The Reef

He paused. “Tate, it’s important to me that you understand my decision. If you can’t accept it, I’ll tell Buck the deal’s off.”
    And that would cost him, Tate thought, miserably. Pride, because he’d already given his word. Hope, because he was counting on the success of this new team.
    “I understand it,” she said, tucking her personal distaste aside. “And I can accept it. Just one more question.”
    “Ask away,” Ray invited.
    “How can we be sure that when their team goes down, they won’t keep whatever they find to themselves?”
    “Because we’re splitting the partnership.” He stood to clear the table. “I’ll dive with Buck. You’ll dive with Matthew.”
    “Isn’t that a nice idea?” Marla chuckled to herself at her daughter’s horrified expression. “Who wants a piece of cake?”
     
    Dawn spread over the water in bronze and rose streaks that mirrored the sky. The air was pure as silver and deliciously warm. In the distance, the high bluffs of St. Kitts awoke to the light in misty greens and browns. Farther south, the volcano cone that dominated the little island of Nevis was shrouded in clouds. Sugar-white beaches were deserted.
    A trio of pelicans skimmed by, then dived with three quick, nearly soundless plops, shooting the water high in a cascade of individual drops. They rose again, skimmed again, dived again, in comical unity. Wavelets lapped lazily against the hull.
    Slowly, beautifully, the light strengthened, and the water was sapphire.
    Tate’s mood wasn’t lifted by the scenery as she suited up. She checked her diver’s watch, her wrist compass, the gauges on her tanks. While her father and Buck shared coffee and conversation on the foredeck, she strapped her diver’s knife onto her calf.
    Beside her, Matthew mirrored the routine.
    “I’m not any happier about this than you are,” he muttered. He hefted her tanks, helped her secure them.
    “That brightens my mood.”
    They attached weight belts, eyeing each other with mutual distrust. “Just try to keep up, and stay out of my way. We’ll be fine.”
    “Really.” She spat into her mask, rubbed, rinsed. “Why don’t you stay out of my way?” She plastered a smile on her face as Buck and her father sauntered over.
    “Set?” Ray asked her, checking her tank harnesses himself. He glanced at the bright-orange plastic bottle that served as a marker. It bobbed quietly on calm seas. “Remember your direction.”
    “North by northwest—just like Cary Grant.” Tate pecked his cheek, sniffed his aftershave. “Don’t worry.”
    He didn’t worry, Ray told himself. Of course he didn’t. It was just rare that his little girl went down without him. “Have fun.”
    Buck hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his shorts. His legs were stubby trunks knobbed by prominent knees. Covering his bald pate was an oil-smeared Dodgers fielder’s cap. His eyes were masked by tinted prescription glasses.
    Tate thought he looked like an overweight, poorly dressed gnome. For some reason, she found it appealing. “I’ll keep an eye on your nephew, Buck.”
    He grinned at that, his laugh like gravel hitting stone. “You do that, girl. And good hunting.”
    With a nod, Tate executed a smooth back roll from the rail, and headed down. She waited, as a responsible partner, for Matthew’s dive. The moment she saw him enter the water, she turned and swam toward the bottom.
    Sea fans the color of lilacs waved gracefully in the current. Fish, startled by the intrusion, darted away, a colorful stream of life and motion. If she had been with her father, she might have lingered to enjoy the moment, that always-stunning transition between being a creature of the air, and one of the sea.
    She might have taken the time to gather a few pretty shells for her mother, or remained still long enough to coax a fish to glide over and inspect the newcomer.
    But with Matthew closing the distance between them, Tate was struck less by the wonder of it than by a keen sense of competition.
    Let’s see him try to keep up, she decided, and kicking hard, skimmed westward. The water cooled on descent, but remained comfortable. It was a pity, she thought, that they were far from the more interesting reefs and coral gardens, but there was enough to please the senses—the water itself, the sway of fans, a flashing fish.
    She kept her eyes peeled for lumps or discolorations in the sand. Damned if she’d miss something and let him surface in triumph