“Saturday night.”
“Saturday night,” I repeat, grabbing my camera off the brick wall as I smile back at him. I feel warm and hopeful for the first time since he left me that afternoon in the darkroom. And I want to keep feeling that way. I want to believe that if we try hard enough, we can figure out a way to diffuse the ticking time bomb … or keep what we have if I go to California.
A year is a long time.
Is it long enough?
OLD FISHERMEN NEVER DIE, THEY JUST SMELL THAT WAY: Yellow-and-black sign attached to the cabin of a geriatric fishing boat docked behind Nick’s Boatyard.(Personal photo/Josephine Saint-Martin)
Chapter 15
I find out what Lucky has in store for me when I meet him behind the boatyard again. It’s early evening, but summer heat is still warming the dock boards when Lucky coaxes me down a couple of steps into the belly of a beast.
And by “beast,” I mean theNimble Narwhal.
And byNarwhal, I mean a cabin cruiser fishing boat, circa before I was born.
Maybe even before my mom was born, if the carrot-orange color scheme of the boat’s interior is any indication. Below the main part of the boat, it has an underdeck living space big enough for a hermit serial killer, with a teeny, tiny kitchenette, built-in sofa, and a matchbox bathroom that’s pretty much the same as an airline toilet.
The boatyard and the Nook are both closed, and I pretend like I’m interested in the tour he’s giving me, pointing out all the boat’s features, but honestly, my mind is halfway between the gutter anda sliver of golden skin I keep seeing above the waistband of his charcoal board shorts when he reaches to switch on lights in the boat’s low ceiling. He’s wearing a shirt with the sleeves rolled up high enough to show off his bronze arms, and his shorts aren’t just low, they also have a bonus strategic rip exposing one muscular thigh. I mean, come on. He switches the lights on. Off … I signal for him to show me again. He gladly complies. His hips have that weird boy muscle that makes a V shape on either side of his stomach, pointing toward greener pastures.
Kind of hard not to look.
And we haven’t been alone since that day my mom watched me take pictures of the boatyard. Some of them turned out pretty good. Kat is happy, so that’s what’s important.
“So that’s theNarwhaltour,” Lucky says. “How’s your queasy factor so far?”
“Ugh. Don’t say that word, p-wease,” I say around a ginger-flavored lollipop that I’ve been sucking for several minutes in preparation for boarding. I also have a tin of candied ginger in the pocket of my shorts.
“Ginger is proven to help with seasickness,” he assures me. “So does getting back on the water. Practice and practice again. I researched this thoroughly and asked a bunch of hardened, salty old boaters. You’re going to beat this. Mind over matter. We’ll make a sea-loving lass of you yet.”
I pluck my lollipop out of my mouth with a soft pop. “Really don’t know how you talked my mom into letting us do this.”
He shrugs “Just pointed out where she could see us from your apartment window through one of your camera lenses,” he says casually, and sounds like he means it.
“Uh,what?”
“Look,” he says, ignoring me. “If you want to get past this seasickness—”
“I could just stay on land forever.”
“—a bigger boat is a good place to start. That’s why I thought we’d try out theNimble Narwhal, here. My dad acquired it in a trade earlier this year. Impressed?”
“If by ‘impressed’ you mean ‘is it giving off Cape Fear vibes,’ then yes. Are you sure there aren’t bodies stuffed inside the sofa?”
“You insult me, Saint-Martin. I’ll have you know I spent hours scrubbing everything down here until my fingers bled.”
“Don’t believe you.” God, he’s adorable.
“Maybe notbled. I did clean it, though. And it’s body-free. And rodent-free. I also threw away a lot of insect carcasses. You’re welcome.”
“What is all this for, if I may ask?”
“This is how I’m going to turn you into a water rat.”
“Why?”
He taps the side of his head with his finger and waggles his brows. “I have a plan.”
