It was, specifically, a juvenile Wolf Eel. And it was a good find. While adult eels were a not-uncommon sight in Monterey, sightings of their young were rare. They most often stayed well hidden, coming out only when they were large enough to protect themselves. This one, apparently, had decided he was tough enough to handle any potential predators.

Ben tried to think of a good sign for wolf eel, as Angela was waiting for more clarification. Finally, he lifted his head and pretended to bay. A stream of bubbles flew from his regulator, and when they cleared he saw Angela nodding enthusiastically and clapping her hands together, the childish but completely appropriate sign for having discovered something thrilling.

Ben motioned for Angela to take pictures of the eel. He hovered vertically in the water column as she did, silently appreciating her patience with what was a difficult undertaking. Not only did she have to juggle the mechanical intricacies of the underwater camera, she had to do it while not making any moves that would frighten her skittish subject. Again, Ben found himself thinking about Caddie. Surely by now she would not only have scared off the little wolf eel, but she would probably somehow be blaming him for it.

Maybe that’s what fathers are for, he thought. Someone had to be the scapegoat. After all, it wasn’t that far back in human history when the king of a land might be killed as an offering to the gods when something went wrong. The prevailing philosophy—that the king was in charge and therefore should be held responsible for the failings of his kingdom—could with little trouble be applied to fatherhood. Particularly, he thought, by an angry child.

If Caddie wanted to use him as a whipping boy, he saw little he could do to change her mind. Still, he wished things could be different. He’d had an ambivalent relationship with his own father, a kind of mutual disinterest that, while not hostile, was uncomfortable for both of them. They remained strangers to one another until the day of his father’s death, at which point Frank Ransome had become a silent and seldom-seen ghost who haunted the halls of his son’s memory.