A Thousand Shades of Blue

by Robin Stevenson

  Now that I’ve met Col, I can’t stand the thought. I have this sudden crazy idea that maybe he’d take me with him.

  I imagine the two of us on Flyer, standing on the foredeck hand in hand as we sail into the wind, or anchored on a calm night and snuggled together below in the V-berth.

  It’s a stupid fantasy. It’s not going to happen. I know that.

  I climb up the ladder and find Tim sitting in the cabin alone. He’s holding his rollerblades, and he looks like he’s been crying again.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

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  He doesn’t even look up. He just points at the rollerblades. “Look. Look at this.”

  “Yeah. Your rollerblades. So?”

  “You didn’t look properly.” He clutches them closer.

  “You didn’t even bother looking.”

  He’s sounds like he’s about to lose it, so I lean closer and stare at the rollerblades. “Oh…”

  The metal buckles are covered with rust.

  Tim tries to turn the wheels but they barely move. “I saved up for months to buy these,” he says. “Months. And I’ve hardly even used them on this stupid trip because there haven’t even been any proper roads.”

  “Oh, Tim. I bet you can get new ones when we get back.”

  Tim glares at me and drops the rollerblades on the floor. “You don’t understand anything.” He stands up as if he wants to stomp off, but as usual there is nowhere to go.

  I remember Becca asking how Tim was doing and feel a pang of guilt and regret and worry. I’m a lousy big sister.

  I clear my throat and reach out to touch his arm. “Are you okay?”

  “Of course I’m not fucking okay,” he says.

  I don’t think I’ve heard him swear before. “Look,” I say.

  “If you need to talk about what happened, you know, what we saw—Mom and Wil …”

  He looks at me suspiciously. “Why?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know.” Then I confess. “I told Becca, okay? I mean, I had to tell someone. And then I felt kind of bad that I told you not to talk about it.”

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  “I don’t care,” he says. “I don’t want to talk about it anyway.”

  I stand there for a moment, scratching one ankle with the inside of my other foot and wondering what to say.

  Finally, Tim looks up. “Everything really sucks, doesn’t it?”

  “Pretty much, yeah.” I pick up one of his rollerblades and scratch at the rust with my thumb nail. “I bet Mom would buy you new ones when we get back to the States.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I can’t do it anyway.” He stares at the floor, back rounded and shoulders slumped. “I thought this trip would change things, but it hasn’t at al .”

  “Change things how?” I expect him to say something about our family, like that maybe Mom and Dad would get along better, but he doesn’t.

  “I thought maybe I’d learn how to rollerblade like the other kids,” he says. “You know. Before middle school.”

  A picture of a different Tim flashes into my head: tanned and confident, gliding on his blades up to the front doors of the school, maybe waving casual y to some girl.

  I wonder if he thought that this trip would change him.

  I’ve always thought he didn’t care about fitting in, but maybe I’ve been wrong.

  “You’re okay,” I say awkwardly. “It doesn’t matter that much if you can’t rollerblade.”

  “I know that,” he says. “In twenty years, all the dumb-ass jocks who give me a hard time will still be making minimum wage, and I’ll be a famous historian.” Tim’s mouth tightens. “But I have to get through school first.”

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  I plop down beside him on the berth. “Yeah. And we have to get through the rest of the trip before that.”

  He looks at me. “How come you hate it so much?

  Other than, you know, what we saw.”

  I try to be fair. “I don’t hate everything about it. I like sailing, when it’s not too rough, and I’m not seasick. And I like the islands and how beautiful the water is. I like snorkeling.” I think about Becca and Col and Terry. “And I like some of the people.”

  “So?”

  “So…what I can’t stand is the way we have absolutely no freedom. No control over where we go or when. It’s all on Dad’s schedule. Time for schoolwork, time to make dinner, time to clean the cockpit, time to go. He doesn’t even consult Mom, let alone us.”

  “Yeah,” Tim agrees. “All the rules. Kind of like being in school twenty-four seven.”

  “And no privacy,” I add, on a rol . “None at al .”

  He looks at me. “I’m sick of it too.”

  I wouldn’t usual y tell him this kind of thing, not back home anyway, but there aren’t a lot of other people around to talk to. “I met this guy,” I say.

  “What guy?”

  “Col. He’s got his own boat. Flyer. It’s over in Kidd Cove.” I like saying his name, like the feel of the words in my mouth. Col. Flyer. Col.

  “His own boat? Is he that pilot guy you mentioned before? How old is he?”

  “Twenty-five,” I say. “Don’t tell Mom.”

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  “As if. Anyway, I don’t think age is a big deal. My best friend here is Mango, and he’s pretty ancient.”

  “Yeah. And Dad thinks he must be a perv to hang out with a twelve-year-old.”

  Tim snorts. “Right.”

  “I know. It’s stupid. But they’d freak if they knew about Col.”“We’re leaving tomorrow anyway,” he says. “The rudder got finished this afternoon, and we’re going back in the water in the morning. Mom and Dad are out picking up bread and stuff.”

  A coldness grips my chest and settles in my bel y. “No,”

  I say, “not tomorrow. That’s too soon.”

  He looks at me, forehead wrinkling in surprise. “At least Mom will be away from Wil .”

  “I don’t care.” I make a face. “Okay, I do. But I don’t want to leave Col.”

  He shrugs. “There’s no room for a democracy on a sailboat, remember?”

  “I can’t leave without saying good-bye.”

  “How are you going to do that?”

  I glance at my watch. “Shh. I’m going to call Col before Mom and Dad get back.” I pick up the radio and this time, Col answers. We switch to a free channel.

  “I’m glad you called,” he says.

  “We’re leaving tomorrow. I wanted to say good-bye.”

  There’s a short pause. “That sucks.”

  I want him to say something more—to say he has to see me tonight—but he doesn’t.

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  “So…what are you up to tonight?” I ask, trying to sound like it doesn’t real y matter.

  “No plans. Want to hang out?”

  “Sure,” I say. “Can you meet me in town later?”

  “Seven at the Two Turtles?”

  I hesitate. I’d been thinking I could sneak out again, after Mom and Dad are in bed, but I can’t real y ask him to meet me at ten thirty. Go for it, I hear Jen whispering in my head.

  “Okay,” I say. “See you then.”

  Tim looks at me. “How exactly are you going to do that?” he asks. “Mom and Dad won’t let you go.”

  My heart is beating fast and I feel a strange exhila-ration. “Then I better leave now,” I say. “Before they get back.”

  “They’ll flip out.”

  I shrug. “Tel them I decided to stay another night at Becca’s.”

  Tim hesitates.

  “Come on, Tim.” I think about Mom kissing Will.

  “It’s not like they’re telling us the truth.”

  He shrugs. “Okay. But you know they’l kil you when you get back.”

  “What can they do? Ground me?” I la
ugh, feeling a little light-headed. “Not let me go to the mall? Or see my friends? Take away my telephone and tv privileges? Oh, wait—they already did all that.”

  Tim giggles nervously. “Good point.” He checks the time. “You better go then. They’ll be back any minute.”

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  “I’m going,” I say. I pull on a pair of jeans, grab my favorite black hoodie and shove lip gloss and a few bucks in my pocket.

  Then I wink at Tim and climb back down the ladder, looking over my shoulder for my parents the whole time.

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  I k ill time until seven, and then I walk over to the Two Turtles Inn. To my relief, Col is already sitting at a little table on the patio, wearing faded jeans and a white T-shirt that says Sail Fast, Live Slow across the chest. He’s drinking a Kalik, and he hasn’t seen me yet, so I slow down and stare a little. God, he’s gorgeous. I wish Jen could see him.

  I cross the patio and sit down across from him.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey.” He grins, an easy grin that spreads slowly across his face and warms me inside. He hasn’t shaved for a couple of days, and it makes him look totally sexy. “I wasn’t sure what you’d want so I didn’t order for you.”

  “Kalik’s fine,” I say.

  Col catches the waiter’s eye, points to his beer and holds up one finger. “So you really have to go tomorrow?”

  “Yeah. It looks that way.”

  “Man. We’re just getting to know each other.”

  “I know. It sucks.”

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  He shrugs. “That’s cruising for you. Meet cool people and say good-bye.” He drinks some beer. “Where are you going anyway?”

  “Turks and Caicos.” A hopeful thought hits me. “Are you going there too?”

  Col shakes his head. “No, probably not. Anyway, I kind of like it here.”

  “Oh.” I bite my bottom lip. “Wel , I guess it’s good-bye then.”

  “We’ve still got tonight,” he says, winking at me.

  I remember what Becca said about him being a player: Lots of girls. Lots. I take a long drink of my beer to avoid looking at him for a moment. My cheeks are hot. I don’t want to be just another girl.

  Z

  We stay for a second drink. Col tel s me about his brothers and about flying and how he’d wanted to be a pilot even when he was a kid. He talks about his life back home, which makes me feel sad because I’ll never be a part of it.

  Then he stops abruptly and laughs. “You know, they say you should avoid people who sail single-handed. All that time alone makes us a bit crazy. When someone actual y listens, you can’t shut us up.”

  I smile at him. “That’s okay. I don’t mind.”

  “You’re sweet. But come on, tell me more about yourself.”

  But I can’t tell him about my friends, or about school, without letting on that I’m only sixteen. I don’t have a 144

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  job to talk about. I don’t even have a dream. What have I always wanted to do? I can’t think of anything. I’ve always wanted to move out, I guess.

  So I end up telling him about Emma. I tell him about the accident, though not about my one-armed doll.

  I tell him about the bleeding in her brain and how the doctors didn’t know if she’d ever regain conscious-ness. I tell him a little about living with her, and how hard it was sometimes, and about how she moved out last year. I tell him about how I visited her every Tuesday, right up until this trip.

  He nods. “I had a cousin who lived in a group home.

  Some of those residents were a lot smarter than people gave them credit for.”

  “Emma’s like that,” I say, surprised. “I mean, she obviously couldn’t manage on her own. But sometimes when you think she’s not real y understanding a conversation, she’ll come right out with something real y surprising.

  She’s perceptive, in her own way. But people don’t see that.

  They only see this skinny girl who walks funny and can’t talk quite right. Whenever we go out as a family, people are always staring and saying things.”

  “People don’t think,” Col says. “People say things without thinking, all the time. They don’t think about the impact their words have.”

  “And they do things without thinking,” I add, picturing Mom and Wil . Though of course, I don’t know that she wasn’t thinking. For all I know, she’d been planning to have an affair. But I doubt it.

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  “That too,” Col says. Then he grins. He pulls some money out of his pocket, lays it on the table and places his empty beer bottle on top. “But sometimes people think too much. Come on. Let’s go have some fun.”

  Z

  We walk down to the beach in the dark. It’s a clear night with a million stars, and all I want is to sit on the beach with Col and count every single one of them. Every so often I’l think about my parents, and a wave of dread threatens to spoil my mood. Tim’s right. They’ll kill me when I get back.

  Or at least Mom will look all sad and hurt, and Dad wil give me a long lecture about how disappointed they are and how they just can’t understand me, and how a family is like a chain and can only be as strong as the weakest link.

  That’s me, I guess. I’m the weakest fucking link. Go figure.

  I trip over nothing at all and sprawl in the road clutching my ankle. “Shit. Shit. Ow.”

  Col helps me up. “Last time I walked with you, you were falling over too. Is this a habit of yours?” He looks at my face and his eyes narrow with concern. “Are you okay?”

  “I will be,” I moan, rocking back and forth in the dirt.

  “Ow. I’m such a klutz.”

  “Don’t say that,” Col says. He reaches down to help me up. “I prefer to think that I keep sweeping you off your feet.”

  I can’t help laughing, even though my ankle real y does 146

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  hurt. I take his hand, scramble awkwardly to my feet and wince as I try to hobble a few steps.

  “Here,” Col says. “I’ll give you a piggyback.” He bends low so I can put my arms around his neck; then he straightens up. “Jeez, you’re such a tiny little thing. You don’t weigh anything.”

  My hands are on his shoulders, and I can smell his shampoo. “Yeah, I know. I’m like five-foot-nothing. I got called Shrimp for my entire childhood.”

  He laughs. “I got called Birdie.”

  “Birdie?”

  “Yeah. Grade one I used to bring toy planes to school all the time, and I never lived it down. At first I got called Pilot, which I liked quite a bit when I was six, but it went downhill from there. Pilot, to Flyer, to Flapper, to Birdie.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yeah. Speaking of which, how’s the ankle doing?”

  “Mmm. It hurts.” Actual y it feels a little better, but I don’t want him to put me down quite yet.

  “Maybe we should go back to my boat instead of going to the beach. Put a tensor bandage on it.”

  I hesitate. I’d like to go to his boat again. Plus then I could stop worrying that we might run into my parents.

  But I’m not sure what might happen. I’m not sure what would have happened last night if the rain hadn’t started.

  “It’s up to you,” he says quickly. “Whatever you want.”

  I don’t know what he’s expecting from me, and that scares me a little. What scares me more is that I almost don’t care. “Okay,” I say. “Sure. Let’s go to your boat.”

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  Z

  The cold front hasn’t arrived yet, and the dinghy ride out to Col’s boat is short and calm. Col helps me out of the dinghy, and I hobble down the steps into the warm and cozy cabin. I sit down and cross my injured ankle across my knee to examine it. A cat jumps up beside me, and I remember the green eyes I saw on the ca
bin roof when I came here with Becca.

  “Hey, you do have a cat,” I say. “I thought I saw one last time, but then it disappeared.”

  “She usually hides when I have company,” Col says, stroking her. The cat purrs loudly. “Her name is Orion.”

  “Isn’t Orion a boy?”

  He shrugs. “Yeah. But I thought it suited her.” He sits down beside me and touches my sandal. “Can I look?”

  I unbuckle the strap and slip the sandal off. My ankle looks fine to me.

  Col holds my foot gently in one hand and runs the other over my ankle.

  I shiver.

  “It doesn’t look swollen,” he says. He flexes it slightly.

  “Does this hurt?”

  “Mmm. Yeah, a little.” I don’t want him to stop touching me.

  “I’m going to raid the first-aid kit,” he says. “Back in a flash.”

  I flick through his cds. Other than the Jack Johnson he was playing the other night, it’s mostly not my kind of 148

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  music. There’s a ton of Caribbean stuff I’ve never heard of, some other names I don’t recognize and some oldies my mom listens to: Neil Young, Joni Mitchel , Simon and Garfunkel.

  “Good idea,” Col says when he comes back. “Any preference?”

  I shake my head. “Just not the Simon and Garfunkel.”

  He laughs. “Jazz okay?”

  “Great,” I say, although I’m not real y sure what jazz is except for Louis Armstrong, and I couldn’t tell you a single song he did.

  The music is perfect though—a woman’s voice, low and soft and kind of simmering. Over the vhf, I hear the interruption of one boat hailing another. Tara, Tara. This is Present Moment. Go to channel seventy-two. Just part of the soundtrack of living aboard. It’s considered good etiquette to leave the radio turned on in case another boat needs help.

  Col sits down beside me. “Okay, let me get this bandage on for you.”

  I put my foot on the berth between us. Col lifts it careful y and places it on his thigh. His jeans are ripped across the knee and I can see his bare skin, golden brown against the faded denim. He wraps the tensor bandage snugly around my foot and ankle and then fastens it with a clip.