We kissed until my lips were numb and my heart was racing, and we were both out of breath, and then our kisses changed to ones that were more lingering and softer, and then, when we were taking a small break to get our breath back, we just started talking, as we drifted across the lake, the sky huge and star-filled above us.
Maybe it was because it was dark, or because we weren’t looking right at each other, or because it was just what happens when you’re lying in a rowboat with someone. But we started talking about much more serious things than we had yet talked about. I told him what had happened with my mother, and how seeing her about to cry had scared me so much. He told me about how he worried about Davy, especially since he would be leaving for college in a year and wouldn’t be there to take care of him. And I told him what I hadn’t said out loud yet, but had been thinking for the last few weeks—that I knew my father was getting worse, and I was terrified about what was going to come.
The gaps in our conversation got longer and longer, and I finally closed my eyes and rested my head against Henry’s chest, feeling warm and secure in his arms, surrounded by the soft flannel of the sleeping bag, with the boat rocking me gently back and forth. I felt myself yawn, and a moment later, I heard Henry echo me, and even though I’d had trouble sleeping all summer, I could feel myself falling into sleep, right there in Henry’s arms, under the stars.
It was starting to get light out by the time we woke up and rowed back to the dock. I’d woken up to find that I had a series of mosquito bites on my neck—pretty much the only piece of me that had been out of the sleeping bag—while Henry had gotten about five on his hand. At first, I’d been incredibly embarrassed that I’d fallen asleep, wiping my mouth quickly, just hoping that I hadn’t drooled on him by accident, hoping that my breath wasn’t terrible. I’d never slept next to anyone (unless Lucy on my trundle bed counted, and I had a feeling that it didn’t) and was worried that I’d accidentally kicked him, or muttered in my sleep, or something.
But if I had, Henry didn’t mention it and didn’t seem bothered. I pulled the sleeping bag around my shoulders as I sat next to him on the back beam while he rowed us home. Henry had a faint crease mark along the side of his face, from where he’d slept on the sleeping bag’s seam, and his hair was sticking up in little tufts all over. And for some reason, this made him look even cuter than he normally did.
We tied up the boat and took the equipment out of it, moving quickly. Mr. Crosby normally left for the bakery a little before six, and Henry wanted to get inside so that he could pretend he’d been sleeping there the whole time.
“Thank you for my surprise,” I said, trying with all my might to resist the urge to scratch at the mosquito bites on my neck.
“Of course,” he said, leaning down and kissing me quickly. “I’ll call you later?”
I felt myself smile, and as I stretched up to kiss him again, I found I no longer cared if my breath was terrible.
I walked up the yard and around the side of the house, humming the tune that Warren had gotten stuck in my head. I was about to head inside when I stopped short—my dad was sitting at the table on the screened-in porch, a mug of coffee in front of him.
I swallowed hard and climbed the porch steps, feeling my face get hot. “Hi,” I murmured, trying to smooth my hair down, knowing exactly what this looked like.
My father was wearing his familiar blue pinstripe pajamas, with a plaid robe over them. He shook his head at me as he took a sip of his coffee, but there was something in his expression that let me know just how much he was enjoying this. “Late night?” he asked.
“Kind of,” I said, feeling myself blushing harder than ever. “Um, Henry took me out in a rowboat to see some fireworks, and then we kind of fell asleep.” Just hearing it, I realized how ridiculous it sounded.
My dad shook his head. “If I had a dime for every time I’d heard that excuse,” he said gravely, making me laugh. He arched an eyebrow at me, and I recognized the pun expression, even on my father’s much thinner face. “I’m afraid that excuse isn’t going to float,” he said, as I groaned, and took the seat next to him. “It’s kind of an either-oar situation. And if it doesn’t hold water…”
“Enough,” I said, laughing. I looked at him as he lifted the mug with both hands and took another sip. “Why are you up so early?”
He faced the back of the screened porch, the side that looked out to the water. “Wanted to watch the sunrise,” he said. I looked in that direction as well, and we sat in silence for a moment. “I should probably be lecturing you,” he said, glancing over at me. “But…” He trailed off and smiled at me, shrugging. He pointed outside, where the whole sky was turning the palest shade of pink, the color of Gelsey’s pointe shoes. “Isn’t that beautiful?” he asked, his voice not more than a whisper.