The Miles Between

THE BOAT KEEPER’S EYES ARE KIND. That is the first thing I notice. So when Seth asks the old man if he has a life preserver for Lucky, his eyes don’t roll, but instead a small smile plays behind them and he says, “I’d be happy to keep an eye on the little fella while you’re out.”

Seth looks at me, and I nod my approval.

“Well, all right. Thanks. You’ll keep a close eye on him?”

“We’ll be best buddies. Don’t worry.” He takes the leash from Seth, and then his ticket. I watch him take Mira’s and Aidan’s tickets too. When I hold mine out for him, he stops, stares at me for the briefest moment, and his pale eyes dart away. He waves me on through without taking my ticket. I feel the cold sensation of fingers walking up the knots of my spine. His eyes are familiar. Does he know me? Or, more important, does he know my parents?

“I have just the boat for you,” the boat keeper says. “You have an hour, but I don’t pay much attention to clocks. Especially this time of year. We close up for the season at the end of the week. Take however much time is necessary.” Seth and I exchange a look at the odd remark. We follow him to the end of the dock. “Enjoy yourselves,” he says. “Stay away from the swans, though. They can get nasty if you get too close.” And then almost as an afterthought, “Any of you know how to row?”

“I do!” Mira says. Indeed, she is probably the only one among us who has ever rowed a boat, but I have serious doubts about her claims regarding that. When she and Aidan returned from the fountain, they wanted to go for a ride on the lake, pointing to the boat rentals. They had already bought tickets with money left over from the hot dogs. She had also brought along my shoes, pointing out how I had forgotten them on the grass. I slipped them on and fell in love with them all over again. I felt like a foolish twit, not for forgetting them but for liking them so much.

“You all get in, and I’ll give you a shove,” the boat keeper says. He motions to a red boat with a name lettered in gold on the side, Courage. Perhaps with Mira at the helm we will need it.

“Can we count on smooth sailing?” Aidan quips.

“No, sir. Only smooth rowing with this little bucket—and even that will depend on your skipper.” The old man winks at Mira.

She giggles and offers an exuberant salute. Aidan steps in the rowboat and offers a hand to Mira. I cringe. I hope Seth doesn’t follow suit. A simple boat ride is becoming very complicated. Mira and Aidan settle into the back of the boat, Mira on the rowing seat and Aidan in the next seat facing her. That only leaves one other seat that I presume Seth and I will have to share. A very narrow seat. Seth steps in and turns to face me. He hesitates.

“Sit,” I order, hoping to avoid the whole hand-touching scenario. “We need some ballast so I don’t go tumbling over the edge.”

“Yes, Captain,” Seth says, sitting smack in the middle of the seat. Where does he suppose I am to sit? I think I detect a smirk on his face. Mira and Aidan don’t offer any help, too amused with each other’s company to even notice.

“Scoot over. Unless you want me in your lap.”

He smiles. “Not a chance. Too much ballast.”

I sit next to him, our arms and thighs touching. Now that it is all settled and behind us, I find the tight quarters much less distressful. I can almost relax against him. It is only out of necessity, after all.

The boat keeper gives the boat a stout shove with the heel of his boot, and Mira confidently lowers one oar and flips the direction of the boat, sending us toward open water. She dips both oars and pulls smoothly. We all register our surprise.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” Seth asks.

“I spend a month every summer with my grand-parents. They have a cottage on Lake Wannapu, and Gramps handed over the oars to me when I was twelve.” She glances over her shoulder to confirm her direction. “Good thing, because by the time I was fifteen, he couldn’t row anymore—his heart, you know? But Gramps still likes to go out, and he won’t have anything to do with motors because of the buffleheads. It disturbs them. At least that’s what he says. There aren’t many at Lake Wannapu. . . .”

I listen to the even rhythm of the oars slicing through the water, the barely perceptible whoosh of Seth’s shirt rustling against my shoulder, the rattling of Mira’s endless explanation of Lake Wannapu and the buffleheads, the huffs and grunts of her propelling us across the lake, and I wonder at where I am and who I am and what I have missed because I have been afraid for so long of moments just like this, places of touching and speaking and letting others in, and even now I’m afraid, but I’m in a new place, a place where I can’t go back, a place I am being sucked to against my will, a place where a soft underside is exposed. That’s what today had done. And I don’t know if it will be the end of me or the beginning. Or maybe the end of us all. It’s possible. It’s happened before. You don’t lose points by admitting that you care about something. But it’s not points I am afraid of losing.

I allow my weight to lean slightly to the left, like the boat is jostling me. I feel Seth’s bones, his elbow, his warmth, the tightness of arm pressing against arm, the squeezing away of the space between us.

As we skim across the water, the swans the boat keeper warned us about join us, following along on either side like sentries. They are black, as dark as midnight, menacing in their color and stature, but not in their demeanor. They float like black angels, watching the waters ahead, their presence casting a silent spell over us.

Finally Seth whispers, breaking the silence. “The boat keeper was wrong. They seem to like us.”

Aidan grunts. “Today, anyway. Why am I not surprised?”

“That was my thought exactly, Aidan,” I say. “It is a rare and frightening day that you and I think alike.”

“Agreed.”

“It’s an extraordinary day,” Mira says. “And every now and then, one of those is bound to come along.”

I’m afraid Mira may be closer to the truth than she knows.

“You’re an accomplished rower, Mira,” I say, hoping to shift the conversati

on.

“Thanks, Des. I’ll be sure and tell Gramps you said so next time I see him. He takes pride in things like that.” She stops rowing, and the swans disperse, their mission apparently complete. We’re in the middle of the lake. “Should we float here for a while?”