“I wish she’d talk to me about it,” I tell Lucky, “but it’s kind of a forbidden topic. Everything about her relationships and her past is. So it’s hard for me to help if she won’t let me know what’s wrong,” I tell him, kicking my legs in the water. “I used to think maybe my dad could make her happy. Like maybe she was doing all this as a way of punishing him somehow? Like a cry for help? I don’t know. That sounds stupid.”
“No it doesn’t.”
“Anyway, she really, truly couldn’t care less about my father. So I don’t think it has anything to do with him. It’s something else. I just wish I knewwhat.”
“Maybe you should just ask her.”
“You think I haven’t?”
He doesn’t say anything. I don’t say anything. I just lie in thewater, thinking about why he’s asking all these questions. Then I remember something I’d forgotten in all the recent drama. “Hey. You wouldn’t happen to know about anyone who was in the navy and recently came back to town, would you?”
He squints at me in the sun. “That’s an odd question.”
“Evie’s mom mentioned something when she called, but she clammed up and wouldn’t tell Evie who it was. Gave us the impression that it was someone from high school my mom would want to avoid so badly, she may have had second thoughts about moving back here.”
“I see,” he says. “Sounds dramatic.”
“Right?”
“Maybe you should ask your mom.”
“Have you not been listening? She’ll never tell me.”
“What about your grandma?”
“We’re not close like you are, apparently,” I tease. “So you really don’t know any navy dudes? No one in town? Anyone your parents might know?”
His face squinches up. “You think this has something to do with your mom’s depression?”
Wow. I don’t know. That’s a weird way of looking at it. I also get the strange feeling that he’s avoiding answering my question. I’m probably being paranoid. Regardless, I’m afraid if I keep thinking about all this, it’s going to ruin our lovely day. Because itislovely. And I’m not letting my mom and all the question marks in her past take it away from me.
This is mine.
“Think you’re ready to try floating on your back?” he asks. “Last swimming trial of the day before we go home.”
“No. Yes. No. Do I have to?”
“Completely up to you. It’s fun, though.”
“Okay. Let’s try.”
The back float is much harder than on my stomach. So hard, I’m almost positive I can’t do it, and I think he’s getting frustrated with me? Or maybe I’m getting frustrated with myself. Because once I completely give in, stop worrying about water getting into my ears … then it happens.
I’m weightless.
I float on my back, looking up at the blue sky, feeling my body being buoyed by the warm harbor water, gently rocked. I float while Lucky paddles beside me. While he lets go and swims around me. I float while he smiles and slyly peels up my wet shirt from where it sticks to my skin and kisses my belly button where water pools. I float while he swims beneath me like a shark, pretending to bite my thigh and upsetting my balance—then swimming back around and catching me when my legs sink.
“Hey!” I shout, laughing and splashing as I grasp his neck.
“Scared of a little ol’ fish nibble?”
“Scared of drowning, you jerk!”
But it strikes me that’s not true.
I’m not half as wary of the water as I was before we came out here. And when he wraps his arms around me, legs treading wateraround mine, and kisses me, mouth wet, chest pumping up and down with the exertion of swimming and holding me up, I’m not thinking about the horizon or the possibility of drowning. I’m not thinking about town gossip or whether my mom is happy. I’m not thinking about Adrian Summers or the broken windows, or the ticking time bombs in my life.
I’m not thinking about anything but the two of us.
