“It’s going to rain,” I say, before heading back into the trailer.
She spends the rest of the day in her bedroom with the curtain drawn, coming out only once to make fried eggs. While the rain comes down outside, I wander around, bored, tidying up the trailer, wiping down the inside of the empty fridge, and flipping through cheap gossip magazines, the only reading material I can find. I call Anton and tell him I’ll be coming back by tomorrow evening.
By late afternoon the rain has stopped and the sun comes out and burns away the clouds. I take a walk along the beach and eat a hot dog for dinner, sitting on the promenade watching couples, families, and groups of friends go by. A limousine drives slowly down the strip, honking, with grads waving out the sunroof. I go back to the trailer but don’t head inside, instead dragging one of the patio chairs to the channel, where I can watch the sunset. Carin comes out with her own chair and we sit together in silence for a while. The sun has just finished dropping behind the mountains, pulling with it a shade of darkening blue. Across the way, a teenage couple is standing on the edge of the channel with a dinghy, testing the water with their toes. I shiver at the thought of floating down in the dark. “Feeling better?” Carin asks eventually.
“I am. I’m going home tomorrow morning,” I say. The couple is in the water now, drifting under the first bridge. “How are you feeling?”
“Great.” As if to demonstrate, Carin stands up and touches her toes a couple times before bending into a yoga pose. “So, let’s go out tonight.”
“I don’t think so,” I say, shaking my head. “I have a long drive tomorrow.”
“Come on. Can’t we have one fun night?”
“I thought we were having fun.”
“Right,” Carin says, rolling her eyes and stifling a yawn.
“I’m not in the mood.”
“I want you to meet someone. Remember that guy on the bus?” She smiles brightly and I figure it’s probably easier to say yes then to say no at this point. “One drink.”
AS WE WALK ALONG the crowded promenade, I pull self-consciously at the hem of the denim skirt Carin has lent me and try not to worry about how or if I will sit down. I picture seams split wide open, leaving me exposed in the middle of the bar. The strip radiates in the glow from the hotel casino. Tricked out lowriders and muscle trucks cruise the street as competing hip hop boom boom booms from their open windows. Carin leads us through the patio jammed with tables full of people to the back of the restaurant, where the bar is just as packed. I ease myself — minding the skirt — onto a stool at the edge of the bar, Top 40 blasting from speakers in the ceiling above us. Carin waves at one of the bartenders, trying to order us drinks overtop a row of people seated along the bar. He pulls down two tall glasses and several bottles of colourful booze. I recognize the bartender now. He was on the channel bus and he was also the guy Carin was with last night. He’s not as good-looking as I remember. It must have been the wet hair, now a fuzzy mess of blond curls around his head, like he’s attempting cherubic but failing miserably. He sets two drinks in front of us. “You found me,” he says, grinning at Carin and bobbing his head.
“This is my sister, June,” Carin says. “June, meet Jet.”
“From the bus, right?” he says, shaking my hand. I press my lips together, suppressing a smirk. His hands are wet from working behind the bar — ice, beer, and mixers. Idiot boyfriend number... oh, I’ve lost count.
“I brought your sneakers,” Carin says, pulling them out of her bag.
“Awesome.” Jet pours a round of pink shooters for all three of us and we touch shot glasses and down them. He pours another round and I push mine toward Carin. “Come on,” she laughs. “We’re just getting started.”
“My shift is almost over,” Jet yells over the music. “I’ll come hang.”
“Great,” I say, sarcasm lost in the bass thumping from the speakers. I take the shot and throw it back. “Happy?” I say to Carin.
“Be nice,” Carin hisses in my ear.
We barely interact the rest of the evening. Carin sits with her back to me, bowed deep in conversation with Jet. Every time I get to the last inch of my drink, Jet’s friend behind the bar whisks it out of my hand and gives me a new one. For that reason, at least, I always have something to do. At some point during the evening, my neighbour turns on his barstool and takes interest in me. He’s of the gelled crunchy-hair variety with a tight T-shirt sporting the lettering “Wingman” across the chest. He spends most of the night talking about his speedboat. I must look bored, because Carin taps me on the shoulder and asks me if I want to leave.
“This is my sister,” I tell Wingman, motioning to Carin with a floppy hand. I can’t remember his name, so I don’t introduce him.
“I’m trying to get your sister to come out on my boat,” he says, squaring his shoulders and drinking from his pint.
“Fat chance,” Carin laughs, thumbing in my direction. “Queen Prudent over here.”
“Her?” Wingman rests a meaty hand on my shoulder and gives me a shake as if he’s known me for years. “No way.”
I grab his wrist and remove his hand, shooting Carin a look that says, keep going and die.
“A dinghy, maybe,” Carin says, cracking herself up and spilling some of her drink on my skirt.
“All right,” I say, dabbing at the wet spot with a bar napkin. “That’s enough.”
“She’d mess up her hair,” Carin says, raising the pitch of her voice a squeaky octave. She hoots and slaps Wingman on the back.
“Fine,” I say, finishing my drink in two large gulps. Carin’s eyes widen and I smile at her. “Let’s go for a boat ride.”
CARIN STANDS AT THE edge of the dock shaking her head and for a quick second looks disturbingly like our mother. Wingman turns on the boat and drowns out whatever Carin is shouting at me. The night is warm and star-speckled, and as Wingman unties the moorings I wave goodbye to Carin again. “Don’t wait up,” I call to her. Just as the boat pulls away, she jumps in and sits down beside me. “Because you’re drunk I feel I should tell you, you’re acting like an idiot,” she shouts into my ear over the noise of the outboard motor.
“I’m having fun.” I trail my fingers through the water and flick the droplets in Carin’s face. “Isn’t this what you want?”
The lights along the strip shimmer and warp as the boat cuts through the water. We turn away from the beach and pick up speed, Wingman grinning back at us. Within minutes we’re surrounded by darkness, black sky and water. I can barely see Carin sitting next to me. The desert hills stretch around us, sucking the moisture from the night air. Above, stars spin shapes across the sky. Wingman’s laughing; the boat skips and accelerates. “He’s wasted,” Carin yells.
“Faster.” I shout the word several times at Wingman’s back. Carin digs her nails into my arm, but I push her hand away and stand up, letting the dry air rush past my limbs and through my hair. With the speed of the boat it’s easy to let go of everything — the flower arrangements and seating plans and balloon penises. Carin stands and grabs my shoulders, trying to force me back into the chair. “What?” I say. The word is lost, the wind whipping my hair around my face. The boat carves the water and we stumble, trying to regain our balance. “Sit down, you idiot,” Carin shouts, grabbing at me again.
“Get over yourself,” I shout back, shaking her off. “This is you,” I say, pointing to myself. “This is what you look like.”
The boat takes a sharp curve and rocks to one side. In one quick flip Carin is in the water. The spray from her splash hits my face and then the darkness eats her up. The boat keeps going, Wingman not realizing he’s dropped her, and I lurch up to the front screaming at him to stop the boat. He cuts the motor and the whole lake is swallowed in silence.