She adjusted her grip on the paddle, trying to find the rhythm he'd shown her. Dip, pull, lift, switch sides. Her arms were already starting to ache, but she didn't want to say anything. The water here was shallow enough that she could see the bottom in some places, sandy and scattered with shells and the occasional dark shape of something alive.
Ryan guided them toward a channel between two stretches of marsh. The grass rose on either side, taller than she'd expected, dense and green, wild and orderly at once.
"My grandfather used to bring me through here when I was a kid," Ryan said, his paddle resting across his kayak. "Before the crabbing, before anything else. He'd cut the motor and just let us drift." He nodded at the grass. "Said you had to listen to a place before you could understand it."
"What did you hear?"
He was quiet, tilting his head like he was trying to remember. "Everything. How a mullet jumps and you can tell by the splash if it's running from something. The sound the water makes moving through the grass. Different than open bay, softer." He slowed his paddling, letting her catch up. "He knew this marsh the way some people know their own house. Could tell you where the blues would be running just by the smell of the air."
They moved deeper into the marsh, the channel narrowing. The sounds changed. Less splashing, more birdsong, the soft rustle of wings somewhere overhead. A cormorant sat on a piling, wings spread to dry in the fading light.
"It's like nowhere else back here," Brittany said.
"That's what I love about it. The beach is great, but everyone sees the beach. This part—" He gestured at the marsh around them. "You have to want to find it."
They paddled in silence for a while. Brittany settled into the rhythm, the strokes, how the kayak responded to each movement, the calm that came when she stopped trying so hard.
"At the bonfire, you told me about your grandfather. The crabbing spots that don't work anymore." She paused, choosing her words. "Have you always wanted to protect this? Or did that come later?"
Ryan slowed his kayak, turning slightly so they were parallel. The sun was lower now, the light softer, catching the water in streaks of orange and pink.
"I think I always noticed things," he said. "But noticing isn't the same as doing something about it. For a long time I just figured someone else would handle it. Scientists, politicians, whoever." He dipped his paddle, let it drag through the water. "Then I took this marine biology class junior year. The professor brought in all these photos from the seventies. What the bay looked like back then. The seagrass beds, the oyster reefs. It was like a different planet. And I realized I couldn't just wait for someone else to handle it. If people like me didn't learn how this stuff worked, it would just keep getting worse."
Brittany watched his face as he talked. He wasn't looking at her. He was looking at the water, at the marsh, at the horizon beyond.
"So now you're out here every chance you get," she said. "Learning the names of things. Paying attention."
"Trying to." He ducked his head, almost embarrassed. "My family thinks I should be a doctor. Make real money. But I can't stop thinking about the water."
"That's—" She searched for the right word. "That's really beautiful, actually."
He glanced at her, surprised. "Most people think it's depressing."
"It's not depressing." She shook her head. "It's purposeful. Like you're not just drifting."
"That's exactly it."
They paddled on. The channel opened up into a wider stretch of water, the marsh falling away on one side to reveal a view of the bay and the distant shore beyond. The sun was almost touching the horizon now, the sky shifting through colors she didn't have names for.
"We should pull over here," Ryan said, pointing toward a small sandy bank. "Watch the sunset then head back. The current makes the return trip faster anyway."
They nosed the kayaks onto the sand and climbed out, pulling them up past the waterline. It was a tiny strip of beach, maybe twenty feet across, sheltered by the marsh grass on three sides. Hidden. Private.
Brittany sat down on the sand, wrapping her arms around her knees. Ryan sat beside her, close enough that she could feel the heat coming off his skin.
"Thanks for this," she said.
"Anytime."
The sun met the water and began to sink. A few birds flew past in silhouette, heading somewhere with purpose.
"I've been thinking," Ryan said, not looking at her. "About what you said the other night. At the bonfire."
"What did I say?"
"That you feel like everyone else knows what they want. What they're doing." He picked up a shell from the sand, turned it over in his hands. "I think that's just what it looks like from outside. Most people are making it up as they go."
"Even you?"
