“I like it too.” I stammer a little when I realize she might think I’m trying to tell her what to do. “I mean, you can tell her if you want. Whenever.”
“Are you going to tell Mack?”
“No.”
“No?”
“Guys are different. If I tell him, he’ll think it’s no big deal, like we had a pizza or something. He might even say something to someone else. I don’t want him to blab it all over school.”
“It’s almost one o’clock.”
“You’re right. I’m gonna take you home now.” I kiss her again. “Seriously. I am. I’m gonna kiss you one more time, then I’ll row you in and walk you home.”
She waits like she knows I’m not finished. How can a girl know me like that? By osmosis maybe.
“And then…” I pull her out to the deck, wrap her in Dad’s peacoat, and bring the rowboat close for her to step in. “And then I’m going to walk out on that bridge and yell, ‘Life is glorious.’ And jump.”
She looks at me like it’s the most logical thing in the world to say. Or do.
Sunday morning I’m all alone on the houseboat. Outside the storm has arrived. Rain. Wind. When the boat rocks madly, my stomach rocks with it. I’m unbearably warm. The pillow smells like Meredith, a faraway memory, but I get warmer still. I peel back the blanket where I’m lying on the cushioned bench, green and miserable. Hours earlier when the pain in my gut was only a periodic clench, I checked the second anchor, and turned on the cell phone in case Mom or Dad call to check on the boat. I crash back on the couch, too exhausted all of a sudden to climb up to the bunk. No one calls and I doze. At every tenth pitching I halfway wake up, lean over to the window, and stare into the slanting sheets of rain to see if the Whaler is still tied to the D-funct marina. It feels like I’m in one of those werewolf movies where the wolf’s snarl will come shooting out of the dark, blood dripping from its jaws. I try not to think about Meredith and what we did, it’s worse than wet dreams.
When Dad and Nick finally arrive, they’re soaked. Sleeping bags, tent, everything. They don’t talk, not a word, and Dad’s face is all washed out. After they’ve lashed the camping gear under the small bimini on the back deck, they strip off their wet clothes and stand in the living room in their boxers. The space heater there glows red like the end of a thermometer. Outside every other wave sends the empty skiff, with its tiny nine-horsepower motor, bouncing up higher than the deck.
“Maybe we should bring it on board,” Nick suggests.
“We don’t need any extra weight in this kind of weather.” Dad stares at the skiff. “Has your mother called?” He’s looking at me as if I should be able to report exactly that. Positively that she’s called and all is well.
“No.”
“Is this a hurricane?” Nick asks me. Like I’m suddenly an expert. Or maybe he thinks I tuned in to the weather station. Way too logical.
Dad opens the door, slams it behind him, and disappears in his skivvies into the wind, though there’s not much danger of anyone being out there to see. He reappears a minute later with rain gear and dry clothes balled into one of his wheeled suitcases.
“Only way to keep things dry,” he explains as he turns his back on us, drops the wet boxers to the floor, and pats himself dry with the sweatshirt before he puts it on along with his khakis. Once he’s dressed, it’s like he’s official now and can do his job as a father. He moves his face close to mine. “Are you okay? You look wiped out.”
“I am wiped out.” My eyelids are so heavy, I feel like I may fall asleep while we’re talking.
The wind screams downriver. When Dad finally gets reception on the TV, the Richmond station is showing pictures of downtown Urbanna underwater. The power lines are down and the harbor has risen enough to spill into the street that connects downtown with the fancy sailing club under construction at the edge of the harbor. The TV flickers and dies.
“Think we ought to call Mom and tell her not to come home?” I’m making this up as I go. None of us have ever lived on a houseboat during hurricane season.
“Duh,” Nick says, grumpy and complaining about being deprived of the Cheers episode he’d been planning to watch.
“That show’s way too old for you,” I say from the couch, where I’m prone and slurring the words.
But Dad has other things on his mind. “I should have called you last night and had you take the boat up to June Parker’s Marina. This storm’s blowing from the wrong direction, coming right up the creek. We’re going to have to get the boat to shore.”
And with that I dump the entire contents of my stomach on the floor. Lucky for everyone I’ve been too busy to eat much in the past twenty-four hours. After Dad cleans up, he puts his hand on my forehead, turns to look at Nick as if realizing the very certain probability that three guys in one room means that the other two will be sick in short order. So it’s a bug or something, not just The Disease.
Dad’s indecision is making me nervous. He’s talking to himself. “We can’t go out on the river now.” Lost in thought, he slaps his arms against himself to keep warm. “This boat sits too high, I’m not sure it will respond in these waves. We may not even be able to get her in to the old dock in this wind.”
Nick and I exchange looks. The phone rings and keeps on ringing until Nick ends up finding it under me, between the cushions.
“Yeah, yeah. Yeah,” he says politely enough.
Without raising my head from the pillow, I gesture for a hint as to who’s calling. Nick hands me the phone.
“Boy, Meredith Rilke is sweet on you.” I’d like to know how he can tell that from a phone call. And what would she have to say to Nick that would take so long?
It shocks me when it’s Mack’s voice on the phone. “What were you saying to my brother about Meredith?” I ask.
If Mack’s blabbing about the double date and the fact that Meredith and I left the party together, I may have to disown him as a friend.
“Nothing,” Mack says. “She has the flu, that’s all.”
“So do I.”
“There you go.”
“What?”
“He’s a smart kid. You have the flu, the girl you went out with last night has the flu. Germs pass with contact. Like maybe saliva?” His laugh is louder than it needs to be.
“What did you and Juliann end up doing?”
“She wouldn’t quit that stupid game.”
“Bummer.” What if Juliann is avoiding being alone with Mack because she’s pining away for Joe? Mack will never forgive me.
He’s on the same wavelength. “Did Meredith mention anything about Juliann being mad at me about something?”
“No, but getting high might have something to do with it. I don’t get the feeling Juliann’s into that kind of junk. Meredith sure isn’t.” I have to catch myself before I volunteer that I know about the cocaine. Or how Meredith and I were too busy to talk much about anyone. Or anything.
“Fuck you, Daniel. Everything’s not about you and your condition. Other people have problems too.”
“Like what? Your grades are too good. Your father’s sober and they let you drive already.”
“Don’t talk about my father.”
“Jeez, Mack. Are you tripping now? I didn’t say anything crummy about your dad.”
“Yeah, well, your father’s laid-back, you wouldn’t know what it’s like. Mine expects me to be a doctor or a lawyer. He’s on endless rewind. How the hell am I supposed to know what I want to do in ten years? I sure as hell don’t want to be schlepping to the same job every day for the rest of my life like he does, looking for VCR machines in the garbage.”
My head pounds like a marching band stamping on bleachers. I wish I knew how to get him off of this downer. I can’t ask Dad. He’ll see straight through the BS and realize what Mack’s gotten himself into. A little twang way back in my overheated brain is remembering something Dad said one time about drug-induced depression. I sit up, instantly sorry I did as the back of my head splits and the lightning crashes right behind my eyes.