“You want to lay down on the deck?”

I think about it for a second. The queasiness is subsiding. Not gone, but better. “I’m managing. If the water would stop moving, that would be great.”

“I can help with that. It’s why I brought you out here.”

I blow out a hard breath and dare to turn in my seat to look up at him. “To kill me and throw my body in the water? I knew this was a Cape Fear situation.”

“Nope. I’m going to teach you to swim.”

I stare at him. “Um, what?”

“Swim,” he says, paddling like a dog. “Me, you.”

“In the harbor?”

“Prudence Beach,” he says, pointing behind us.

I look out over the harbor water, and sure enough, there’s a sandy beach stretching around the southern tip of the coast. No surprise. Lots of beaches around Beauty. One right near the center of the historic district by Goodly Pier, in fact. It’s littered with tourists and bright umbrellas as we speak. This beach, however, is sort of rocky and windy. South of town. Not the pretty beach. Practically deserted.

There’s another problem. Well, there are about a hundred of them, but another big one: “It’s, like, a half a mile from us or something,” I say. “There’s no dock.”

“Nope,” he says. “We aren’t going to the beach. We’re swimming right here.”

Here, he means. In the harbor.

“This is where my dad taught me to swim. It’s completely safe,” he assures me.

“I don’t have a swimsuit.”

“Don’t need one. You can swim in your clothes. The world won’t end. There are clean towels downstairs.”

“You said my mom could watch us.”

“Can she really, though? I said I thought she could. I don’t know anything about your cameras.”

I glance back at the town’s jagged buildings, crowded along the shore in the distance. I’ve got a cheap telephoto lens with a serious zoom for my digital camera, but there’s no way it could get detail this far. She could probably see the boat through it, but not us. What am I even talking about? My mom couldn’t switch out a camera lens if her life depended on it. Bet him telling her that she’d be able to see us made her feel better, though, sneaky bastard.

“But, why?” I ask.

“I told you already, I’m turning you into a water rat.”

“Not following.”