enjoy this beautiful day," the captain said.

"You look spiffy this morning," Logan said.

"Just something I threw on," I said, having heard it before and I knew the answer.

"You lose your comb?" Dolf asked.

I forgot to comb my hair. I used my hands to get it in shape.

That's when I saw the picture on top of a stack of pictures. I picked it up to examine it.

"You did this?" I asked Logan.

"Yeah, the Captain wanted a dinosaur that fit the bill of what you saw," Logan said.

"I didn't see anything," I protested again. "I didn't see anything like this for certain. I saw some motion. I saw a shadow."

There was an animated picture of a T-Rex superimposed on the stern of the Horizon. It looked like it was climbing aboard the rear of the ship. It took up a good portion of the deck.

I put the picture down without looking away from it. The idea of it scared me. There were scary things in the water. I'd been diving for over five years, and there were scary things in the water. I wasn't going to stop diving because someone thought this up.

The effect Logan created was startling. I got up and walked to the windows at the front of the bridge. I walked the length of the bridge and back, spilling coffee as I moved while looking at the water where whatever I saw was. I didn't see anything like that.

"What are you looking for?" Captain Hertzog asked as I moved around the windows to see all of the ocean around us. I didn't know what I was expecting to see or why I was pissed off again.

It wasn't Logan's fault. He was being a creative filmmaker.

"I don't know," I said. "That's not what I saw."

"You said you didn't know what you saw," Logan reminded me.

"Worries you too, doesn't it, Dylan?" Captain Hertzog observed.

"Worries isn't the word. I want to know what I saw," I said.

"You saw nothing. You said you couldn't say what you saw," Logan said. "This might be accurate for all you know."

Logan picked up the picture to admire his handicraft.

"That's accurate. I don't know what I saw, but I saw something. All my life I've been seeing things I couldn't identify underwater. Up until now, my father could tell me what I saw. Bill taught my father. He can't say what hovered over us."

"Whatever it is, I don't want it climbing on board my ship," Captain Hertzog said.

"The universities ship," I corrected him.

"Any ship I'm captain on is my ship by virtue of the laws governing the seas. Owners are rarely on board a sea going vessel."

"You'd go against the professor, Captain?" I wanted to know.

He sipped his coffee while looking at me. He hadn't thought about it, but he was considering it now.

"I'd give him my counsel. I'd tell him my thoughts. I'd not go against a decision the professor made."

I took the picture from Logan to look at it again.

"My imagination ran away with me," Logan confessed. "I couldn't help myself. All this talk about sea monsters has my juices flowing."

"You're an instigator," I said. "You like adding fuel to the fire?"

"Is it that evident? I was trying to be subtle," Logan admitted.

"I didn't see anything. I didn't see this. Isn't it bad enough without making it worse? Something is down there, but this isn't it," I said with authority.

"Sorry," Logan said. "I just thought it might amuse you. Your description does leave options open."

"Not very amusing if you ask me," Bill said, taking the picture out of my hand. "How did you get this effect?"

"I superimposed the T-Rex on the rear deck on one of the pictures of the Horizon I had. It was a matter of taking two images and putting them together. The thing has shoulders. It stood on one side of the reef to look at you guys. A T-Rex seemed to fit the bill," Logan said.

"Your estimate of the size would be accurate. A T-Rex might be twenty-five feet tall. It could stand on one side of the reef and look over it," Bill said, putting the photograph down.

Bill got a cup and poured coffee. He went to stand beside Rolf and looked out at the sea around us. It's the same thing I did after seeing the picture. That thing was somewhere out there.

"We'll go to Guam day after tomorrow. I'll wrap up here tomorrow. I'll dive today and in the morning tomorrow. It's time we went to another site. This one has become toxic. I'll need to return here next summer, Captain," Bill said, not happy about needing to make a decision that cut short the time at this site.

"Don't mind telling you, that doesn't hurt my feelings even a little bit," Captain Hertzog said. "I'll get the Horizon ready to move."

"Didn't figure it would," Bill said. "This is a spot that I need to investigate further. We will be back next summer, Captain," Bill said with a firm and in control tone in his voice.

"Yes, and I'll bring some big game rifles next summer," Captain Hertzog promised. "Just in case."

"Makes me glad I'm busy next summer," Logan said to no one.

"Professor, I am a man of the sea, and I've seen things men who don't spend their lives on the water will never see. I understand maybe half the things I've seen. I realize we've spent how many summers here, William?"

"This is four, Captain."

"We've been here four summers in a row. We've survived to return the next summer each time we are here. I've got to figure whatever it is that you encountered on your reef has been here all four summers we've been here. I've got to figure the thing has been in the trench all four summers. Yesterday, he could have made you lunch. He didn't. I've got to figure he didn't see you as food, which speaks of him having some intelligence. I don't think he's going to climb onto my ship. If he was prone to climb on ships, he'd have done it a long time ago. I don't know what it is, Professor. I don't know what it's capable of. I'd be guilty of dereliction if there's danger and I don't take precautions to protect my ship. I'm a sea captain. I'm not a stupid man. Next summer, I'll be prepared for our trip here."

"I never thought you were stupid, Captain," Bill said. "My job depends on you. I trust you. We can work difficulties out."

Bill picked up the photograph and he looked at Logan. He looked at me before turning to leave the bridge.

"I want to see the film now. Is it in the editor, or did you put it away?" I asked.

"It's in the editor. I can't get any work done for the people wanting to see that footage. Sidney's been in three times. I copied it and the original is in film storage," Logan said.

I'd used Logan's magnifier to look at the frames of film that came out of my camera after the thing interrupted yesterday's dive. I wasn't able to see into the shadow. How Logan saw shoulders on the creature hovering above us is a mystery to me. I didn't see it.

The shadow was big, and I thought big enough for the thing to have created it. I saw no shoulders, no image, nothing that might help to identify whatever it was.

The Tyrannosaurus on the back of the Horizon was a stretch. Maybe it did amuse me. It was an amazing picture, and I realized how much ingenuity it took for Logan to come up with it. He'd used a still picture and an animated feature to create it.

Logan sat beside me while I spent fifteen minutes with the film.

"What do you see?"

"Nothing. It's a shadow. Could be anything," I said.

He handed me the picture of the T-Rex.

I laughed.

I wasn't wrapped too tight. Taking things in stride was how I did it, up until now. I wanted to see the humor in it that Logan saw. I needed to see the humor in it. We weren't going to be able to identify whatever it was. Logic indicated it came out of that trench. If it came out of that trench, Logic said it went back into the trench where it lives when it isn't following submersibles.

I'd dive with Bill today and I might dive with him tomorrow morning. Logan was adventurous enough that there would be no way to keep him out of the water. If something made another appearance while we were diving, Logan wanted to see it.

I didn't want to see it again. I wanted to prove I wasn't afraid.

Bill would go because it is what he did. He was right. My father would go right along with him. They were scientists and they didn't see the sea as dangerous. They wanted to see everything in the sea.

I didn't mind that Bill was calling off the time we spent at this site. Going to Guam in two days didn't hurt my feelings at all. I wanted off the Horizon at least for a while. I had some thinking to do, and I'd think better after I called my father. I was less than positive I'd leave Guam on the Horizon. I hadn't given up on the idea of flying home once we reached Guam.

I could do it after diving on this reef at least one more time.

*****

After his encounter with whales, Clay took the film directly to Fort Myers to the camera shop where Dylan took his 16mm film to be developed. Clay wanted to be sure he had it to show to Dylan once he was home. He'd be disappointed he missed seeing a pod of whales for himself, but the movie Clay took would be some solace. It wasn't likely they'd run across another pod of whales in the Gulf, but you never knew what you might see in a major waterway.

Clay explained how important this film was. The man who developed all of Dylan's films did Clay's film next, while Clay went for a sandwich and walked the city where he went to college.

A few hours later Clay was on his way home with the whale footage. He'd started out before it was daylight that morning. He turned into Ivan's driveway pulling down to the house a little before four. He sat in the car for a few minutes before deciding he needed to go to the Conservancy house to take a look at the whale film footage on Dylan's editor. He'd store the footage in Dylan's film files.

Turning around, he drove down to the Conservancy house. A strange car had stopped right in the middle of the driveway. Clay pulled off to one side so he didn't block the visitor's car in. Clay tried to figure out who the visitor was. The car was filthy, so he couldn't recognize the car if he knew it. The two or three year old Ford sedan looked as if it hadn't been washed since it was new.

Any mechanic will tell you, a car that wasn't kept clean was in poor mechanical condition. Clean cars were well maintained. Clay learned this from his father, but it was common sense.

He walked around the car and noticed the windshield wiper washer fluid had run out and the owner had kept running the wipers while trying to get fluid from an empty reservoir. A woman's sweater lay over the front seat. No one had to tell him it was a woman's car.

"I'm home," Clay yelled as he stepped inside the front door.

"In here, Dear," Mama said, banging pots in the kitchen.

It's what Mama was doing every day at this time, which was strange if she had company. Mama put everything on hold when company came calling. She slowed everything down to a crawl while she drank coffee and talked to the visitor. Mama was an artist with food. When it came to cooking, she made it fit her agenda.

Clay went inside the kitchen and saw a middle aged woman sitting at the far end of the kitchen table. She'd been using a Kleenex to wipe her eyes. She tried to pretend she wasn't crying, but the evidence betrayed her.

Mama's back was turned to the woman, which was odd. Clay watched as she shuffled pots and pans, popping the lid off one pan, stirring, and putting that pan on the back burner, bringing another pan forward. It was a controlled chaos only Mama could control, but having her back turned to the visitor told a story.

Clay looked at the woman closely. She hadn't looked up from her grief or the Kleenex she'd nervously pulled into a half dozen pieces. She didn't look my way. She had no curiosity and she showed no sign she recognized me or was interested.

She had a familiar look to her. She was an Olson. There was the Olson nose, hairline and chin. Maybe a long lost cousin or a distant relative from part of the family Clay didn't know.

Why come to cry at their house?

Her eyes lifted away from her hands until they found Clay. They were cool eyes. Clay knew those eyes. She was definitely an Olson. Maybe not as far removed as he thought. Where had he seen those eyes before? An aunt or long lost cousin from a time gone by?

Clay couldn't place the woman.

She had a cup of coffee in front of her. She picked it up to sip. She was perfectly composed, but uncomfortable that Clay caught her crying. A half smile finally came onto her face.

Ordinarily, Mama would have immediately introduce Clay to a stranger, especially one from some obscure side of the Olson family. Did Mama think I would recognize her? It wasn't at all like his mother.

He looked toward Mama and she was busy as could be. There was definitely something wrong. Clay looked back at the woman. She hadn't taken her eyes off him.

It wasn't like Mama to let a silence last this long.

What was going on?

Clay needed to walk away from those penetrating eyes. He moved to the stove and poured a cup of coffee. Mama finally spoke.

"Pork chops tonight," Mama said, whipping potatoes with a whisk. She did it with a fury Clay rarely saw in Mama's kitchen.

He leaned on the counter and drank a long swig as he turned his eyes back onto the visitor.

The hair was wrong. He'd seen this woman somewhere. She had shoulder length hair. It covered her ears and much of her neck.

This woman's hair was pulled back severely. It revealed all of her face and neck. She was a stern woman with a smile she didn't mean.

The face was filled with Olson features and Clay decided to say something. He'd been there five minutes and said nothing.

"How have you been?" Clay asked tentatively.

"I understand your confusion. It's been a while, Clayton. You're a man now," the woman said as if he was on an interview for a job and she'd decided if he passed muster.

He processed the voice. Clay had been a man for some years. Who ... , and it hit him like a brick.

He hadn't seen his sister since shortly after the family moved to the cove. None of the Olson children liked the move to Florida. Coleen, the oldest, was the first to bolt back to civilization.

He hadn't heard that voice in twenty years. It was brittle, filled with an uncomfortable familiarity they'd always shared. Coleen had never approved of the Olson boys and that had not changed.

"Coleen!" Clay blurted with his surprise betraying his calm. "You're my sister Coleen!"

"I knew that the whole time," Coleen said.

A long whole time it was.

Coleen left the Conservancy house at nineteen. Clay was fourteen. He'd heard of her once or twice, once she was gone, but not in more than a decade. Clay ran back memories of his sister. She'd always been difficult. He was far enough removed to feel little impact from her disagreeableness. Clay had no feeling for his older sister.

"You're looking well, Clayton. I remember you as pale and sickly. Here you are, tan and famous," she said, an edge on the words.

"I come by my tan naturally. I have little to do with the fame. It comes with the territory."

"Spoken like a humble victim of circumstance. The move to this God forsaken place worked for you."

"The beauty here comes from its naturalness. You need to go with the experience to feel its power."

"I've seen two of your talks in Orlando. I tried to connect the environmentalist with the snot nose little ... boy I once baby sat."

"I do what I can," Clay said.

"You're famous. Teddy is so rich he can't count all his money. John-Henry is saving California. We want talk about him raising two insufferable daughters. Brian, poor Brian, I can't figure out what it is he does, but I'm not alone, he can't figure it out either."

"Brian is engaged in commerce. You have the things you have because men like Brian made sure they got to you, Coleen," Mama said, banging her pots and pans.

Coleen had already pissed off Mama before I got here. I'm sorry I missed that, Clay thought.

"I stand corrected. Brian is Brian. We'll leave it at that, and my sister a congresswoman. That's a tiny club she joined. I didn't know I lived with so many soon to be important people."

"And what is it you do, Sis?"

There was a slight weakening to Coleen's sternness. His sister stood to walk to where Clay stood.

She's going to punch me out, Clay thought amused.

Coleen did something even more unexpected. Clay did not have a memory of her doing it before. She hugged him.

It was Clay who tensed. She'd caught her brother flat footed.

"You need to forgive me. I've had a loss," Coleen said with all the drama of Gloria Swanson in Sunset Boulevard.

Mama stopped in her tracks. She watched this interaction. Mama was as shocked as Clay. There was no banging for a minute.

Clay assumed her name was still Olson. He didn't figure Coleen got married. She was about the most difficult woman Clay knew.

"Why are you here?" Clay asked bluntly.

Coleen went back to sit down.

Mama suddenly banged a lid down on the pot of peas.

Why wasn't she sitting with her daughter? It wasn't like Mama to be so busy when someone came calling. Clay missed something and now he was in the dark.

"You don't approve?" Coleen questioned.

"You left out of here right after we got here. I don't know if you've communicated with any of your brothers or even your sister," Clay said in a voice without emotion.

"I saw John-Henry while vacationing in California. I do recall he had the most appalling daughters. They were the whiniest girls I've ever encountered. Teddy dropped in on me and my girlfriend one time. He took us to dinner in his Rolls Royce. A bit pretentious if you ask me," she said.

"He was sticking it up your nose. You were always mean to him."

"I suppose. He was such an annoying little twit, always finding another angle to make some money. He got his first job when he was ten. He was a kid. He should have been playing ball. He got a job."

"Teddy is industrious. He is his work," Clay defended.

"Teddy has always been a hard worker," Mama said. "He's like your father. He sees possibilities where most people see problems."

"My father," Coleen lamented. "Let his business partner swindle him out of a fortune, and then he drags us here to the sticks. Don't tell me about my father."

"Your father is a good man. He earns an honest living. He's honest, trustworthy, and kind. Your father is a good man," Mama said.

"I stand corrected again, Mother. Pardon me for having a life."

"Why are you here?" Clay asked.

He was ready to toss her out before she insulted anyone else.

"Clayton," Mama said.

"I'm just curious. You run out of friends to torment? You decided to come back to remind us of what a bitch you are, Coleen?"

"Clayton, watch your mouth. She's your sister," Mama protested.

"If you say so, Mama. You'd know. I have no evidence of it."

"Teddy took Daisy and me to his favorite restaurant. The waiter knew his name. He left a fifty dollar tip. You think he was showing off for my benefit? I've never spent fifty dollars at a restaurant."

"I wouldn't say benefit," Clay said. "You treated him worse than you treated the rest of us. I don't remember much kindness, Sis. He wanted you to remember just how successful he became."

"He's the draft dodger, as I recall," she said as her retort.

"He was the draft dodger. Jimmy Carter pardoned him," Clay bragged. "My brother had honor. He refused to kill on demand."

"Hasn't changed a bit. That boy will be making money on his death bed. No one told him, you can't take it with you. He has his finger in every pie in Orlando. He's as well known as you up there."

"Coleen, that's enough. You were saying about this Daisy leaving you," Mama said.

At the mention of the name Coleen reached for the Kleenex. Her eyes began to water. I waited for her to put the back of her hand up to her forehead. My sister was a drama queen.

Coleen's girlfriend left her. She had to get out of their apartment for a few hours. She found herself at the Conservancy house. Clay was surprised she could find her way back.

Mama turned around so she could speak and turned back around to attend to the dinner she was preparing.

"Someone lived with you?" Clay asked in a surprised voice.

"I'm not as unpopular out there as I was with my family."

"I always thought it was us who weren't popular with you," Clay calculated.

Coleen looked across the table at Clay as if she was seeing him clearly for the first time. There was no warmth in her eyes, but there was a flicker of recognition. She gave him her little smile.

Her nod acknowledged Clay had put his finger on the truth.

"Once Daisy left, I thought about you guys. Lord knows why. I decided to come see if anything changed," Coleen admitted.

"Why after all these years did you return here?" Clay asked.

"I was driving," Coleen said. "Clearing my head and I ended up here. I can't stay there. It's too painful."

"What have you been doing with yourself all these years, Sis?"

"I teach," Coleen said.

Mama gasped as she started banging again, shuffling pans.

"You're what?" Clay asked. "I bet you turned out some pips."

"Clayton!" Mama protested.

"I'm well respected as an educator," his sister informed him in no uncertain terms.

"Of course," Clay said, going to pour himself some coffee. He held up the pot to offer some to Coleen. She shook her head.

"You're a marine biologist?" Coleen asked, knowing the answer.

"He runs the Sanibel Island Conservancy when the senator is in DC," Mama explained with pride. "Your father works there."

"My father works for my brother?" Coleen asked.

"Your father doesn't work for anyone. He keeps the Conservancy standing and everyone is thankful he does," Clay said.

"Senator? Do tell," his sister said. "And you have a son?"

"Dylan," Clay said. "He's diving in the Pacific this summer," Clay said.

"Your son is a chip off the old block?" Coleen calculated. "Your wife?"

"Sunshine died," I said.

"Sunshine," she said as she sipped her cold coffee.

"Why are you here again?" Clay asked without warmth.

"Thought it was time to touch base," she said. "I've been meaning to do this for some time. Which senator lives here?"

"Harry McCallister," Clay said. "When I speak in Orlando, it's usually a campaign stop for the senator."

"I knew that. I didn't remember which senator. He has to do with the people you work for?"

"I work for him. He actually is in charge of the Conservancy. When he went to DC, I was being trained to fill in for him. No one can fill in for Harry. I sign things and take phone calls."

"You truly are as humble as you act. You're the force behind that Conservancy. Without you it's simply a port in the storm. You made the senator famous by appearing in front of his committee."

"Clayton and the senator are a team. They worked together," Mama explained. "They support each other."

"And Dylan takes the pictures," Coleen remembered from somewhere. "He's not very old, is he?"

"No, he isn't too old." Clay said.

"How does that work?" Coleen asked.

"He has a camera. He points it and clicks the shutter."

"You're thirty-four. He couldn't be very old," Coleen calculated. "You had no children when I left, as I recall."

"He he'll turn fifteen this month," Clay said.

"Your son is off diving in the Pacific Ocean and you are here. Shouldn't you be off diving in the Pacific while your son is here doing kid stuff," Coleen tried on for size.

"Dylan is an unusual boy," Clay said. "He's working with my college professor and a professional filmmaker. Dylan intends to be a documentary filmmaker."

"To film his father I bet," she analyzed.

"He's quite intelligent," Mama said, with her back turned. "They have been trying to get him to skip grades. Clayton believes it is more important to keep him with kids his own age."

"You're holding him back?" Coleen said with no approval in her voice. "Shouldn't you encourage him to go as far as fast as he can go? Challenge him to go as far as he can go."

"No. He's smarter than his teachers. I can't see the point. If he decides he needs to skip a grade, he'll tell me. I'll arrange it."

"He'll tell you? I've heard of parents like you."

"Clayton is the most devoted father I've ever seen," Mama defended her son. "Dylan is an exceptional boy."

"I bet, Mama," Coleen said reaching for her coffee cup.

"He reads Tolstoy," Mama bragged.

"My word," Coleen said. "You work for a senator. As I recall, your literary taste ran to Marvel comics when I lived with you."

"Dylan," I said.

"Dylan reads the comic books now?" Coleen tried.

"Dylan reads Tolstoy," I said. "Actually, Lucy started him off on Jane Ayre. At first, she read to him but when he was five or six, she let him read to her."

"Lucy always did stand at the head of the class. A teacher I get, a legislator and now congresswoman. Who would have thunk it."

"It's difficult for me to see a Tolstoy reading photographer coming from your loins, little brother," Coleen said.

"Daisy?" I asked in an effort to change the subject.

Coleen reached for her Kleenex.

I'd struck a nerve.

Mama turned away from the stove wanting to hear Coleen speak.

"Met her at school two years ago. We hit it off."

"What grade is she in?" Clay asked.

"Clayton!" Mama objected.

"She came to work there two years ago. She understood me. Met a man and she left me for him. I think the plan is marriage."

"Hard to believe," Clay said, having no trouble believing it.