12
Sara sees the river and knows she has to swim. It was one thing pretending with Hank in the empty pool, but here, in the late afternoon sun, she can’t wait to be in the water.
She’s without a bathing suit and that means stripping down to her bra and panties. The way she figures it, however, what’s the big deal, with the sex tape broadcasting her bits all over the world? Hank says the sex tape will die down, and she’s trying to believe that, trying to hurdle the initial shock and hoping the whole thing fades to a tolerable decibel. That it will become another clip in a wide sea of them online.
Sara kicks off her shorts, pulls her shirt over her head, and throws them on the shore. She walks into the water, up to her waist. The cool temperature feels amazing, as the day’s still over 90˚.
She floats on her back in about three feet of water, looking up at the white sky; without sunglasses it’s almost impossible to stare straight up, but she tries, sees some rainbows around the edge of her eyes. She wonders if corneas smell like burning hair as they char. She decides to shut them, to enjoy the cool water and quiet. To enjoy his company, assuming Rodney ever gets the nerve to exit the car. Maybe he’s never seen a woman in a bra and panties before. It’s a possibility that Sara hadn’t thought about until right now. She’s not trying to make him uncomfortable, not at all. She has no inhibitions around him, given their history. This isn’t going to lead to a hookup or anything. Sara knows this isn’t a big thing, but does he? Is he wigging out in the car, wondering if it’s okay to approach the river since she’s more than half naked? He’s that kind of gentleman. Maybe the only one of those Sara has ever met. Rodney respects her, Sara knows that, and he’s the last person in the galaxy that holds her in esteem.
It’s also conceivable that Rodney watches a lot of porn, if he’s not getting the real deal, and Sara doesn’t think he is. Everyone needs to get off. She can’t hold it against him. Not really. But it would bother her if she knew Rodney has seen her video, because taking it in would denigrate what he thinks of her. It would have to. In his eyes, Sara would be marred, spoiled, and she can’t imagine losing his regard.
This is their first day together after so long and Sara enjoys his company, his honesty. Yes, it had freaked her out a bit in the car, him holding that busted side mirror up so she could see her reflection and talking his sweet words. He’s so sincere that it takes her aback. It even did when they were inseparable, the way he could say something so real, so direct. One time during a backyard campout, they’d been kissing for over an hour, Sara letting him paw at her tits, and the tent was getting dimmer and dimmer. The battery in their flashlight dwindled, and they both knew the tent would be pitch-black in a matter of seconds, the light fading and flickering, Sara shaking it back and forth for extra juice, but there were no stashes left. “It’s almost dark and I don’t want it to be,” she said, and Rodney said, “It’s never dark with you.”
Sure, it was schmaltzy, Sara recognized that back then, but what was wrong with schmaltz? Why not indulge in some when your life was surrounded by cinderblocks?
She actually says it aloud now, floating in the river, eyes still closed, feeling the sun warm her torso and feet and face: “It’s never dark with you.”
Sara has to help him get out of the car. She has to tell him directly that it’s cool for him to come swimming. That’s what she wants. That’s why they’re here.
“Hey,” she calls, not opening her eyes or turning her head toward the car, voice stretching to a scream, “are you getting in here or what?”
“In,” he says, speaking at a normal volume.
Sara’s legs flail, eyes open, and she lets them find the bottom, standing up. “Jesus, what are you — a spy or something?” she asks. “I didn’t hear you make a single sound slipping in the water.”
“Nin. Ja,” says Rodney.
There he is in his boxers, floating on his back only a few feet away from her. Sara relaxes and starts floating again, too.
“There’s barely any water left,” she says, “because of the drought, but I wanted to show you this place. My dad used to take me rafting here. Can you believe it? There used to be enough water for rapids, and we’d leave from this spot. Fight down the river through all the currents and twists. Now it’s a puddle.”
She pauses, seeing if he wants to say something, but Sara knows there’s not much to add. She’s bobbing in self-sympathy. Sara’s not really talking to him anyway. Not talking to her parents. Not talking to anyone. Except herself. The river used to be something and now it’s nothing and so is Sara and that’s the truth.
“It. Will. Rain,” Rodney says.
“What?”
“It. Will. Rain.”
“It might.”
“It. Will.”
He’s right, she guesses. That is a possibility. The puddle floods and swells and soon it’s a river again. Soon daughters and dads will grab paddles and life jackets and fly down the rapids.
“You’re right,” she says.
“You. O. Kay?”
“No,” says Sara, “but I like being here with you. I like thinking that it might rain again.”
“What do you think our families are doing to each other?” Sara says. “Do you think Larry and Felix really attacked my brother?”
Rodney shrugs his shoulders.
They’re both floating on their backs, slowly moving with the languid current. Sara wiggles her toes. Rodney does it, too.
This is what it would have felt like if she’d gotten on the balloon with him. Before he fell. When it was just a boy hovering. Sara stood on the ground, astonished, in awe. She stood there jealous, thinking that if he was going away she wanted to be with him. She was scared but not for his safety; she was scared she’d never see him again, watch him vanish on the horizon to a crumb in the sky.
“What if there’s nothing left for us?” she asks. “What if they’ve torn it all down, burned everything up? What would we do?”
“Leave,” he says.
“To where?”
“Cal. I. For. Ni. A.”
“California?”
Rodney nods.
“Why?” she says.
“Mom.”
“How do you know she’s there?”
“Dad. Told. Me.”
“I’d go to California with you,” she says.
Rodney grabs her hand.
Well, grab isn’t the right word. He slips his palm on top of Sara’s and they slither their fingers together. He instigates it; she helps their hands find the right grip. They’ll never be in the backyard tent again, but that doesn’t mean they can’t have a moment in this river.
Rodney is holding her hand, and she’s holding his, and they’re in underwear, and she looks over at him, though his eyes are closed. She sees his smile and Sara notices a couple dragonflies popping on top of the water and everything is silent so she closes her eyes too, straightens her neck to the center and the sun perfectly roasts her face.
Sara has found the only person besides her brother that will give her the benefit of the doubt. They’ll float here, wet palm in wet palm, weightless and warmed, without any connection to the world.
SARA TURNS HER car onto their block, and everything appears normal. There are no police cars, fire trucks. The SWAT team isn’t perched on rooftops with rifles. Animal control isn’t wrestling with Bernard, fresh from chewing out Felix’s and Larry’s jugular. Sara can’t see any amputated limbs littering the field of battle.
The block is quiet, and she slows the car in front of Rodney’s house, but doesn’t stop. The light is on in the front room, and they can see someone’s silhouette through the window, either jogging around or dancing.