Colton pauses, smiles at me with those eyes, and then looks out over the water. “With the ocean, is what he meant, that I’d take after him and want to be in it all the time, one way or another.” He looks back at me. “He was right. Couldn’t keep me on the shore after that day.”
I know this is a version of the truth, and it’s the one he’s letting me know. But I also know about the years when he was sick, times that did keep him on the shore, and in and out of the doctors’ offices and the hospital. Part of me wishes I could ask him about it, but the other part doesn’t want to think of him that way.
“I don’t really have anything like that,” I say. Anymore, I finish in my head. I see a flash of dirt road, Trent’s shoes, the two of us matching step for step, breath for breath, and guilt twists in me. “My sister and I used to run together, but she’s been gone at school, so I don’t really do it without her.” It’s the version of the truth I can let him know.
“That’s too bad,” Colton says. He looks like he’s about to ask a question again but thinks better of it. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been out here, but there’s this cool place my dad showed me that I’ve been wanting to see again. It’s a little tricky to get to, but worth it. You wanna try?”
I don’t answer for a moment. Taking a kayak into the ocean truly scares me, but I trust him in a way that’s so easy, it’s almost scarier. I look away quickly, out over the edge of the bluff, down to the water swirling over the rocks, which is exactly what my stomach feels like.
“Okay. Let’s try it.” I don’t sound very convincing.
Colton works to keep a straight face, but a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “You sure?”
I nod.
“You seem scared. Don’t be scared. Just do what I tell you, when I tell you, and you’ll be fine.” He pauses and lets the smile creep slowly over his face, and though he doesn’t say anything else, I can feel the rest of his dad’s words swirl around in the breeze that picks up between us right then.
Colton grabs more gear out of his bus, and before I have a chance to answer, or change my mind or think things through, I’ve got the lifejacket on over my bathing suit, Colton is wearing a rash guard with his trunks, and we’re lugging the kayak down the cement stairs to the pebbly beach. We’re both a little out of breath as he pulls it to the waterline and gestures for me to sit in the front seat. I do, and he hands me a paddle. “You ready?”
“Right now? Don’t I need a lesson or something first?”
Colton looks entertained. “This is the lesson. It’s easiest to show you in the water. It’s pretty small, so just get in and I’ll paddle us out there. Then I’ll show you. Sound good?” He smiles down at me, and I muster all the confidence I can to answer.
“Yep,” I manage, but my heart pounds out steady worry in my chest as a wave breaks over the rocks in front of us, rolling them up the beach with a low shush. This is actually happening.
“Here we go!” Colton’s voice says from behind me. The kayak surges forward, then rocks hard as he jumps in, knocking me off-balance for a moment. But in the next moment his weight steadies us, and I feel his paddle dig into the water on one side and then the other, and we’re moving forward. I tense as a wave rolls toward us, standing up taller as it gets closer, like it’s going to break before we can make it over; but Colton digs his paddle in harder, and we pass over it easily, the kayak climbing up the front of the wave and sliding down the back. Colton digs in one more time on each side and then we glide, smooth and steady over the surface of the water. Finally, I exhale.
“That wasn’t as scary as you thought it was gonna be, was it?” he says from behind me.
I turn around as best I can in the stiff life jacket, surprised, and proud when I answer, “It wasn’t at all.”
“Little victories,” he says.
I watch him a moment longer, watch him lean back in the seat and take a deep breath like he’s drinking in the morning, as if doing that is a little victory in itself; and I suppose it is. It makes me feel like I do know him right then. Like in those two words is a glimpse of the kind of person he is.
“I love that,” I say. “Little victories.”
“They’re the ones that count. Like being out here today, right now.”
His words hang there between us in the bright sunlight, and I can see he means them. When his eyes sweep over the sky and the water and the rocks, and then come back to mine and rest there, green and calm, I want to tell him I know the truth. That I know why he can see things that way. I want to tell him who I am and what I was doing in the café the other day. The words all start to push their way to the surface, rising like stray air bubbles through the water.
“We’re drifting,” Colton says. The bubbles dissipate, and my words float away, unspoken, on the current.
He smiles and lifts the paddle from his lap, pulling me back to the moment. “Time to learn. You ready?”
I nod, still twisted around.
“All right. You’re gonna hold on to the paddle here and here, where these grips are,” he says, demonstrating.
“Okay.” Thankful for something else to focus on, I face forward, grab my own paddle that’s been balancing on my legs, wrap my hands around the grips, and hold it straight out in front of me. “Like this?”
Colton laughs. “Perfect. Now turn back around for a sec so I can show you how to do it.”
I do, and he digs his paddle into the water on one side in a strong and steady stroke that sends us gliding gently over the inky-smooth surface. Then he brings that side out and does the same with the opposite end of the paddle. “It’s like you’re making circles with your hands, the way you do with your feet when you pedal a bike. Try it.”
He rests his paddle on his legs, and I nod and turn around to try it. The first stroke I take is too shallow, and my paddle just skips over the surface of the water. We don’t budge. I feel my cheeks redden.
“Try again. Dig it in deeper.”
I concentrate on using my arms to push the paddle down through the water like Colton did and am astonished when we actually sail forward a few feet.