Authors: Jolene Perry
When I’m next to her,
I don
’t wait for an invite, just sit
down, letting my legs hang over the side
.
“Hey.” She smiles. “Isn’t this amazing?”
“What?”
“Are you kidding? Being pushed through the water by the wind! The warm sun in March! A million things!” She
smiles and
leans her arms on the railing in front of us.
I
rest t
he way sh
e is.
Now that I’m sitting and relaxed, the water’s not really rushing. Just moving by.
S
ailing means you don’t get anywhere very fast. But in a way it doesn’t matter because we’re already on the boat, which means, we’re moving, but we’re also there.
The metal wires and clips
occasionally rattle against the mast
,
and there’s a whistling sound as the wind pushes through the resistance we’ve created with the sails. “Yeah,
all of it. It’s sort of amazing,
”
I agree. And I’m really feeling it, how cool this all is. I love the unique experiences I’ve had with Mom, but this is a pretty awesome too.
“I was thinking…” she starts.
“Yeah?”
“I’m sure if feels weird to be here, you know, after New York and everything.”
“It feels weird to be there, too. Or even when David was here. That felt off.”
Everywhere feels “off” right now.
Her eyes hit me. “Sorry.”
I shrug. “It is what it is
.
”
She pulls in a d
eep breath. “So, I was thinking. W
e’re now on a trip
, so y
ou’re the guy
on vacation w
ith your dad and his girlfriend and his girlfriend’s daughter on his million dollar sailboat, and that’s it.”
“That’s it.” I stare.
“Yeah. There’s no trying to fit
,
or trying to be
something you’re not,
or holding up prete
nses or anything. You’re Antony. Y
our dad’s a writer, and you’re
sailing
. That’s it.”
And I’m falling for you,
I want to add. But don’t. “Thanks.”
She smiles and then her gaze wanders back out to the ocean.
And
her words kind of
make sense. I don’t have to fit.
I just have to be here and enjoy.
Amber
looks
relaxed, p
eaceful. I guess that answers one of my
first question
s
when I saw her. She loves living on a
boat. She doesn’t feel trapped. M
aybe I shouldn’t feel trapped either.
Twelve
“You sure spend a lot of time on that thing.” Dad gestures with his head to my computer.
I shrug.
“How’s email sorting going?”
Right. The thing I’m supposed to be doing.
“I haven’t…
uh…”
He takes his glasses off and leans forward. “I know it’s not going to be easy, but there’s important stuff in there.”
I keep my eyes off him
, my fingers, arms and shoulders tensing
.
Writing groove gone.
“And it’ll still be there
when I’m ready for it.”
“Antony.”
I jerk my face from the screen to look at him. “Can we drop it, please?”
“You boys ready for dinner?” Lynn jogs down the steep stairs like
they’re
regular steps.
“Anything but breakfast.” I
let out the breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.
She
laugh
s
.
Dad’s still staring.
“I’ll help ya.” Dad stands up and runs a hand through her hair.
Lynn glance
s back over her shoulder at him in a look that’s unmistakable.
Guess we’re off topic for now.
I try not to watch as I write, but I can’t help it. The touching as they move in the tiny kitchen is something I’ve never been around. They work together, reach around each other, and still seem to get a thrill from every look and every
brush
.
They kiss a few t
imes, and I don’t even mind it…
mu
ch. Dad
seem
s relaxed and happy.
Lynn looks relaxed and happy. No wonder Amber’s confused
about why they’re not
together
, together
.
Suddenly it feels like I need to give them space, so I close my computer and head outside into the sun. Amber has the captain’s chair
. She’s reading on her K
indle, and I watch as she glances over it, punches a few buttons on the navigation screen
,
and then goes back to reading.
“Hey.”
“Oh my gosh, Antony.” Her eyes are wide, but she looks almost like she’s going to cry.
“What?” Now I’m wary, afraid to move toward her, or away from her, and worried about saying anything.
“I’m like
a third of the way through this. I
t’s amazing.”
“A third of the way through what?” I ask.
“Your book.”
“This is so weird.” I shake my head.
It’s like she’s seeing through me, into me.
“You write such beautiful things. Do you really feel that deeply?”
I rub my face with my hands
as if I need to take off a layer of skin. “This is why it’s weird when people read what I’ve written.”
“Sorry. It’s
really good
.
”
Her crystal blue eyes are soft
, and there’s a f
aint smile that I really want to kiss into a bigger one.
“Thanks.”
She’s reading about the guy w
ho lives in Bosnia. I met a few
cool people my age there. Their parents worked at the hotel Mom and I
stayed at
. The
kids worked
, too, but on a tip-only basis. Mom tipped them well, so they were around a lot. We had
a blast.
“Can we change the subject now?” I ask.
“Wanna learn to drive a sailboat?”
“Uh…”
I don’t know where to even begin.
“Come here.” Her face holds challenge.
Now
that it’s practically a dare,
I can’t pass
it
up.
She runs me th
rough how to use the navigation. I
t’s all pretty simple, basic. I’ve seen apps for the iPad to help navigate airplanes, boats, all sorts of stuff.
This is a bit
similar.
The problem is that she’s close. Very close. And it’s hard to think about anything but her,
breathing her in, what her skin
would feel like under my hands.
She stands behind me
as I sit in the captain’s chair. Her hands rest on my shoulders. “Now see the small ribbons on the sails?”
I look to where she’s pointing, and try to concentrate with her so close.
“Y
eah.”
“The closer they are
to
flapping straight back, the better we’re doing at trimming the sails.”
“Oh.” It only sort of makes sense.
“See how
on
the first sail
, the ribbons are
flapping a lot and pointing like 45 degrees
down?”
“Y
eah.”
“Let’s tighten it up, and see if we gain any more speed.”
A
gain, I have no idea what to do, but for the first time I kind of
want
to know.
She points
to the deck in front of us.
“All the lines come to you, the captain.”
“Captain.” I nod. “Awesome.”
She laughs, her hands back on my shoulders. “The f
irst sail’s lines are dark blue. S
ee them tied off here?”
“Yeah.” I stand and her hands slide off me.
Sucks.
She grabs the lines like a pro,
no hesitation,
and shows me how to slide the crank handle in so we can
pull
them more tightly.
“Hey, check it out.” I point
to the ribbons that are now headed almost straight back
.
“Nice. Did we gain any speed?”
“Oh, right.” I sit and pull up our chart again
to read the GPS
. “Half a knot?”
“Cool. One small adjustment.”
“Yeah.” One small adjustment
gained us some speed
.
That
lesson probably bleeds over into other stuff.
- - -
Amber and I sit at the table after
dinner. She’s doing schoolwork.
I’m trying not to look bored. It’s like getting a little close to her, makes me want to be a
lot
close
r
to her, but we’re on a boat, with both ou
r parents. This makes my goal tricky
because of the close supervision, but eas
ier because we’re together
.
“
It feels weird that you’re
in the tiny bunkroom
,
” I say
.
It’s where David slept—
a sma
ll room with
bunk beds
.
“I
’ve always sl
ep
t
in t
here.
It’s a cozy room
.”
“
Mom would have smacked me for this kind of behavior.” I smile, even though the thought stabs at my insides.
“It’s what I’ve
always
done when we go out together.” She shrugs and continues with her workbook.
“Why didn’t you use my room?
When I wasn’t here?
”
That doesn’t make any sense.
“It was an office. Y
our dad converted it before you got here.” She doesn’t even slow down in her writing.
“Oh.”
Dad switched it over? For me?
I’m
a jerk. I walked into that room and saw a prison on a dumpy boat. The thing is, this isn’t a dumpy boat.
It’s just not the kind of boat I’d choose to live on. Though, since I’d never choose to live on a boat, that’s not really fair.
Amber grins as she pauses in her writing.
“What’s up?”
“Kent sent me this hysterical email.”
“Oh.” Perfect.
Captain America makes an appearance even though we’re in the middle of the ocean. Brilliant.
“The gr
oup went out last night, and…” B
ut she stops. “Sorry, you don’t really know anyone, so it wouldn’t be funny to you.”
I don’t agree or disagree. I pull up the novel I wrote that Amber doesn’t have. Why did I never let Mom read these? Why didn’t I tell her
I’d finished
? We were close.
She should have known that
I was doing more with writing than goofing around.
I pull my eyes from the screen just as Dad and Lynn kiss.
Why haven’t Dad and I spent time together? Was New York that bad? Was I weird to be around? Was Mom?
He wants me here. He’s said it. He converted his office for me.
But how does th
at fit with the guy I barely knew or
talk
ed
to?
The guy who left when I was three?
My life has felt pretty full.
Mom was always bu
sy, but let me be busy with her
. And while I grew up, it generally was a relief when Dad
wouldn’t call for long periods of time.
And now that I’m watching Dad and Lynn
,
I wond
er why Mom never tried for that.
I start to wonder what holds Amber’s mom back.
Well, and while I’m at it, since A
mber feels something for me,
I want to know what’s holding her back, too.
Amber’
s hand on my shoulder makes me
jump.
There’s way too much floating around in me right now. Amber, stupid Kent, Mom, Dad, missed opportunities.