“It’s from when I was a kid,” Connor said. “I wanted to make my mom laugh. After Liam was born, she was sad for a while.” He half-smiled. “What about you?”
“Annie,” I said. She’d later introduced me to fancy cheese plates.
And you should call her today, I told myself.
“Eh, not great, kids…” the paparazzo told us. “Look at the camera next time!”
Connor gave her an affirmative thumbs-up, and I reached up to take his hand, threading our fingers together. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught his lips twitch up before spreading into a smile.
We gavesay cheeseeverything we had.
“Smoked Gouda!” I shouted as Connor went, “Wisconsin cheddar!”
And then we started laughing like we were the funniest people on the island.
* * *
There were a handful of cars in the driveway when we got back, but the house was empty, save for the dogs sprawled out on thecool kitchen floor. “They’re all at the beach, right?” I asked Swede as I gave him some belly rubs.
His response was a huge yawn.
Sure enough, Connor and I checked the dock to find the Boston Whaler gone. “Crap,” I said after squinting to see it anchored on the far side of Oyster Pond. “How are we going to get over there now?”
The obvious answer was to text Nick and ask if he could putter back and get us, but I didn’t want to interrupt his Sunday soaking up the sun. Should we just set up camp on the small beach here?
“I’ve got it,” Connor said. “Let’s get our stuff!”
We raced back to the house and split up once inside, Connor retreating to Summer Camp and me hurrying upstairs to my new room. I changed into a bikini and threw on a crocheted cover-up before grabbing my beach tote. On my way back through the kitchen, I grabbed water bottles from the fridge and some fruit salad left over from breakfast. I also filled a Ziploc bag with Sage’s homemade granola. It was addicting.
Connor beat me back to the dock, now in blue swim trunks and a white Notre Dame T-shirt. He hadn’t rubbed all the sunscreen in on his face, seemingly too eager to tug a green canoe and pair of oars out of the small boathouse. “Oh my god,” I said. “I haven’t canoed since camp.”
Just short of a decade ago.
“That makes two of us,” he said as my stomach started swishing with excitement. “But I think I remember how…”
Instead of setting off from the dock, we positioned the canoe on the beach, in Oyster Pond’s shallows. I loaded our beach bags and towels, then I climbed while Connor held the canoe steady. We’d decided I would sit in the front and he’d be in the back. One thing I remembered from Camp Skytop was that the rear rower did most of the steering. While my sense of direction was solid, Connor was definitely stronger than me.
“Ready?” I asked even though our canoe was still ashore; Connor would push it into the water before jumping in with me.
“Almost,” he answered, then dug through his backpack and pulled out a small Bluetooth speaker. “We need the right playlist…”
I was impressed when George Ezra started crooning through the speaker.
Connor raised an eyebrow. “Acceptable?”
I grinned. “Acceptable.”
After pushing in our canoe, Connor dashed through the water to swiftly swing himself up over the side. The canoe rocked only once, a graceful maneuver. We both started paddling. It took a few beats, but we found ourselves in sync. “And we’re off!”
The water was placid—not even a hint of a breeze. There was only one speedboat boat out—towing a water-skier—plus a couple kayaks and paddleboards. The sun had also still not let up from this morning, so all too soon I was sticky with sweat. I glanced over my shoulder to see Connor lean over to dip his hand in the water before running it through his hair for some relief.
We paddled and paddled, eventually putting the Carmichaels’ house in our rearview mirror, but I noticed our speed flagging when we were halfway across the pond. “Is it just me…” I said over our music. “Or are we slowing down?”
“Not just you.” Connor stopped paddling, and I followed suit. “Rowing is becoming more intense too, which is weird. The pond is like glass.” He paused. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but are you actually paddling?”
I spun around in my seat. “Did you really just ask me that? You think I’m—” I dropped off, a sudden shiver ran through me. It took a second to register that it had stemmed from my feet, because what felt like a lot like water was tickling my toes.
My pulse started pounding. Had our Poland Spring bottles leaked? We hadn’t even opened them yet…
