Evidence of Life

Chapter 7



At the marina, they walk along a pier between rows of moored boats. They’re all different sizes, mostly crisp white, trimmed in red or green or blue, like rows of Spectator shoes. Nick carries the cooler with their picnic supper in one hand, the other rests lightly in the small of Abby’s back. She’s aware of sea birds wheeling overhead, the gentle slap of water against the pilings under their feet, the jostling of boats caught in their moorings. The slight shift and tilt of their masts gives the impression of impermanence. She’s anxious. What if she falls?

But Nick’s hand is there as if he intuits her unease, a solid prop beneath her elbow, as he helps her over the side of a pretty blue-and-white boat, then hands the cooler to her. Abby manages to hold herself steady, but when she goes forward, he says why doesn’t she sit in the cockpit, and she thinks, there. Now he’ll know she’s ignorant. She had no idea that a boat had a cockpit. Planes. Planes had cockpits.

She sits down, putting the cooler beside her. He frees the knot that tethers the boat to the dock, then steps around doing other things. She would like to help, but she has no idea how. The wind picks at her hair, whipping it across her cheeks and eyes, and she pulls it away, tucking strands behind her ears.

Nick finds her gaze from where he’s standing on a step above her. “You’ve never been sailing before.”

“No,” she admits, and her heart pecks at her ribs, a nervous bird. She loves the look and sound of water but from the shore. Her pale skin only burns and peels. She never tans. Nick looks as though he was born tan.

He tells her it’s okay. “When there’s a good wind like today, I can usually single-hand her with just the jib.”

She nods. Should she ask, what’s a jib? Should she worry about his use of the word usually?

“You’ll see when we get into open water.” He jumps down beside her, and within seconds, she hears motor noise. She hadn’t expected that, and she’s thankful. They clear the dock area but are still within sight of land when Nick begins unfurling a sail. “This is the jib,” he explains, “and these ropes are the halyards.” He lets the thick cords play through his hands.

She shades her eyes, watching the white canvas-sheeting rise.

“People think sailing is hard,” Nick says, “but for me it’s as easy as breathing.” He grins at her. “Stick with me, kid, you’ll make first mate in no time.”

She’s laughing when he cuts the engine, then a hard wave slaps the boat, and she grabs the railing. Nick is there instantly, sliding his hand beneath her elbow, telling her to relax, to flex her knees. “I’ve got you; I won’t let you go,” he says.

Abby loses focus. Her whole awareness is consumed by her sense of him, the feel of the calluses on his palm, the slow, confident pitch of his voice near her ear. And then it happens: she unlocks her knees as he’s instructed and all at once the boat’s rhythm takes her, and it is as if her body has become unjointed, as fluid and formless as the water that surrounds them. And she smiles, feeling thrilled. Nick gives her elbow a jubilant squeeze. He bends to tie a rope onto a metal cleat. The little boat catches the wind now and leaps ahead, slicing through the water almost as if it weren’t there, as if they were flying.

She tips her face to the sky. The blue seems without end, translucent, an inverted fragile cup, the blue of a robin’s egg. The blue of June. Endless blue with hours of daylight left in it. She thinks Nick is right, the predictions for evening thunderstorms were mistaken and she is relieved. Soon he has guided them into a secluded cove. Abby opens the cooler to find one long-stemmed pink rose, a thick lush bud with petals that are just beginning to unfurl. Lifting it out she looks up at Nick to find him smiling down on her.

“I wanted to thank you for coming with me,” he says.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmurs.

“I know.” He is looking steadily at her.

Flustered, she brings the bud to her nose, breathing in its faintly heady scent. “It needs water or it will wilt.”

“I can take care of that,” he says and disappears down the stairs that lead below deck.

Abby sets down the rose, feeling ridiculously pleased, a sensation that deepens as she unpacks the small feast Nick brought for them. There is an assortment of crackers and exotic cheeses, a crusty loaf of bread, peach chutney, a small container of caviar, a bunch of red grapes so flawless they glow like polished rubies in the early evening light. There are tiny cream-filled éclairs for dessert. It occurs to her that he took the time to shop specifically for this occasion, and she is somehow touched by this. It seems so foolish and romantic, so unexpected. She hasn’t known him very long, but he seems too serious for romance, too pragmatic.

He comes from the galley bringing a small vase and a basket filled with china plates, linen napkins and crystal stemware. He sets a hurricane lamp on the adjacent bench seat, lights the candle inside it, then uncorks the wine. He watches while she takes a sip, and only after she’s pronounced it delicious does he relax. He talks about sailing, and she is happy just to listen to him. She wants to touch the corner of his mouth where he has cut himself shaving, to put her fingertip into the dimple that clefts his left cheek. At the office, the other secretaries call him a player. Her stomach waffles at the thought.

He wonders if she would like to swim.

“I didn’t bring a suit.” She fingers her linen skirt, eyes her flats. She had come with him straight from work.

He takes her hand. “You don’t swim either, do you?”

“No.” She can’t look at him and looks instead at their enfolded arms. His is dark, olive-toned, hers as white as typing paper. As white as his teeth when he smiles at her. He slides his palm along the ridge of her jaw, cupping her neck, drawing her toward him, and his kiss is gentle, tentative at first, then it deepens and she gives herself to it, shivering in the fearsome thrust of her desire for him. His mouth moves to the hollow of her throat. She arches her back, aware that she is thrusting herself at him, and she is appalled and enchanted. But then, when thunder cracks, she jerks upright, uncertain what has happened. She wipes her mouth, looking wildly about herself.

Nick takes her by her shoulders. “Hey,” he says, and it is a moment before she sees him, before she recalls where she is. The wind picks up. Clouds muscle the sky as bunched and ominous as dark fists, and her breath draws down hard.

Nick tips her chin, forcing her gaze to his. “Don’t worry. I can beat the rain. It’ll be fine, you’ll see.”

But it isn’t fine. Within moments of packing up and stowing their dishes and leaving the little cove, the water goes from choppy to rough. The swells seem huge. Nick switches on the motor, and Abby hears it strain. She flattens her hands on either side of her, spray from the water dampening her hair and her clothes, while Nick moves nimbly, adjusting the ropes, handling the wheel. His face is intent, his expression rapt. He’s loving this, she thinks.

A sudden sharper gust of wind heels the Blue Daze over. Water swamps the deck, filling Abby’s shoes. Her throat closes. She will not scream, will not be sick and shame herself. Lights finally appear, a necklace of them lie curled in the distance. She blinks to be sure. Yes. The lights are there, on the shore, coming closer. Nick meets her glance, looking exultant.

At the pier, he hands her out of the boat, and when she slips in her wet shoes, he reaches out to steady her, pulling her against him. His gaze locks with hers. “You were afraid?”

He’s asked because she’s trembling, and at first she nods, then almost immediately, she shakes her head. Out over the water, lightning forks rake the sky. Within a few seconds, thunder growls. Nick disappears over the boat rail and returns with a lightweight blanket. Wrapping her in it, he bends, brushing his lips against her temple, and he is as surprised as she is when her eyes fill with tears.

He thumbs them away, then cups her cheek in his hand.

She covers it with her own and when he softly tells her, “I didn’t mean to scare you,” she believes him.