“You just tripped, dear,” he says. “It’s this damn carpeting. I should have had it replaced a year ago.” I love that Dex can smooth anything over.
Everyone’s staring at me, and my cheeks feel hot. “I think I’ll go get some air,” I say.
“Let me sit with you,” Dex says, helping me up.
I see the look in his eyes, the sadness that hovers behind the animated, happy face our guests see. His sadness has been palpable lately, and just last night, I pretended to be sleeping when I heard him weeping quietly in bed beside me. His body, curled up in a ball, shook with grief. I so desperately wanted to comfort him, but I knew it would just make him feel worse. Lately, my attempts to help were only met with resistance, embarrassment, and more pain. Whatever fog he is wandering through, he’s made it clear that he must find his way on his own. It pains me to know that I can’t offer him my assistance, that I can’t even light a lamp to brighten his path.
But tonight, I can step back. I can quiet my fears and let him shine. His depression is more important than my anxiety.
“No,” I say. “You stay inside. I’ll be fine.” I know how much this party means to him. I know how he craves it, and I don’t want to put a damper on his evening. “I could use some air. I’ll just be a moment.”
I step out to the deck, sink into the Adirondack chair, and stare at the lake. The party resumes in my absence. I hear a cocktail shaker. Someone flips on the record player. They’re probably dancing. A heavy feeling grips my chest. I cannot go back inside. I stand up and walk to the front of the deck, where I left the canoe. I’ll go paddling. No one will miss me.
I reach for the oar, then hear a voice behind me. “I hope I’m not too late.”
It’s Collin. He looks different, maybe because he’s changed out of his work clothes and shaved. He’s wearing jeans and a freshly pressed pin-striped shirt with the top two buttons open. In his right hand is a bottle of wine; in his left are two tumblers.
I don’t say anything.
“I saw you sitting out here all by yourself,” he says, uncorking the bottle and pouring red wine into a glass. He hands it to me and I take it. “I figured you could use some company.”
I take a sip. The wine feels warm and comforting, medicinal somehow, as I swallow. Collin sits down on the dock and leans against the side of the houseboat, and I decide to do the same. I spread the skirt of my gingham dress over my legs.
“Why didn’t you bring me muffins the other day?” he asks. Upon seeing my confused expression, he immediately explains. “I could smell them baking, and I got my hopes up.” He shrugs. “Were they good?”
“They were,” I say.
“You do know that there’s a wind current that blows directly from your kitchen to my deck,” he continues.
I smile. “I didn’t know. But now that you mention it, I ought to bake brownies more.”
He places his hand on his forehead in a dramatic fashion. “That would be sensory torture.”
I grin mischievously.
“So what is it about baking? Is it your thing?”
Before answering, I stop to think about the way I feel when I’m kneading bread or baking a cake, and it warms me. “I guess it takes my mind off everything else.”
Collin nods. “That’s how I feel when I’m working on a boat. Nothing in the world matters but the plank of wood in my hands.” He takes a sip of wine. “Can I ask you something?”
I nod.
“Do you like it here, in Seattle?”
“Why, yes,” I say honestly. “Well, I mostly do. And you?”
He shrugs. “It’s all right. But I’m not going to be here forever.”
“Oh?”
He looks away, as if his eyes might give away his past, or maybe his future. “After I finish my current project, I’m moving on.”
I indicate the little boat in progress. “So you’ll sail somewhere?”
“Not in that,” he says. “That boat’s special. It’s a customer’s.” He looks at my houseboat briefly, and I wonder if the client is one of Dex’s patrons, a wealthy family in Seattle, perhaps.
I nod. I feel a little sad to think that a stranger will one day own this beautiful creation, and I wonder if it’ll be hard for Collin to give it up. “When it’s done, what next?”
Collin shrugs. “I’ll get my payment and then it’s on to the next adventure.”
I fold my hands in my lap once, then twice. “I’d like to sail somewhere, someday,” I finally say shyly.
“Why don’t you?” Collin says. I like his casual way of speaking, as if at any moment one might pick up and leave. If only it were that easy.