Z
“Hey, slacker.”
It’s Tim. He and Mom are back. I sit up and rub my eyes. I’ve dozed off in the sun, lying by the pool, and I think I may have got a burn. “How was the gallery?”
“Incredible.” Tim bounces on the balls of his feet.
“Really, really cool.”
“Wow,” I say flatly. “How exciting.”
Tim misses my sarcasm. “It’s in this old mansion that’s been restored,” he says. “It was worth going just to see the architecture. Did you know that it’s over a hundred and forty years old?”
“Nope, can’t say I did.”
He looks at me reprovingly. “It real y was very interesting. You should have come with us.”
“Uh-huh.” I shade my eyes with my hand and look up at them. “So…”
“I’ve booked us tickets,” Mom says. “We’re flying back to Georgetown tomorrow.”
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Z
The plane lands with a bump and coasts down the runway.
Tim and I are sitting together on one side, and Mom is sitting across the aisle. She’s holding her notebook, but she’s not writing in it. She’s looking out the window, and I can’t see her face. I wonder how she’s feeling.
Tim and I are planning to disappear for a few hours.
Obviously, Mom and Dad have to talk. After that, we’ll see.
Mom says maybe we’l al stay and keep sailing together and try to work things out. If Dad’s willing. Or maybe she’ll leave, and Tim and I can decide what we want to do.
Keep sailing with Dad or fly home with Mom.
I think of Becca and Col and Mango and Terry. All the boats and the clear blue water and the world underneath the surface. Then I think about Jen and all my school friends and weekends at the mal . My bedroom at home.
Snowbanks at the sides of our driveway. Emma.
Two different lives.
For most of the last few months I would’ve happily hopped a flight home if I’d had half a chance. Now I’m not so sure.
The plane rolls to a stop, and we unbuckle our seat-belts. Outside the window, I can see the blue sky of the Exumas. We’re back in Georgetown.
Z
Dad’s talking to Terry in the boatyard. He breaks off when he sees us coming. “You’re back.”
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We all nod. It feels like we’ve been gone longer than three nights.
“Wel , the boat’s back in the water,” Dad says. “Good as new.”
“Great,” Mom says. It sounds hollow to me, but maybe only because I know what is coming.
Dad doesn’t seem to notice. “With a little luck, we’ll be able to get our old spot back over in Red Shanks.”
Right beside Freebird. I look at Tim and then at my parents. “Uh, Tim and I are going to take a walk,” I say.
Z
We head into town. I feel a little sick, thinking about what Mom has to tell Dad. If Tim and I hadn’t seen her with Wil , maybe no one would ever have known. Maybe that would have been better, I don’t know. It’s weird to think about. It makes me wonder how many secrets lie beneath the surface. It makes me wonder how well I know anyone.
I can’t imagine what Mom will say or how Dad will react. I remember the words Mom let slip out: He’s hardly in a position to pass judgment. I think about all Dad’s late nights at the office, all those weekends at conferences. If he’s had affairs too, I don’t want to know.
Tim is scuffling his feet against the sunbaked dirt, stirring up a cloud of reddish dust as he walks.
“I’m never going to cheat on anyone,” I say. “And I’ll never stay with anyone who cheats on me. If I ever have 221
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a serious relationship, there won’t be any lies. There won’t be any secrets.”
“You can’t know that. You can’t predict what will happen.”
I look straight ahead, past Exuma Market and the fruit and vegetable stand, and past a far-off cluster of trees to the point where the road disappears around the bend. I do know it. I know it as surely as I’ve ever known anything.
“It’s not a prediction,” I tell him. “It’s a decision.”
Tim’s quiet for a minute, and we walk in silence. I try to get my footsteps in sync with his—we used to do that all the time, when we were younger—and I realize that his legs are way longer now. I have to take three steps for every two of his.
He notices and laughs. “Shrimp.” Then he sighs. “So, what do you think will happen now?”
I’ve been thinking about that ever since Mom said she’d booked tickets back to Georgetown. “I don’t think Mom would’ve come back if she didn’t want to try. You know?
To give things another chance with Dad.”
“Me neither. But I don’t see why this time would be any different than before.”
I agree. But I can’t help hoping that they will try again.
That they won’t give up on each other. That we’l at least finish this trip together, as a family.
I don’t know how likely that is. Two feet and ten feet are shades of blues as different as misery and bliss, but when you are floating somewhere in between, it’s not so easy to know if you have enough: enough happiness, enough love, 222
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enough trust. Our family is far from perfect, but maybe there’s still enough there to keep us going. Maybe there’s enough water under our keel to keep us afloat.
Anyway, there’s not much I can do about it. It’ll be their decision, not mine or Tim’s. Like Dad says, this is a family, not a democracy.
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Thirty-One
Tim goes off to look for Mango. I wander over to the Computer Café, but the computers are down again, so I sit on the curb out front, trying to decide what to do. If I’d been thinking clearly—if I hadn’t been in such a hurry to get away from Shared Dreams—I’d have brought the handheld radio. Then I could have called Becca. Or Col.
Col. The sun is hot on my back, but I shiver slightly.
Remembering that last night with him makes me feel sort of squirmy. I’ve been blaming Dad for wrecking everything by calling on the radio, but Col’s the one who pushed me away. He’s the one who left without saying good-bye. Even before Dad told him my age, he’d acted like we’d been doing something wrong. Maybe he’d already suspected that I wasn’t really eighteen.
I’d never admit this to Dad, but I’m actually kind of glad he called and interrupted us.
I’m sort of staring off into space when someone calls my name. It’s Becca. She’s just walked out of Exuma Market, her arms full of groceries. She walks 224
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over to where I’m sitting, puts her bags down and sits beside me.
“You’re back! Yay.”
I grin and give her a hug. I feel like I haven’t seen her for weeks. “I don’t know if we’re staying,” I say. “Mom and Dad aren’t getting along so wel .”
“Oh…” Becca slips off her sunglasses and hangs them on the front of her T-shirt. Her eyes are sympathetic and her mouth is twisted up on one side in the kind of smile that means ouch, go on, keep talking.
“I told Mom,” I say. “You know. That I knew about Wil . And now she’s talking to Dad, and I guess…wel , I don’t know what happens next.”
“That’s intense.” She’s quiet for a moment. “I’m glad you told her though. Keeping that kind of secret…wel , that kiddie shrink I used to see always said secrets were toxic.”
I nod, remembering the awful grinding anxiety. “Yeah.
I didn’t real y mean to tell her, but I’m glad I did.”
“I guess even if your Mom stays with your Dad, you guys probably won’t stay in Georgetown.”
“We won’t?”
She shrugs. “Wel , Wil ’s here. You know, the cruiser’s net and everything. He’d be sort of hard to avoid.”
&nbs
p; “Yeah.” I guess Dad won’t be leaping over our table to write down Wil ’s daily words of wisdom anymore. Becca’s right. Whatever Mom and Dad decide, it probably won’t be to stay here. I hug her again, and she hugs me back, hard. She feels solid and strong, and her black T-shirt is warm from the sun. “I’ll miss you,” I say.
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“I’ll miss you too. We’ll stay in touch.”
I nod, even though I know we probably won’t. “Becca?
Is Col on his boat, do you know?”
“Uh.” She hesitates. “Col left. Yesterday. There was a good weather window, so…”
“He left?”
“Yeah. He said this place was getting a bit too smal .
He was talking about heading to Cuba.”
I picture Flyer’s black hul cutting through the waves, her sails white against the water, Col standing at the wheel.
There’s a lump in my throat, and I don’t trust my voice.
Becca touches my arm. “Rach? You can do better.”
I swallow and meet her eyes. “Yeah,” I say. “I guess so.”
Z
Tim and I meet back in front of Exuma Market two hours later. Time to go back to the boat. My stomach feels like something alive is squirming around in it. I don’t want to face my parents, especial y Dad. I don’t want to look at his face and wonder what he real y feels about everything.
At the same time, I’m desperate to know what they’ve decided. Whether we’re all staying.
“What will you do?” I ask Tim. “I mean, if Mom flies home?”
“I don’t know. I guess you’ll go with her?”
I think about it for a moment. “Do you think Dad would want us to stay?”
“Yeah. Probably he would.”
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It’s hard to imagine being on the boat without Mom, but going home now, like this, would feel like giving up.
I blow out a long breath. I don’t understand my parents at al . In a weird way, it’s a relief to give up on trying to make sense of their lives and just think about what I want to do.
I look around, at the blue sky and the twisted trees and the brightly painted buildings. It real y is kind of amazing here. “I might not want to go home,” I tell him at last.
He grins at me. “Good. Otherwise Dad would have given me all the crap jobs.”
I guess that means at least three of us are staying.
Z
We arrive back at the boatyard just in time to see Shared Dreams being lowered back into the water, her cracked rudder repaired and repainted so smoothly that you’d never know she’d hit the rocks.
Mom and Dad are watching, both wearing baseball caps and sunglasses.
“Hey,” I say.
They turn toward us. “Good timing,” Mom says. “You can help us anchor.”
I hold my breath. My heart feels like it’s trying to climb up my throat.
“We’re leaving for the Turks and Caicos in a couple of days, weather permitting,” Dad says. “We’re going to keep sailing south.”
I look at Mom. “All of us?”
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She nods. “All of us.”
There’s a long silence. I wonder what they’ve said to each other and what this decision means. They feel like strangers to me, standing there with all their secrets. At the same time, I have this weird realization that maybe knowing this—knowing that they have these separate lives—means that I know them better now than I ever have.
“Great,” I say.
They smile at us. It all feels a bit strange and awkward, like the usual familiarity has been replaced with something new and fragile and cautiously hopeful.
“Where are we going to anchor?” Tim asks. “Are we going back to Red Shanks?”
Mom shakes her head quickly. “No, we’ll anchor in Kidd Cove. Much easier for provisioning.”
“Closer to town,” Dad says. He doesn’t look at anyone.
Farther from Freebird, I think. Tim and I exchange a glance as we climb aboard.
I take the helm, and we motor out into Kidd Cove.
There is almost no wind for once, and the water is smooth and flat and clear as blue glass. I can see starfish and sea cucumbers lying on the sandy bottom. Tim stands up at the bow, ready to lower the anchor.
“Here, do you think?” Dad asks. He’s standing behind me and for a brief moment he rests his hand on my shoulder. It feels both warm and heavy. I don’t move away.
“Sure,” I say. “Tim?”
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“Looks good to me,” Tim cal s back.
I realize that I’ve brought us more or less to the spot where Flyer’s sleek black hull used to sit. For a second, that feels weird. Then I decide it’s okay. Col’s gone, and we’re still here. And at least this way I won’t have to look at the empty space.
I put the engine in neutral and then give it a short burst in reverse to bring us to a stop. Tim lowers the anchor, feeding the chain out hand over hand as the boat drifts slowly backward. I rev the engine and the boat pul s back, slow and steady, burying the heavy plough anchor in the sand. Mom stands and watches the shoreline to make sure the anchor isn’t dragging.
“We’re set,” she says. “Perfect.”
Z
When Mom and Dad go into town to shop, Tim and I stay behind.
“Buy me some postcards, Mom?” I ask as she steps into the dinghy. “I want to send one to Emma before we go.
And Jen too.”
She unties the dinghy and sits down across from Dad.
“Sure. You want anything else?”
Do I want anything else? Of course I do. But I can manage with things as they are. “No,” I say, “I don’t need anything else.”
Dad starts the outboard and gives us a wave. “See you later.”
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I watch them flying across the water toward town, the dinghy getting smaller and smaller until it’s out of sight behind the other boats. I’m glad Mom and Dad decided to try again, but I don’t know how hopeful to feel. I wonder if things can be too damaged to fix. Or maybe they were never right in the first place.
I look around at the brightly colored boats dotting the water, the green hills with their pastel houses, the long white beaches scattered along the shoreline, the water a thousand shades of blue. It’s so beautiful that it gives me a funny sort of ache inside. I don’t know how to describe it. It’s not a bad feeling. It’s more like a longing, but I don’t know what for.
Tim’s gone down below, so I poke my head down the companionway hatch to talk to him. “You want to swim?”
He’s piling books on the table in neat stacks. “I want to sort out my books. I’m going to try to meet Mango later to trade some.” He picks one up and turns it in his hands.
“I don’t know when we’ll have a chance to get more books, so I should trade all the ones I can bear to part with.”
Knowing Tim, there won’t be too many.
I hop down into the cabin and take my new bikini out of my still-packed travel bag. Then I step into the head to change. My face looks back at me from the greenish mirror. I wrinkle my nose, squinting at my reflection. I look the same as always.
You can’t tell anything about people just from looking.
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Z
I climb up on the stern rail and balance for a second, staring down into the water. Before this trip I would’ve just seen this color as blue. Now I know it’s a particular blue: it’s the exact shade of water ten feet deep. It’s a blue so clear that I can see straight down to the white sand below.
I take a deep breath; then I dive, breaking the glassy surface and plunging through the cool water. I swim down, down, down, until I touch bottom with first hands and then feet. The sand shifts beneath me as I kick off, and I
shoot back up to the surface. I float on my back and let the water hold me up while the sun warms my skin.
Blue sky, blue water and hope. Right now, in this moment, it is enough.
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Robin Stevenson is the author of five books for children and teens, including the young adult novel, Out of Order. She lives in Victoria, British Columbia, with her partner and four-year-old son. More information about Robin is available at www.robinstevenson.com.
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