“Why did you make a canoe?” I don’t remember him having one. I don’t remember him everwantingto have one.
Nikhil lifts a shoulder before responding. “So I can go fishing.”
“You…go fishing?”
“Yeah. Sometimes. I have a…There’s a place by the water I like to go.” He’s back at the side door before I can finish my interrogation. The man I knew used to say that fishing was boring. That he could never imagine sitting still for so long. That he’d much rather move. Be active. Do something with his hands.
He always was good with his hands.
I mentally slap myself, cursing my quippy, traitorous brain.
I step into the garage as Nikhil unlatches the canoe from the wall. His craftsmanship has always been impressive, and if he hadn’t told me he’d made this, I would have assumed it was store-bought. It’s beautiful. The shape of it. And the color. A glistening dark green.
He pulls out a pair of paddles and hands one to me. “Do you know how to use this?”
“Of course.” Because really, what kind of question is that? You hold it, put the paddle side into the water, and push. I may not have canoed since I was a middle schooler at summer camp, but I’d learned this once. I’m sure it’ll all come back. Like muscle memory.
“You sure?” he asks, and his voice is so sincere it makes me wonder whether this is more complicated than I thought.
Before I can respond, he’s demonstrating. “The paddle goes like this. The blade, this flat part right here, needs to stay like this when you push it through the water. That’s what’ll propel us forward.” He stops, twisting the paddle in the air. “And usually, you’d alternate. A few strokes on the left, a few strokes on the right. That’s what helps you stay in a straight line. But since there’s two of us, I’ll do one side and you do the other, okay?”
I nod. It’s not as simple as I’d imagined, but it seems doable.
“We need to be somewhat in sync,” he says. “With the paddles. We’ll want to stroke at the same time.”
Nope,I warn my mind.Don’t go there. Don’t even think it.
I think it anyway. A brief image flashing behind my eyelids. But it’s not something my mind has created out of nothing. It’s a memory. One I’d been thinking about not too long ago. One that makes my skin burn. Makes my toes curl inside my shoes.
“Stroking at the same time,” I repeat automatically. “Got it.”
Nikhil startles, as if he’s just heard the implication. And I want to melt into the floor.
A second later, he clears his throat. “And if it gets too hard, I can always do it myself.”
Great. Now my brain is hearing innuendos in everything.
“I was planning to paddle solo,” he continues. “Before. So, if you’re having a hard time with it, just let me know.”
“Yeah. No worries. I will.”
Nikhil nods, lifting the hood of his jacket over his head. I do the same.
“The garage door won’t open since the power’s out. So we’ll have to carry this outside.” He hoists one side of the canoe and I move forward to carry the other half. And together we awkwardly waddle our way to the front door.
8
It doesn’t take me more than a few minutes to realize that my sister was right.
This water is disgusting.
Brown and murky. And surprisingly swift. Debris is scattered across the surface, bits of leaves and branches, all moving quickly along this street-river.
At least dawn is breaking, so there’s some light for us to see by. It’s not bright by any means, but it’s not the pitch-black darkness of night either. Nikhil is counting out the strokes behind me, shouting above the noise of the wind.One, two, three. One, two, three.
I look up, but with the rain falling around us, I can’t quite tell if any of the neighboring roofs sustained damage, though the felled tree in one of the yards shows just how strong the wind had been. It knocked the tree flat, and it looks kind of sad that way, flailing on its side, its roots all scraggly as they stick out in the air.
Nikhil’s count continues, and I face forward again. I’d balked when Nikhil had instructed me to sit in the front, but he’d said themore experienced canoeist was supposed to sit in back. Something about it being easier to steer or control things from there, but since I can’t see him, it’s making it hard to follow his lead. I have to rely on his verbal cues.
