All That Is Solid Melts Into Air

by Christopher Koehler

  Heath sighed. “Jerry, I’m going to sew your mouth shut. If you can’t be civil, you’ll be sleeping on the porch.”

  “If you guys like him, you should probably go find him, because I’m pretty sure he said something about getting out of here.”

  Smart kid, that Fred.

  “JEEZ, YOU’RE hard to find.”

  I glanced over my shoulder and—holy shit. They’d sent Nick Bedford after me. Naturally I missed the next stroke and almost took a bath.

  Okay, that pissed me off. I was a better sculler than that—duh—so I returned my focus back where it belonged. The mighty Nick Bedford could match my speed if he wanted to talk.

  “It’s not like I’m hiding.”

  “Oh, yes you are.” I was amused to note that Bedford seemed winded. “What do you think we’re doing out here on the river on Thanksgiving?”

  “I’m getting the stink of yesterday’s row off of me.” I could row and speak—shout, really—all afternoon, but him? It wasn’t looking good for him.

  “I’d say you’ve accomplished that.” Bedford called to me over the water, but I gave him only part of my attention. Loaned, really. Mostly I paid attention to the water, giving it my anger and embarrassment and humiliation. If it was so important to Brad to use Drew’s last name, maybe he could’ve and should’ve made that clearer years ago, instead of biting my head off in the kitchen. “Can you at least stop rowing so I’m not yelling?”

  I gunwaled my oars and let the boat run beneath me, and Bedford did the same.

  “So why’re you out here?” Amazing how quickly I got over my awe of this guy.

  He laughed, a bit mordantly I thought, as he maneuvered his boat closer to mine. “I’m the only one who can scull well enough to catch you.”

  “That’s actually kind of funny.” Then something occurred to me. “Wait, Brad was in the Boston quad with me.”

  Nick smiled. “Yeah, a quad. It’s a bigger boat, and a more stable one. That doesn’t mean he’s any good in a single.”

  I don’t know if that was supposed to make me feel better, but it certainly amused me.

  “Why’re they such assholes?” I knew I sounded whiny, but screw it.

  Nick shrugged, a neat trick when he held oars to keep his single steady. “Can’t answer for all of them, but Brad’s relationship with his dad was toxic. I mean really toxic.”

  “Drew mentioned something about that. He had Drew assaulted or something? That’s pretty messed up.”

  Nick snorted. “That’s not the half of it. Philip, his older brother, took care of the senior Sundstrom, however.”

  “Oh?”

  “Booted their dad out of the company he founded and then made sure his own henchman turned state’s evidence.” Nick made adjustments to his boat to keep it close to mine. “Oh, and then married the best cox’n I ever had the pleasure of working with. Now Philip, Stuart, and Fred are a happy little family and living the good life with money Philip swindled their father out of while Stuart finishes medical residency.”

  I laughed. What else could I do? I’d never heard of revenge so total, at least not in real life. “That’s brilliant.”

  “It was.” Nick nodded. “It changed the course of my life, you know.”

  Not what I expected to hear, and I was curious in spite of myself. “How?”

  “I’d planned to coach for the rest of my career—”

  “But what about the fact that you and Morgan—” I clapped one hand over my mouth, glad I had my oars held steady by my knees.

  Fortunately Nick only laughed. “I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t at the back of my mind when I shifted gears.” Then he sobered. “Seeing Drew in a pool of his own blood outside of Aspects, and then watching the slow months of his rehab, convinced me that physical therapy was where I needed to be, not coaching. I was very lucky that many of my grad school units transferred and that Morgan was patient.”

  I nodded and made appropriate noises, but all Nick’s story really did was remind me I had no idea what I wanted to do with my biology major other than a vague idea of nursing.

  And that as mad as my parents made me, they’d never tried to have Michael whacked. That was… something else, whole orders of magnitude worse. I mean, how messed up did you have to be to do something like that? Talk about narcissism.

  Then I realized Nick was speaking to me. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “I said, are we about done out here?”

  I shrugged. “You tell me. I’m out here because I’m tired of being picked on. Are they tired of tormenting the young guy?”

  Nick looked up at the sky. “They’re sorry they did it and that it went too far. Does that count?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know. I’ve more than enough crap in my life right now without putting up with any more. I came to Heath and Jerry’s to get away from it for a few days, not to be the entertainment.” I thought about it. “I’d rather check into a hotel and eat room service than put up with any more.”

  That give Nick something to think about, I could tell that much. “You know Drew likes you. Brad feels horrible and is ready to make a pet of you to make amends. Morgan, who’s always been too outspoken for his own good, was ripping everyone to shreds when I left, at least when Heath stopped to inhale, but be prepared, he also thinks stomping off is a bid for attention and may call you on it.”

  “Then you’d better sit on him, because I’m done with that. I’m about to start telling people exactly what I think. Are you ready for that? Glass houses and all that.” I didn’t know how much clearer I could make it.

  “There’s something else I want you to understand.” Nick looked me dead in the eye. “Everyone there who rows? On some level, they’re jealous, even if they don’t know it, but I can tell. You were better in high school than they ever were, and you’re not done, not according to Lodestone. Not even close.”

  I set my oars back in the water. It was time to go. “That’s not my problem, it’s theirs.”

  “Oh, I get that. I’m not sure they do, but I understand perfectly. Human traits assort along bell curves, and that includes skill in rowing. You’re so far to the right on that curve they can’t even recognize it. Even the nonrowers there understand that in your field, you beat them in theirs. Think you can cut them some slack?”

  “Why should I?”

  “It’d be the gracious thing to do.”

  Fuck that noise. “You mean like picking on the young guy?”

  “You can go through life angry, or you can learn that everyone makes mistakes and we all need a little slack sometimes, Remy. Even you.” Nick shook his head. “What’s it going to be?”

  I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask to be a prodigy. I didn’t ask for a bunch of older guys to be jealous of me or hung up about my so-called skill in a boat. All I wanted was to row my single and be with my guy, but everyone kept getting in the way of that. “I just want a place to belong. Why is that too much to ask?”

  Suddenly Nick looked far older than his years. “That’s what we all want, Remy. I can’t tell you how many times I think I’ve found it, only to have it jerked out from under me. Give these guys a chance, not only to be sorry but to be that place for you. I can’t say they won’t let you down again. They’re human… like you, but they’ve been there. Hell, they’re still searching and hoping… like you. Let them give you shelter. They’ve got experience. Let them share it with you. They might save you from repeating their mistakes.”

  I snorted. “I’ll make plenty of my own. Jeez, I already have.”

  A wave of hunger wracked me. Not physical, although I was that too, but emotional, I guess I could say. Shelter, Nick had called it. I wanted that more than anything. Geoff had once been that, to the extent that he could, to the extent that he’d understood his changeling brother. That ended a month ago in Boston. I’d felt rootless ever since. Michael tried, but he still sought shelter and identity of his own, so how could he help me?

  “Yes, you h
ave. So have they, but that’s the thing. That’s part of being alive. No man’s an island and all that. Maybe you’ve been trying to be. Maybe that’s why you take off and scull when things get too bad. Beats me, but maybe it’s time you let people help you.”

  I wiped my eye under my sunglasses. “I’ve made a real hash of things, haven’t I?”

  “Nothing that can’t be fixed.” Nick smiled. “Are you ready to turn around?”

  “Race you back to the dock?”

  “Sure, why not? We might as well pregame all those calories we’re about to eat. I get a twenty second head start.”

  I laughed as we turned our boats, careful not to get in each other’s way. “Age before beauty.”

  He glared at me, but I noticed it didn’t stop him from taking off.

  Chapter 10

  I HADN’T had the time to get too far down the river, but I’d been angry enough to row hard and fast, so racing Nick required strategy and none of this fly-and-die nonsense. At least I’d stopped taking off at the speed of light and then crashing and burning halfway through a piece, hoping to fake my way through the second half the way I had in high school. At long last it had been coached out of me. So while Nick and I faced more than a head race in distance, neither of us felt the need to row at that intensity on the way back.

  Not at first.

  I mean, I had to catch up to him, didn’t I? No sense in rowing to lose.

  After that I simply kept rowing, not quite at race pace but certainly more than what I’d use for a casual holiday row. I felt Nick look over at me. I looked back. He narrowed his eyes and picked up his own pace.

  Then it was on.

  Okay, yes, I could be super competitive, and I knew from reading his bio that Nick rowed at UC San Diego as an undergrad before going into coaching. That sort of thing doesn’t happen unless you’ve a competitive streak of your own. So I spent the next thousand meters trying to figure out how this race could go. On the one hand, USRowing handicapped races by age for a reason, and not only that, college rowers never raced masters. On the other, I rowed yesterday, and I’d already pushed myself today.

  Then I noticed that Nick had pulled ahead.

  Idiot.

  I’d been here before.

  I took a deep breath and dropped my stroke rating, the number of strokes I took per minute. Then I stood on my foot stretchers and made each stroke as powerful as I could, using the slower stroke rating to catch my breath in between. We called it the recovery for a reason.

  I grinned as I regained lost distance, stroke by stroke. I had to keep my head in the boat as I clawed my way past Nick. He might’ve been older, and he might not coach much anymore, but he clearly stayed in condition. Physical therapists, who knew. I needed to work for this.

  And so work I did.

  By the time we saw the Cap City dock, Nick and I raced flat out. I heard noise in the background but ignored it. Fisherman along the shore, perhaps. Who else would be crazy enough to be out there on Thanksgiving?

  But as I neared the dock—ahead, thank you very much—I heard someone, maybe Morgan, bellow, “Check it down! You’re coming in too hot!”

  I glanced over my shoulder and sure enough, I was far too close to the dock. I jabbed the oar blades into the water. Not far behind me, Nick did the same. I released one blade, the one closest to Morgan, turning my boat parallel to the dock. “Pull me in?”

  Morgan grabbed the blade. Ordinarily I planned better and landed far more gracefully. “Thanks.”

  Nick had more warning and actually looked almost competent sliding into the dock. But I won.

  I climbed out of my boat and rested on the dock. I hadn’t inked racing into my day planner that afternoon, and I was content to lie there in the sun and catch my breath.

  Then a shadow fell over me, and I opened my eyes. “Hello, Morgan. Thanks for the assist.”

  “You looked good out there.” It looked like Morgan was trying not to laugh.

  I smiled. “I love sculling.”

  “It shows. I hope you didn’t make Nick work too hard.”

  “He found me without too much trouble.” I deliberately ignored what he really meant.

  Morgan rolled his eyes. “Good, good. Need a hand putting your equipment away?”

  “Traitor!” Nick called from farther down the dock.

  I laughed. “I think my answer had better be no.”

  “Nick’s a big boy,” Morgan said.

  “I seriously don’t want to know.” I stood up and got to work removing the oars from their oarlocks.

  Morgan shook his head. “Pervert.”

  “Hey,” I said, picking my boat up from the water and lifting it overhead, “I’m not the one who brought it up. Heads up.”

  Once I made sure I wouldn’t brain Morgan, whose presence, after all, remained a mystery, I walked up the ramp to the singles house. Somehow the Cap City boathouses always felt like home. No matter where else I rowed, I knew I’d always come back here. Maybe that was why the presence of Fred Cochrane didn’t jump out at me immediately.

  “Can you hurry up?” he said. “I’m hungry.”

  “Oh yeah, sure. I’m sorry.”

  It was only as I racked the boat that I stopped to think about it. Wait. Morgan and Fred? What the hell was going on?

  I wiped my boat down in a hurry and turned to jam out of the boathouse, only to run up against Morgan carrying two sets of oars and Nick with his boat. Boats have the right of way, so I stepped aside.

  “What’s going on, guys?”

  “We’re putting equipment away.” Morgan sounded like he was explaining things to rather stupid child.

  And people wondered why I was the way I was. “Morgan….”

  “Remy….”

  I heard Nick snicker behind us. Morgan and I both turned to face him.

  “I’d love to watch the two of you face off sometime. It’d be the irresistible force and the immovable object, I’m sure.” Nick smiled, shaking his head. “But right now I’ve got a head race to wash off—don’t think I didn’t notice what you did out there, Remy—and I’d really like to eat something at some point in time today.”

  I sighed. I hadn’t actually escaped anything, unless I was willing to depart the boathouse directly for a hotel. It looked like I’d still be returning to the scene of the crime, after all. At least I was calmer for hiding at the boathouse for a little while. Sure, the same assholes who’d gotten their jollies by bothering me before would do it again, but I would wrap my row about me like a shield, and in any event, asses would bray whether I wanted them to or not.

  I grabbed the gym bag containing my rowing kit, then flinched. I needed to do laundry in the worst way. It was more than a little whiffy. At this point I wasn’t sure I’d make it through the weekend with clean workout clothes. Given that I’d adopted sculling as my primary coping mechanism, this presented a problem, at least if the holiday continued as it started. Oh well, take each day as it came, right? Alicia would be so proud of me. If I managed to pull it off.

  “Remy, over here,” Nick called.

  I looked up, and Nick was heading to the CalPac boathouse. Huh. I walked across the parking lot that separated the two boathouses. Three, if you counted UC Davis’s. “You have a key. Interesting.”

  “I like that. No silly questions about whether or not I have a key, just the assumption that I do.” Nick hoisted his own gym bag as he unlocked the door and then dealt with the alarm system.

  I shrugged. I couldn’t say much to that, but Nick Bedford coached for Cap City… just like Peter Lodestone, who had a key to CalPac’s boathouse. As far as deductions went, it hardly predicted a career in forensics.

  “There’s a reason for me to shower here rather than back at Heath and Jerry’s?” I headed directly for the locker room. Unlike the Cap City coaches, I actually had a locker with toiletries in it, toiletries like fresh contact lenses.

  “Okay, play along, will you?” Nick said, following me into the locker room
s.

  At least that confirmed my suspicions. “So you admit something’s up?”

  “I admit nothing. Nothing, I say!”

  I peered into the mirror to pick my contacts out, deciding to skip more contact lenses, at least for the time being. “Scared of Morgan, are you?”

  “Take your shower,” Nick called out before he turned on the water.

  I texted Michael, instead.

  R: Happy Turkey Day. I hope your day’s going well.

  M: It’s OK. Grandparents and assorted other rels. Miss U. Howz yours?

  R: Miss U 2. Mine’s… interesting.

  M: ???

  R: Let’s just say I beat Nick Bedford sculling and leave it there 4 now.

  M: Need 2 know deets. Call U later. xoxo

  R: xoxo

  “Remy! Shower!” Nick called as the water cut off. He wrapped a towel around his waist as he walked out of the shower. “Don’t tell me you’re shy.”

  “No, texting my boyfriend about today.” I put my phone in my locker and grabbed my towel and shower caddy.

  Nick groaned. “Please be merciful. We’re not all assholes.”

  “All I said is that I beat you sculling,” I called over my shoulder as I walked into the showers.

  “Punk!”

  I laughed as I washed away the sweat. Unfortunately the cares remained, but then, that might’ve been asking a bit much of body wash and hot water. “Punk was over years before I was born.”

  “Stop that.” Nick shook his head as I exited the shower. “I swear, you’re one of the most difficult people I’ve ever dealt with. You remind me of him.”

  “Him? Him who?”

  “Who do you think? Morgan. Try to keep up.” Then Nick appeared to think about it. “Although now that you mention it, it could apply to Stuart or to Drew, too.”

  “Okay, then.” Lofty company, I supposed.

  “Okay.”

  I wasn’t entirely sure what Nick wanted, but standing around naked—or naked under a towel—made me feel vulnerable in a way that wasn’t cool. “Do you mind if I get dressed now?”