“Don’t talk about Kimber like that.”
“Hey, I love Kimber,” he says, reaching out and pulling Janelle close to his side. “I adore Kimber. Worship her, in fact.”
“High praise,” I say, taking a swig of beer.
“She makes him happy. We’ve all been a little tense since Eva joined us. Everyone’s adjusting.”
I frown but say nothing. Tense is mild for whatever vibe Eva and Emmy were putting off earlier.
“Plus, Kimber tells it like it is,” Macon says, shrugging. “I admire that.”
Janelle stares at her fingernails, and Macon opens a bag of pretzels, crunching loudly. I get the overwhelming feeling that telling it like it is means talking about how messed up I am when it comes to Maggie. Maybe I’m being paranoid, but there’s definitely a tone to the air after Macon’s comment, and it makes me squirm. I swallow a huge mouthful of beer.
Then another.
I’m on my third giant gulp when I spot Eva, walking gracefully down the pier in a pair of tiny denim shorts. The string of a kelly-green bikini is knotted behind her neck and peeks out from underneath her light-gray tank top like a little secret.
“Like I said, go easy on that beer, Grey Goose,” Macon says, digging a ginger ale out of the cooler near my feet and handing it to Janelle. “Higher alcohol content than that Bud Light nonsense.” He chucks me under the chin and calls to Luca to help him untie the boat from the dock, but I keep staring at Eva.
And she keeps staring at me, her smile free of all that awkwardness in the Michaelsons’ hallway earlier. I want to know what’s going on, why she and Emmy are fighting and what Emmy won’t let her do, but right now, with the warming sun on my back and Eva walking closer and closer, I just want to have fun and laugh and, to be honest, get a little tipsy on some non-pissy beer.
The finally hot July sun soaks into my skin, imbuing me with a sort of giddy-hysterical feeling I’m sort of enjoying.
Or maybe that’s Macon’s beer.
Either way, once Macon and Luca untie Emmaline from the pier and we’re moving over the sun-sparkled Atlantic, the atmosphere on the boat is a little less tense and a little more Fourth of July. After we drop anchor about a mile offshore, Luca and I even manage to eke out a few jokes. As usual, I rag him about putting mayonnaise on his hot dog, and he finally gives me crap about my fear of Flipper.
“Dolphins are super friendly,” Kimber points out. She is real as shit sipping her beer through a bendy straw.
Macon laughs. “Just wait until she goes for a swim and a teeny-tiny fish brushes her ankle.” He mimes silent screaming and pulls on his hair. Janelle smacks him on the shoulder. It’s like their love language.
“Well, you’ll never know,” I say through a bite of hot dog. “Because there’s no way I’m getting in that water. It’s still cold as hell.”
“It’s always cold as hell,” Luca says.
“You’re only making my point.”
He smirks at me. Then he swallows the mouthful of barbecue chips he’s chewing and steps up on the edge of the boat.
“Luca,” Janelle says, but that’s all she gets out before he launches himself off the boat and into the ocean, releasing a high-pitched yell when he hits the water.
In minutes, he’s climbing up the ladder and dripping the salty sea all over the boat’s floor. “See, Gray? Nothing to it.” Then he grabs a towel and sits back down next to Kimber, who grins like a lovesick puppy and glides her hand through his wet hair while he stuffs some more chips into his mouth. I don’t point out that his skin is tinged purple.
We all laugh at him. We all eat and drink and tell dumb stories like any other Fourth. It feels a bit like Scotch tape holding together a broken vase, but I can’t understand why. I can’t figure out why things with Luca and me are so . . . un–Luca and me. But right now I don’t care. I can’t care. It’s summer and this beer tastes good and my thoughts are light and airy and Eva’s green bikini is ridiculously gorgeous against her dark skin and gold-flecked eyes.
Close to sunset, Janelle goes below deck to nap while Luca and Macon settle at the bow to play rummy. They’ve had a running game going for years, their scores somewhere in the thousands by now. Kimber fiddles with her fancy-looking camera and snaps pictures of them, the sky, the horizon, the shore. I’m about to suck it up and go talk to her about whatever the hell just to smooth out all the weirdness between us, when Eva taps my shoulder. I turn to find her grinning.
“What?” I ask.
“Come over here with me.” She tilts her head toward the stern.
“Over where?”
She keeps grinning and takes my hand, weaving me through the seats near the steering wheel, around the door to the cabin, and toward the stern of the boat.
“Um, no,” I say, digging in my heels.
“You don’t even know what we’re doing.”
“Oh, yes, I do. You’re about to sit on the back of the boat and probably dangle your feet over the edge, which is pretty much just asking for a shark or a humpback to come bite them off.”
“A humpback?”
“Yes, Eva, a damn humpback.”
She presses her lips flat, clearly trapping in a laugh. “You’re a strange little bird.”
“A little bird with all of my toes still attached.”
“Birds don’t have toes.”
“Talons, then.” I curl the fingers of both of my hands into claws, but she just laughs. Then she takes one of my hands and wraps it around her own back, pulling us closer together.
“I’m not afraid of your talons,” she says softly.
Her eyes flick down to my lips and my mouth goes dry. The cool wind blows her hair into my face and mine into hers. We’re all mixed up, and just when I think we’re finally going to kiss again, she pulls back.
“Come on.” She releases my hand and climbs up on padded seats that line the stern. Then, just as I knew she would, she throws her legs over them, settling on the couple feet of flat space covered with some non-stick faux-wood coating right above the propeller. A little silver ladder descends into the choppy blue abyss.
She glances at me hovering behind her and pats the spot next to her. “Here we go, little bird.”
I don’t fight her. Hell, as much as I hate the water, I don’t even want to. She’s been pretty quiet since we set sail, and there’s no way I’m passing up some time alone with her, especially in the light of day. Once I’m next to her, I curl my feet underneath me and get as far away from the edge as possible. The water is choppy, and a spray of cold ocean flecks our legs.
“See?” she says. “That wasn’t so hard.”
“Tell me that when I’m curled into a fetal position and sucking my thumb because I spotted a fin a hundred yards away.”
She laughs. “Come on, you can’t say this isn’t nice.” She lifts her arms to the sky and throws her head back, the sun glinting off her skin and hair.