“Help me in?” I ask.
Charlie reaches out his hand, and I take it to step onto the back seat. He stares at me, green eyes fastened to mine.
“Last night was the most fun I’ve had all year,” I say. “I don’t regret it.”
He nods once, then lifts me onto the floor of the boat. “Let’s go for a ride.”
We go fast. Faster than I’ve ever gone. I let my hair down and smile into the wind as we soar toward the vast open end of Kamaniskeg. I photograph Charlie’s hand, casually gripping the wheel. I shoot his bare feet. I capture the expression he gives me when he says, “Feet, really?”
There’s a group of kids at the top of the rock, waiting to jump, and as we pass them, I lean over Charlie and press the horn.
Aaaah-whoooo-gaaaaah!
His fingers tangle in my hair, holding it out of our faces. I have the urge to kiss him, though I’m not sure if we kiss in the light of day. Last night awakened a hunger in me that we didn’t come close to sating, but Charlie’s not his usual flirty, quippy self.
“You have a bathing suit on under that, right?” he says, eyeing my caftan as we return to his dock.
“Of course. Do you have plans for my bathing suit?”
He doesn’t look up from the rope in his hands. He seems heavy. “I’m going to teach you how to do a backflip. Number eight.”
He knows that list better than I do.
“Not a somersault?”
“A backflip isslightlyeasier.”
We swim out to the floating raft, where the water is deeper. Charlie stands with his hands on his hips, explaining how dangerous flips are and all the things not to do. I feel like I’m in school. He’s distant. There’s no teasing, no flirting. He demonstrates how to do a backward dive into the water, and we practice until I can launch myself away from the raft with enough momentum that when I hit the water, my arch continues under the surface. When Charlie finally shows me how to flip into the water, tucking his knees to his chest, I flinch, worried he’s going to hit his head.
“I’m not going to do that,” I say when he surfaces.
“Okay.”
He swims back to the ladder and climbs up, standing a few feet away from me, arms folded and frowning. I think about the boy from my photo. How sunny he seemed. How perfect I thought his life must be. How easy. How golden.
“Sorry for wasting your time,” I say.
Water runs down his nose and neck, along his torso. “You’re not a waste of time, Alice.”
I chew on my cheek.
“What is it?” he asks.
I want to ask about last night, but I chicken out.
“Sometimes I don’t get why you want to hang out with me. We’re so different.”
“Are we?”
“You’re this trader dude with an overpriced car that you drive too fast. You live inYorkville. It doesn’t make sense why you’d want to do all the things on my silly list.”
“That’s not who I am. That’s my job, my car, my home. That’s notme. I’m just a guy on a raft, trying to figure out his shit like everyone else.”
I study him for a moment, the tension in his shoulders, and whisper, “Doyouregret last night?”
“Of course not.”
“Okay.” I release the breath I was holding. “Good. You seem kind of off.”
