I followed his gaze and gasped. A group of roseate spoonbills waded in the shallows, their improbable pink plumage vibrant against the dark water and green backdrop. Their distinctive spoon-shaped bills swept side to side through the water as they fed, seemingly undisturbed by our presence.
“Curtis said if we were lucky, we might catch the spoonbills feeding here during high tide.”
We floated in silence for a few minutes, watching the birds. It felt like we’d discovered a secret world, one that had been just minutes from our home all these years without our knowing.
“We’ve lived here for fifteen years,” I said finally. “Why did we never do this before?”
Ray dipped his paddle into the water, creating a small eddy. “We always said we would. Next weekend. Next month. Whenthings calmed down at work. When Leo didn’t have a game or a school event.”
“And then suddenly Leo was in college, and we still hadn’t made the time.”
“Too busy living side by side instead of together,” Ray said, his voice thoughtful. “I think that’s what happened to us, Jeffrey. We got so good at our parallel lives that we forgot how to intersect.”
The observation landed like a stone in still water, ripples of recognition spreading outward. How many evenings had we spent in the same room—me with my laptop, him with his training videos—without really being together? How many conversations had been reduced to logistics and schedules?
We turned round to return to the dock, but twenty minutes later, we reached what looked like a dead end. "This doesn't look right," Ray said, studying the wall of mangrove roots ahead of us.
I pulled out my phone to check our GPS, but the screen showed only a blue dot surrounded by green—no roads, no landmarks, just an endless maze of waterways. "We need to backtrack to that last junction."
We turned around, but after ten minutes of paddling, nothing looked familiar. Every channel seemed identical—the same arching roots, the same tea-colored water, the same dappled light.
"There." Ray pointed to an opening on our left. "That's the way we came."
I studied the channel, noting the water flow and the position of a distinctive dead tree. "I don't think so. The current's flowing the wrong direction."
"Jeffrey, I remember that tree. We definitely came this way."
The old me would have deferred to his certainty, or we would have argued until one of us gave in. Instead, I found myselfsaying, "Let's test it. If we're right, we should reach the main channel in about five minutes."
Ray looked surprised but nodded. "Fair enough."
We paddled down his chosen route, but after ten minutes, the channel only grew narrower. When we reached another dead end, Ray stopped paddling.
"Okay," he said quietly. "Your turn to navigate."
I felt a flutter of panic. Being right about one wrong turn didn't make me qualified to get us out of here. But Ray was looking at me expectantly, and for once, he seemed genuinely willing to follow my lead.
I closed my eyes, listening to the subtle sounds of water movement, trying to remember Curtis's advice about reading the channels. "The main flow should be toward the lake," I said. "If we follow the strongest current..."
I led us back to the last junction, then chose the channel where I heard the faintest sound of moving water. Ray paddled behind me without comment, even when I stopped to reconsider our route twice.
Gradually, the channels began to widen. The sound of open water grew stronger. And finally, we emerged into West Lake, the familiar shoreline coming into view.
"Nice work, navigator," Ray said, and his smile held genuine admiration rather than condescension.
"Good thing you didn't insist on your way," I replied, then caught myself. But instead of the defensive edge those words usually carried, they came out almost teasing.
Ray laughed. "Good thing I'm learning when to shut up and follow."
I realized something had shifted between us. Not in any dramatic way, but in the quiet recognition that we'd faced a problem together and solved it—not by falling into our old patterns, but by adapting to what the situation required.
"We should do this more often," Ray said.
"Get lost in mangroves?"
"Figure things out together."
I smiled, feeling the truth of it. "Yeah. We should."
