“Will do.”
She opened the door and took a few steps, then hesitated, eyes fixed on her feet, refusing to look up. “Caleb … I just want you to know I love you, and I always have. I know I’m not your real mother, but I love you as much as any woman ever loved her own flesh and blood. No matter what happens, I want you to remember that. Okay?”
Something in her tone made my stomach feel heavy and my blood run slow in my veins. “I know, Lauren. I’ve never doubted that for a second. You’re the best mother a guy could ask for. And for the record, I love you too.”
She gave a weak smile, still not looking me in the eye, and went belowdecks.
A gentle breeze blew across Canyon Lake from the east, stirring the water and sending white waves lapping at the western shore. The fabric of the canopy flapped lazily as the deck rocked slowly beneath me, a strong hint of rotten fish smell lingering in the air. I turned the empty glass in my hand and wondered why people like me hung on to life so hard when we were all destined, sooner or later, to lose our grip.
*****
It became a cycle.
Crank up the generator. Wait for the little amber light. Send out the message. Wait. Curse. Put the mike down. Turn off the generator. Stew for an hour. Repeat.
Night fell. Still no contact. Finally, I ran the generator until the batteries in the engine compartment were charged and left the receiver on. It takes a lot less power to receive a signal than to transmit one, so I felt confident the batteries would hold out overnight. That done, I sat and waited.
Lance brought me a plate of food. Chili, I think; I didn’t really look at it. After the tasteless mechanical function of mastication, swallowing, and the first stages of the digestive process, I went belowdecks and deposited bowl and spoon in sink and applied the necessary rinse.
Finished, I looked around. The door to Lauren’s stateroom was closed. Lance sat shirtless and sweating at the table, rifle dismantled, cleaning kit on display, hands moving with the exaggerated slowness and precision of the experienced drunk. At some point, Lola had moved to one of the fold-down cots forward of the galley and resumed sleeping it off. Sophia had changed into a bikini and sat in front of an open porthole, the evening breeze blowing over her bronze skin. My gaze lingered there for longer than I wanted it to, distracted by the sheen of sweat covering her chest and thighs. Sophia looked my way and smiled, eyes more than a little glazed.
“It’s a lot cooler above decks,” I announced. Lance grunted. The door to the stateroom remained closed. Lola snored.
Sophia stood up.
“Fuck it. It’s hot down here.”
I turned, climbed the ladder, and held the door for her. She took a hand I didn’t realize I had reached out and let me help her to the main deck. There was a bottle dangling from her right hand.
“Thanks,” she said as she stepped up to the forward lounge, a little extra sway in her hips. I thought about what Lauren told me and wondered if that over-emphasis of stride and flex of buttocks was for my benefit, or just something girls did when they were drunk.
I sat down in the captain’s chair and watched Sophia stand on the forecastle, long hair hanging loose and blowing in the breeze. She held her arms out and turned a slow circle to let the air dry the moisture from her skin.
“God that feels better,” she said. When her circuit brought her facing me, she tilted her head and held out the bottle. I held up a palm and shook my head.
“Come on,” she said and walked closer, that same sway in her hips, breasts shaking slightly under the fabric of her halter top. I am firmly convinced every girl in the world stands in front of a mirror and practices that bouncing walk to maximize its brain-dimming effect on the male of the species. She stopped in front of me, arm outstretched, holding the bottle close enough to my face to read Sine Metu.
“I’d rather not,” I said.
“What’s the matter, you a lightweight?”
I frowned at her. “No, I’m just not a drunk.”
“Not yet. But you will be.” She giggled and took another pull from the bottle.
“You’re going to feel like shit tomorrow.”
“Probably.” She turned and hurled the mostly-empty bottle over the side. I had to give the girl credit: she had an arm. The bottle sailed high and flipped over no less than eight times before it splashed down in the lake. I watched it float through the ripples and was about to say something about her future in professional sports when I felt a warm firmness press against one hip, then the other. When I turned my head, my view was obscured by the pebbled surface of Sophia’s breasts.
“Sophia …”
“Shut up.” One of her hands went behind my neck while the other pulled a string and let her bikini bottom fall away. A warm heat settled over my hips as she pressed her lips against mine, gently at first, then urgent and searching, forcing my mouth open, her soft tongue touching mine. She began to rock slowly back and forth, grinding her hips in a figure-eight.
My heart sped up until I thought it would burst. Fire roared through my veins. I ran trembling hands up Sophia’s back, then down to her ass and gripped her hard. She moaned against my mouth and reached down to fumble at my belt. I broke off the kiss and closed my lips over one of her breasts, sucking, swirling my tongue. She gasped and arched her back, fingernails digging into my skin, hips grinding faster and faster. I kissed my way up to her neck and bit down gently, eliciting a small, husky gasp. Seconds later, I felt her fingers wrap around me, gliding up and down, the warm wetness between her legs achingly close.
In that moment, I had a choice to make. I knew Mike would not approve of what I was about to do, nor would my father. Don’t do this, I told myself. This isn’t right. But her skin was so soft, and her taste sent my mind spinning, and her hand felt like magic as she kept our mouths together and stroked. Her heat was so close, all it would take was a lift, a bit of positioning, and then a warm, delicious plunge.
I wish I could say I stopped myself. I wish I could say I pushed her away and said, Not like this, Sophia. You’re drunk. If you really want to do this, come to me sober and we’ll see where it takes us.
That would have been the smart thing to do. The honorable thing.
But that’s not what happened.
*****
I awoke to the sound of static.
“Fox, this is Eagle, do you read? Over.”
My head rose from the bench, swirling with grogginess. I had been in the middle of a dream, a bad one, but could not remember the details. The world around me was dim gray, a cool wind blowing over my skin, and I had something firm and warm that smelled faintly of body odor and sex wrapped in my arms. Distantly, I wondered what all this talk of foxes and eagles was about.
“Fox, this is Eagle, come in Fox. Over.”
There are moments when you wake up in a strange place and nothing is clear. There is no recall. You feel disoriented, wondering where you are, how you got there, and what happened beyond the gauze of unremembered time. It is not a good feeling. Then the cobwebs clear, and you remember where you are, how you got there, and you spring up in a moderate state of panic, hand fumbling for the radio.
“Eagle, this is Fox,” I said in a voice thick with sleep. “Read you loud and clear, over.”
“Thank God,” Blake said. “Please tell me y’all ain’t in the cabin. Over.”
“No, we’re not. We took the boat and anchored out away from shore. Over.”
“Everyone all right? Over.”
“Yes. Can we stop saying over already?”
A chuckle. “I guess there’s no harm in it.”
“How are you guys?”
A silence. “We’ll talk about it when we get back.”
“I don’t like the sound of that, amigo.”
“Everything’s fine.”
“I know when you’re lying, Blake.”