On the second summer Sunday, there was more sunshine and another cloudless sky, but a slight cooling breeze. And another bottle of wine.
–Have you ever had a girlfriend? she asked.
–No.
She smiled and gazed off into the distance.
–I figured.
I could feel the heat in my face.
–Oh? It’s so obvious?
–You’re very serious about everything, Byron.
–Girlfriends can be serious, I said.
–When we’re older.
We were sitting side by side on the back of the boat, sipping the wine from plastic glasses.
–I plan to get serious when I’m thirty, she said.
–Why bother then?
–It’s important to be serious when you’re old.
–So maybe I’ll get a girlfriend when I’m thirty.
–What’s wrong with now?
–I wouldn’t know what to do with a girlfriend.
–Well, that’s good, she said, and grabbed my hand and squeezed it.
–If you ask me, too many boys think they know what to do with a girlfriend when they haven’t got a clue.
–I guess you’ve had a few. Boyfriends.
–Don’t get me started.
She stood.
–I’m going swimming. You?
–I don’t think so.
–You don’t mind if I…
She gyrated slightly, the motions of undressing.
–I don’t mind, I said.
She turned her back, shimmied out of everything, hopped up on the washboard and vanished with a shriek.
I sat there sipping on the wine, wondering: What is normal? How can I not know?
I looked around me. The little pile of clothing on the deck. The wicker bag where I knew there would be a towel and who-knows-what-else.
She trusts me, I thought. Or maybe she just thinks I’m harmless. She could be right on both counts. She trusts me because I’m nothing. The thought was suffocating.
Why can’t I be normal?
Normal would be naked in the water with her. Normal would be reckless.
I imagined I could hear the rumble of the engine, the belching water from the wet exhaust. The silent boat was rocking gently.
I felt a sudden chill, and when I tried to move, one leg was paralyzed. Then I thought I heard the bump of traps against the hull. I looked to where my mother always stood, but of course there was no one there. It was just the ladder moving with the swell.
Another bump against the hull. Then Peggy, slowly rising into view.
–I’ll get the towel.
–Never mind.
She leaned back against the cab door, hands on her hips, closing her eyes as she tilted her face toward the sun. I accepted the implied permission to stare at her. I longed to touch her. I longed to taste the salty water that was running from her hair into her eye sockets, into the hollows between her shoulders and her breastbone. Between her breasts. I looked away. I looked around. We were alone. We were not alone. There was silence, but there was the whispering of wind, the hollow thump of water on the hull.
Alone. Not alone. Invisible but under observation. Scrawny evergreens on shore shimmering in the heat, oozing spicy fragrances.
My mouth was dry. I sipped my wine, warm as spit.
–Hand me my towel, she said at last.
I pulled it from the bag. I felt chilled. I felt hot.
Then she had the towel but was using it to fluff her hair, head to one side.
–There’s nothing like the feeling of the hot sun on cold skin, she said.
I swallowed hard. Nodded. She grinned and ran her fingers through her hair, shook it loose.
–Maybe almost nothing.
–Whatever you say, I said.
–I was just thinking, if we were in a movie, I guess this would be the sex scene.
–I suppose it is, in a weird way, I said.
She stopped fluffing, stared hard at me for a moment, then she giggled.
–Very weird.
–I didn’t mean…
–It doesn’t matter what you meant. Why won’t you come swimming with me?
–I can’t…
–Swim? Okay, I believe that. How come so many fishermen can’t swim?
–I don’t know.
–I’ll teach you, she said.
–It’s a deal. Boat rides in exchange for swimming lessons.
–Shake on it, she said, reaching out. Her hand was cold, her face was radiant.
–You’re on, I said, feeling a bolt of panic.
I turned away, stared off toward the shore. An onshore breeze was now rising and the waves were dashing lightly against the rocks. The boat would soon be perilously near those rocks. If I was normal, I’d remove my clothes. But then what?
I needed to start the engine and back out a bit, to deeper water. But that would also be a statement.
–Where did you go? Peggy asked.
–Nowhere. I’m right here.
–I embarrassed you. I’m sorry.
–No, you didn’t. Not at all. I just…
–You just nothing, she said.
–No. Yes. I’m thinking you don’t think I’m normal.
I turned to face her. She was now wrapped in the towel.
–Shut up, she said, but she was smiling.
–You don’t understand, I said.
–You’re the one who doesn’t understand. Normal isn’t everything it’s cracked up to be. Feeling safe is what’s important. I feel safe with you.
We fell silent. Feeling safe, she needed nothing more from me.
When I was home, Mom asked, So what have you been up to?
–Took the boat out, down along the shore. Peggy Winter came along. She’s into boats. She was curious about you and me fishing.
–Peggy Winter.
–Yes.
–The Winter girls. I hear they’re quite…vivacious.
She was sitting at the kitchen table, the seat of her authority. Teacher, skipper, mom. Inquisitor. I remained quiet, and after a long time, she sighed.
–I’m sure she’s lovely. Oh, yes, your friend Allan called and wants you to call him back. He told me he’s done with higher education.
–So he says.
–You knew this? That he was dropping out?
–I figured.
I turned to leave the room, but she stopped me with a gentle hand.
–Don’t go getting any bright ideas.