Chapter 12
Before
“Should we make it a contest?” Evan asks, late June of the summer they turn eighteen. He holds a slice of watermelon in his
hand.
“Only you could make scraping hull barnacles into a contest,” Annie says.
They sit facing each other across the table in Amphitrite’s cockpit. The sun is unseasonably hot. Annie cuts another slice.
“You’re just nervous I’ll win.” Pink juice drips down Evan’s forearm. He licks it off. “Are you game or what?”
“What are the terms?”
“A race. I’ll do starboard and you do portside. We’ll be done before your parents are back from Ruth’s.” He puts down the
finished rind and pulls off his T-shirt.
“And what’s the prize?” Annie can’t help staring at his bare abdomen.
“Your dad will stop hounding us about it?”
“In your dreams. Hounding’s his sport.”
“How about who sleeps on deck tonight?” He roots in the lazarette and finds a scraper.
“You love sleeping on deck.”
“If I win, we both sleep on deck then.” He smiles, then launches himself in a dive off the transom.
Annie strips to her racerback one-piece and dives after him. The water is warming and sunlight glimmers through to the bottom.
Her trajectory is steep. She feels a familiar urge to swim as deep as she can.
At the bottom, twenty feet down, a small octopus—-the size of Annie’s fist—-walks the seafloor. Her eight legs curl and billow
around her. Annie reaches out, or is it the octopus that reaches for her? A delicate tentacle explores her fingertips, wanders
up her arm. The shade of the octopus changes, a haze of violet, then a burst of crimson. They settle into one another. A gentle
suctioning, a thousand touches fluttering over Annie’s skin. Time seems to stop, or does it spread out, infinite? A peace
rises up.
But then Evan calls her name.
His voice echoes through the water. The octopus releases its hold and their eyes meet, a momentary lock. The octopus blinks
before it jets away in a flurry of bubbles. How long has Annie been down here? Too long? She pushes off the bottom, back toward
the surface.
“Oh my god, Annie.” Evan is panicked. He pulls her to the transom ladder. They both grab hold, but Evan does not let go of
her hand.
“I’m fine,” she says. More than fine.
“You were under too long!”
“I wanted to get to the bottom.”
“That was terrifying.”
She’s only inches from his face. His familiar olive skin, his wet curls plastered against his forehead. The worry lines around
his eyes. She can’t help it. She kisses him, quickly, on his soft lips.
When she pulls back, his eyes are wide. A wave of doubt washes over her. What if he doesn’t feel the same? What if he wants
someone else? She may have ruined this. Her cheeks go hot. She lets go of his hand.
“Wait.” He pulls her back, his fingers spread against her lower back. “Don’t go.”
He’s so close, examining every detail of her face, her eyes, her lips. When he kisses her again, he tastes like watermelon.
Once they start, it’s impossible to stop.
The summer is a rolling tangle of them as they make up for lost time. Their encounters are hidden and heated and never long
enough, as far as Annie is concerned.
Early July: a swim off the bow. Under the water, Evan’s hands find her waist, her calves. She wraps her legs around his, then
pulls him under to kiss him.
Late July: a laundry run into Hale’s Wharf in the late evening, when the place is abandoned. Evan lifts Annie up onto a coin-operated
washer mid-cycle. The machine rumbles, and the metal is cool against her thighs. His mouth is hot, his fingertips inch under
her shirt, up her back, around her ribcage.
Mid-August: a hike to the outcrop while Aiden repairs Ruth’s porch stairs. Off the trail, hidden away, Evan pulls Annie against
a hemlock. How long do they kiss? Time melts inside the circle of his arms, the scent of mulch and sweat. He unhooks her bra
and pushes her T-shirt up. Her nipple is a peak in his mouth. Thoughts disintegrate, leaving only the sweet taste of him on
her tongue, the earth under her feet, the wood against her back.
Annie wants to stretch the summer out, make the minutes and days longer. But it slips by, and September arrives. They’re leaving
to sail south before she can grab hold.
“I brought dinner.” Wearing a backpack, Evan climbs aboard Amphitrite on the last night. The sky burns pink and orange. “Can I take Annie to the outcrop for the sunset?”
“You can eat here,” Mara says at the same time Aiden says, “Come back before it’s dark.”
“We’ll eat and come right back down,” Annie says. “Promise.”
“Sounds like fun,” Aiden says.
“But not too far,” Mara says.
Evan tightens the backpack straps. “We’ll be in shouting distance if you need us.”
They’re wordless on the hike up the trail. Annie is nervous, her skin awash with tingles. At the top, Evan arranges a small
area of mulch and pine needles, removing the twigs and branches. He spreads out a blanket.
“I’m not hungry,” Annie says.
“I didn’t bring dinner.”
His lips are on hers immediately. He pulls her to the ground, moving on top of her, their legs entwined. He stops to look
into her eyes.
She wants to say: I can’t stop thinking about you. I don’t want to leave. Don’t ever kiss anyone else.
Instead, she peels off her hoodie and tank top. “I want you closer,” she says into his mouth.
His shirt is off, her bra tossed aside. Annie shimmies out of her leggings. He lowers her underwear over her hips and down
her legs. He kisses the back of her knee, dragging his tongue along the inside of her thigh. She gasps, rocking her hips toward
him. An eagle soars above, releasing a single, high-pitched note.
“More,” Annie says. She unhooks his belt, then pushes his jeans and boxers down and over his thighs. He kicks them off and
hovers over her.
“How much more?” He closes his eyes and tilts his forehead onto hers.
“Do you have a condom?” she asks.
His eyes are open now, his pupils dilated. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“I didn’t want to assume.” He grabs for the backpack. “But I wanted to be prepared.”
She drinks him in: the paler skin of his thighs, that place she likes above his hip bone.
The curve of his abdomen and washboard of his obliques.
He pulls out a condom from an inside pocket of the backpack and rolls it on.
It’s so intimate to watch. Instinctively, she crosses her arms to cover her breasts.
“Are you cold?” he asks.
“I’m nervous.”
He traces his fingers over her cheek, his thumb across her lower lip. He wraps the second blanket around them. “Annie. We
don’t have to do this. Not at all.”
“I want to.”
“There’s no rush, though. Are you sure?”
“We’re leaving tomorrow.”
“That’s not what I asked.” He pulls back again to meet her eyes.
She kisses him again. “I’m sure.”
He inhales deeply, his movements careful and restrained. She makes a cry into his shoulder as he enters.
He pulls back and searches her face, eyebrows drawn together.
“Don’t stop.” She pulls him back down until he’s entirely inside her. A brief pain, a sweet spasm. Then an exquisite ache—-is
this what she’s needed for so long?
“Christ,” he groans. “I won’t last.”
He reaches his hands under her hips and sinks into her. She finds a slow rhythm against him, some kind of nirvana, a blurry
and all-encompassing heat. She wants every inch of him and cannot get close enough.