Sailing Lessons

by Hannah McKinnon

  From the end of the sandy lane there came a crunch of tires, and Shannon glanced up to see a strange white pickup truck pull into her grandmother’s driveway. Lindy came down the front steps and Shannon noted the lack of surprise on her mother’s face. Whoever he was, she was expecting him. The man got out of his truck and waved. “Good morning,” he said.

  Lindy invited the man down the driveway to the shed in the backyard. Wren and Piper were still busy dragging sticks through the frozen puddle; Shannon strained to hear what the adults were saying. They stopped outside the shed where their boats were stored. The man circled the boats and lifted the edge of one of the covers, pulling it back slowly. It was the Beetle Cat. Shannon watched as he ran his hands down the wooden sides: she’d made it a point not to look at the boat after that morning. It didn’t matter that Lindy had asked the neighbor to help collect the boat from the beach that day and bring it back to the house, even though Shannon would have preferred to leave it in the sand. To let the sea drag it out into the surf and have its way with it. What mattered was that it was hauled to the far corner of the yard and covered over, like a dead body at the site of an accident. It was a signal to an end. She would not climb into its wooden hull again, she would not sail into the wind and out to the sandbars.

  After a few moments the man covered the Beetle Cat back over and turned to Lindy. They exchanged words, and he pulled his wallet out of his jeans pocket. Suddenly Shannon understood.

  At that moment, the school bus came heaving up the lane and halted in front of them. Shannon looked to her mother, unable to speak, her tongue twisting with questions. “Mom?”

  Even from a distance Lindy’s eyes were set with resolve. And something else: apology. She mouthed, “It’s okay.”

  But it wasn’t. Shannon had not wanted to lay eyes on that boat again. It was hers to ignore and hers to hate. But getting rid of it was not something she’d considered. This was not up to her mother. Lindy had not been there on the beach that morning.

  The school bus doors flipped open and her sisters turned to wave goodbye to their mother. “What’s Mom doing?”

  Shannon did not answer. “Mom!” she called out.

  The man was still talking, but Lindy glanced over at them. That was one thing Shannon knew about their mother—no matter what was going on around her, Lindy had one eye and ear always open to them.

  She waved and blew them a kiss. “Have a good day at school!”

  Wren turned to her sister. “What’s happening?”

  “Nothing,” Shannon had said, stalking down the driveway toward their mother. The man was still talking as she approached. Something about a grandson who loved to sail. She didn’t care. She marched right up to her mother and cut him off.

  “That’s our boat.”

  Lindy glanced at the man. “This is my daughter.” Then to Shannon, “The bus is waiting!”

  Shannon didn’t budge. “I won’t let you sell the Beetle.”

  Lindy took her hand and pulled her aside. “Excuse me,” she said to the man, her smile fading.

  Shannon didn’t wait for her mother to start in with whatever lame reasons she had. Lindy had not been there that day on Lighthouse Beach. It had been Shannon, Piper, and their father. And now he was gone.

  “I won’t let you,” Shannon said. Tears were beginning to sting the corners of her eyes, and she didn’t know why. She hated this boat. She hated everything about it. Which was exactly why she should let her mother sell it that day. But suddenly all that mattered to her was that it stayed. That was its rightful place, by the shed and under the tarp. It didn’t matter if they never let it touch salt water again; it had to stay.

  “Honey, please try to understand. It’s just sitting here, and this boat is worth a lot of money.”

  “Then I’ll get a job.”

  Lindy’s face softened. “No, baby, it’s not just about the money.”

  “Then why sell it?”

  Behind them the bus driver honked. Lindy glanced up the drive and then at the man, who was shifting now from one foot to the other.

  “Come on!” Wren called.

  Shannon turned. Wren was standing on the bottom step, her face full of worry. And there was Piper, her little face pressed against the window watching them. Even from where she stood, she could see Piper’s eyes were pressed tight, her mouth ajar. “See, Mom? Piper’s crying.”

  Lindy’s face fell, and Shannon’s chest ached at the site of it. But if that was what it took . . .

  “Excuse me.” It was the man. Shannon stared at his hands, at the folded bills in his palm. “I can see you have your hands full here, so how about I settle up and come back later for the boat?”

  Shannon glared at her mother.

  “I’m sorry, sir. But the boat’s not for sale anymore.”

  “Excuse me?”

  But Lindy was already walking down the driveway. “I’ve made a mistake. I’m sorry to have taken your time.” She broke into a run and grabbed Wren’s mittened hand, and gently pulled her down the bus steps. Shannon listened as her mother apologized to the driver, too. So many apologies.

  Then she flew up the bus steps, ignoring the driver’s objections that parents were not allowed to board the bus, and down the aisle where Shannon could see her stop at Piper’s seat and scoop her up. A moment later the four of them stood in the driveway in a cloud of bus exhaust, Piper’s legs wrapped around Lindy’s waist, her face buried in her mother’s hair. Wren looped her pinky finger uncertainly through Shannon’s.

  The man had already climbed back into his truck. “I’m sorry,” Lindy called, again.

  Shannon remembered they’d gone back into the house, where Lindy piled them under blankets on the couch and put a kettle on for hot cocoa. They’d gone to school late. The boat remained in the backyard all fall, under the tarp. Shannon was true to her word: she’d never stepped in that boat again.

  But Lindy had stayed true, too. Every few years Shannon would find herself in their grandmother’s carriage house, now Lindy and Hank’s, searching for a gardening tool for her mother or retrieving a bike for one of the kids. She’d glance at the hulking vessel in the corner with relief. There was something about it being there that she counted on.

  • • •

  Now, Reid squeezed her shoulder and lowered his face to where hers still rested in her arms on the kitchen island. “George is going to be fine, honey. The instructors will take good care of him. Just like they did with Avery and Winnie.” He kissed the side of her head and waited until she nodded. He knew this was hard for her.

  Today she would drop her youngest, her baby, George off at the Stage Harbor Yacht Club. George was a strong swimmer and had taken to the ocean just as eagerly and naturally as his sisters had. Shannon struggled not to interfere with their attachment to the water, no matter how much it rattled her. She knew she was the only woman on the Cape who dreaded a perfect summer day at the beach with her family. She’d already taken one of the small yellow pills Dr. Weber had prescribed her for occasions like this. Usually she took half. But that morning she’d gazed at the tiny yellow tablet in her hand wondering how something so small could handle worries so big. She’d popped the whole thing in her mouth.

  Reid was dressed in his taupe summer suit, looking crisp and relaxed. “You’re not coming?” she asked.

  He tipped back the rest of his coffee. “I have an appointment with those buyers from New York, remember?”

  “The retired couple?”

  Reid nodded.

  “But don’t you want to talk to the instructors?” She tried to keep her voice even. She didn’t want to worry Reid with her own worries. But she couldn’t help it. If they had ten more children, it would still be hard for her to let them go out in a boat. He understood that.

  Reid glanced at the wall clock then at her. “Do you need me to? Because I’ll have to push back their appointment if I go.” His blue eyes were empathetic, but also serious. This was work, and he didn’t like messin
g around with other people’s time once he committed.

  Shannon hedged as a wave of anxiety washed cold up and down her arms. Aside from a slight fuzziness, the pill wasn’t making a dent. She did need Reid, but she also knew what that would mean. Reid would come, but he’d be tense. He’d want to get going right away, but she hadn’t even packed George’s lunch yet. It would require they take separate cars to the yacht club where they likely couldn’t find two parking spots in the small lot, resulting in him getting blustery with frustration. And then she’d spend the morning worrying not only about George on the water but also her husband being annoyed with her. “No,” she said abruptly. “No, I’ve got this.”

  Reid looked surprised. And if she wasn’t mistaken, impressed. “You sure?”

  Yes, this was the way to go. Let him leave for work feeling confident in her. She nodded.

  “Okay then.” He pulled her in for a kiss. “I’ll call you later to see how it went.”

  Shannon held on to him tightly, barely able to listen. Her skin prickled. “Sounds good,” she managed.

  She waited until the garage doors opened and his BMW backed out of the drive. Then she packed George’s lunch with shaking hands and sent Winnie upstairs to get dressed. When the kitchen was finally all hers she went to the stand-alone freezer. The bottle of Grey Goose was like ice in her clammy hand. It sloshed against the sides of the juice glass as she poured: just an ounce, she told herself. Just to stop the trembling. She stood at the kitchen island and tipped it back, staring through the living room and out at the ocean through the giant picture window they’d installed. Nothing. Not the usual liquid warmth in her throat, not the subsequent unspooling in her limbs.

  Maybe one more? This morning was different, after all. Reid knew what sailing did to her; he should’ve been the one taking George, just as he had with the girls. Shannon thought he understood—he was usually so supportive—but on mornings like this, when her heart pounded against her rib cage and he just stood there in their gleaming marble-and-stainless-steel kitchen looking serenely back at her, she realized he did not. He did not see the coursing adrenaline, the pinprick of sweat at the back of her neck. She realized that she’d become so good at it, even her own husband saw what everyone else did: the sleek hair, the designer jumper, the composed features. Shannon let out a caustic laugh.

  She poured one more shot and tried to focus on the horizon. The light streamed in with the promise of a new summer day. What a wonderful decision it had been to open up the kitchen wall so they could see straight out to the water. The water. She tipped the glass back and dropped it in the farmhouse sink with a clatter. “George!” she called. “It’s time.”

  Thirteen

  Piper

  “He’s coming back,” she said, glancing up from her coffee to gauge his response.

  “Your father?”

  So, he was listening. They were grabbing a quick breakfast at Pavement Coffee House, near the university. All morning Derek had seemed distant and distracted, and while her father’s looming return should’ve been her focus, it had been interrupted by her growing concern over the distance she was now certain she was not imagining between them. Derek had yet to commit to a date to come see her on the Cape. Worse, since school had ended they’d seen less of each other. Was this how it was going to be now that she was done with her course work at BU? What would happen to their relationship when she got a full-time job? Piper had always prided herself on the fact that she didn’t need anyone. But she needed Derek.

  “How long has it been since you’ve seen him?” he asked. He’d been reading this morning’s Globe, and he gazed at her across the folded top of the Regional section.

  Piper sipped her mocha latte and held it on her tongue, willing the sweetness to squelch the sadness of the truth. “Almost twenty-three years. I was just four at the time.”

  “Jesus.” Now she had his attention. “I remember you talking about him leaving when you were young, but somehow I don’t think I got the crux of it. Twenty-three years.” His faced filled with empathy and something even more dear to her these days: interest.

  Finally. This was what she needed.

  “What do you think will come of this reunion?”

  Instinctively, Piper put a hand to the scar on her forehead. Since childhood there had been allusions made to her father’s absence. It depended on who was speaking about him: she’d once heard a local artist refer to his traveling spirit and creative hunger. Piper wondered at a hunger that could not be contained by the elbow of the Cape any more than it could be contained by the love of a family. Her mother called it a sickness, his “drinking,” something he could not be entirely blamed for, yet something he was ultimately responsible for addressing. Piper had always found the duality of that confusing. Shannon likened it to bare-boned selfishness. As she got older, Piper began to connect the blurry dots like a constellation. Caleb Bailey was as bright and luminous as his talent suggested, but between those starry rays was darkness. And it had seemed the darkness had swallowed him up in the end.

  “I don’t know what to expect,” she admitted. “My sisters are older, and they have stronger feelings about him leaving. Let’s just say, we don’t talk about it much.”

  “Weren’t you curious about him though?”

  “Sure. But I also knew it would cause ripples within the family. I’ve always thought I’d look him up someday. I just never had the gut to go through with it.” She picked at her croissant and thought a moment. “You know how you hear all those references about ‘Daddy’s little girls’? Little princesses who want ponies and all things that sparkle?”

  Derek nodded. “Like the lyrics, ‘Papa’s gonna buy you a mockingbird’?”

  She smiled softly. “I’ve never been that kind of kid. Maybe it was because I didn’t have a dad, and therefore it wasn’t an option. But I don’t feel like I missed out on any of that stuff. What I did miss out on was simply having him around.”

  “As in a male role model?”

  Piper shrugged. She wasn’t sure that she believed that, necessarily—the Freudian thinking that daughters needed to attach to their fathers, just as sons turned to their mothers. She’d certainly had strong role models in both Lindy and their grandmother Beverly. And later, Hank. Besides, in today’s modern society, little of that traditional nuclear family was the norm. “Let’s just say the women in my family aren’t shrinking violets. As far as my mother and grandmother went, I received more than my fair dose of strong role models.”

  Derek smiled appreciatively. “So no fatherly expectations, then?”

  Piper shrugged. “It’s too late for the pony. But who knows, maybe we can just start with a friendship.”

  Derek’s gaze was solemn, but he smiled at her stab at humor. “You’re pretty amazing, you know that?”

  Piper felt herself flush, something that wasn’t an easy thing to make her do. Derek had surprised her early that morning with a text: I’ve got two hours. Are you free? She’d flushed then, too.

  But who could blame her? It had been a week since they’d seen each other, and her limbs were aching with missing him. She hated that her response to him was so physical: Piper prided herself on appreciating his mind, his humor, which were so much more sophisticated than the guys her age. But there was no denying the visceral connection they shared, and it left her wanting during their separations. As soon as she’d gotten his message, she’d sat up and texted him straight back: Come over. Come get in bed. And he had.

  It wasn’t as if he’d interrupted anything. She’d been lingering under the covers, not wanting to get up and face the day. Not the yellow utility and gas bills that were thumbtacked at an angry angle to the bulletin board by the apartment door. Not the lengthy grocery list Claire had taped to her bedroom: it was her turn to buy the shared household supplies. They were out of toilet paper, and her roommates were tired of using Kleenex to wipe their butts, for Christ’s sake. All compelling reasons to hide in bed until she heard the fron
t door close and knew they’d left.

  Things were getting dire. Piper was out of money, and she hadn’t found a job. She’d already used the money Hank had given her to pay back Claire for last month’s rent contribution. She did not want to have to ask Shannon for financial assistance, but she was on the verge of having to do so. Reid wouldn’t mind, and although she knew Shannon would never turn her away, help always came with a medicinal dose of unwanted advice. Hoping to avoid that, she’d inquired again with the Brookline Arts Center, only to learn that the job had been taken. The campus career services office had called back to tell her that all the educational outreach positions she’d inquired about had long ago been filled. They suggested an internship with Boston Children’s Museum, but Piper didn’t need intern experience. She needed money. And fast. Though the thought of bussing tables in a restaurant depressed her as much as the thought of folding clothes at the Gap. She had a damn master’s degree, after all.

  None of this had been shared with Derek, however. Being a graduate student had meant she was enrolled in an educational institution—it implied intellectual prowess and a course of study. A plan. But now that she had completed her program, it didn’t feel like she was done with school, so much as school was done with her. Losing the title of student reduced her to a terrifying new title: unemployed.

  It wasn’t just panic for herself she felt. It was panic about what this would mean for her relationship with Derek. They no longer shared a campus. Or roles they had happily filled to this point. The bond that had brought them together was severed: Piper wasn’t the student to his professor. Now she was supposed to be part of a productive workforce, as Derek already was. A real adult. As such, her current jobless state wasn’t going to do anything to cultivate his interest in her as a partner. Or whatever she was to him. Which was another thing she didn’t want to think about.