At first I was mystified; we hadn't been to the beach in some time due to a hectic schedule and the declining surf temperature, but the suit was definitely wet. Certain facts began to fall into place. I sniffed the bathing suit. No salt or chlorine smells. Fresh water. A Monday after school visit to Mary Ellen's house, damp hair, the garden hose was the excuse, given a little too quickly. Slowly I walked to the living room and sat on the sofa, trying to regain my composure. The quarry! I'd heard talk about the forbidden quarry, where three years ago two children drowned, their bodies missing in that abandoned pit for a week! My heart was in my mouth!
We had spoken about the horrid place. There were letters in the newspaper about securing it more adequately as teenagers found it an isolated attraction. It was described as yards deep with steep walls like glass with few places to climb out. Paul's brother had died in such a place and the hearing of the local quarry caused a strong reaction from him. I couldn't recall if he'd told the children the details of devastating death in his family but they knew in no uncertain terms the quarry was off limits.
I paced the living room, the still-wet suit clenched in my hands. Karen knew better! I was ready to kill her. It was the first instance of her misbehaving in a way even remotely this serious. Her actions were intolerable. Before I could consider options, I heard the sound of tires in the drive. In bounced Paul, his jacket already off, with Karen in her soccer outfit laughing beside him. Then she saw the bathing suit I held in my hand. The look on her face said it all. She burst into tears and dashed up the stairs to her room, leaving Paul standing there, his mouth agape.
"What's this all about?" he asked as he looked down at what I was holding.
"The quarry," I managed to sputter. "I think she and Mary Ellen snuck off to the quarry Monday. I found this under her bed!" I held the wet suit like a flag of surrender.
I could see the fury in Paul's face. "She could have drowned," he snarled. He dashed up the stairs after his daughter. I was shocked to see him undoing his belt as he turned the corner. "Karen! You come out here this minute!"
"Paul, wait!" I shouted. As I reached the top of the stairs, he entered her room, slamming the door behind him. I hesitated, part of me wanting to calm my husband, the rest of me not wanting to interfere between father and daughter.