by Gaby Triana
Our boat gently rocks somewhere near Sugarloaf Key on the Gulf side. Lying on my back, I watch the moon to the east get surrounded by clouds never thick enough to completely cover her. Papi sits on the other side of the boat, setting up his line, a cold beer between his knees. He doesn’t say much, just strings up his lures and sinkers.
“What are you going for tonight?” I ask.
“Whatever bites,” he says. “Snapper or tarpon probably.”
“Tarpon? Yuck.” I close my eyes and imagine coming out here with Gordon sometime. We could probably get into a lot of trouble alone on a boat with the way we’re always heating up. I wonder what he’s doing right now.
“So, linda…” Papi sits back, spreading one arm along the side of the boat, holding his beer with the other hand.
“So, Papi…” Here comes the interrogation. I don’t mind his because they’re always so annotated. Plus, I know he trusts me completely, always has.
“How’s it going with chemistry?”
“Chemistry is fine.”
“Rock?”
“Fine.”
“Boyfriend?”
“Fine.”
“Using protection?”
“Don’t need it yet.”
“That’s my girl.” He takes another swig of his beer.
I smile at the moon. Jupiter plays peekaboo between the cloud cover, just about the only star visible tonight. I curl up on my side, closing my eyes, feeling the ocean rock me to sleep.
“You don’t know why we’re here, do you?” he asks suddenly.
My eyes shoot open. “Uh…to fish?”
He grins at me. “Someone’s had her head underground for a while now,” he says. “She hasn’t even kept an eye on her astronomy news.”
“Why, is there a comet tonight?” I do a quick scan of the skies for anything unusual.
He smiles again, finishes the rest of his beer, and tosses the empty bottle into a plastic bag. “I’ve never known my linda to forget a single lunar eclipse since she was…” He brings his hands close together to indicate a little baby Chloé.
“The eclipse is tonight?” My eyes go wide. I can’t believe it totally slipped my mind.
“Ese Gordon is taking up a lot of your brain cells. Just make sure you leave some for other things. He’s a nice kid, but at this age, even nice kids have their own hormones in mind.”
“He’s not like that, Papi.”
“They’re all like that, linda,” he fires back. He wants me to get this and get it good. “I was like that, and I think I’m a pretty nice guy. So be careful.”
“Okay, I got it.” A wave rocks the boat to a nice little peak, then lulls again. My dad pops open another beer, then lies back to watch the moon. I know he’s done with his lecture, if you can even call it that, but I’m left wondering if he’s right. If all guys are like that, then why don’t I feel like Gordon is taking advantage of me?
For a good twenty minutes, we say nothing, just watch the sky and wait. Then, little by little, the lower edge of the moon starts to flatten out, a dark penumbral shadow replacing its curve. It’s amazing to think that’s us—our giant, massive planet—getting in the way of the sun’s light.
I try to imagine my dad as a teenager before he met my mom. How many girlfriends did he have? Did he love any of them? How did he feel about adopting me? Thinking about him from different angles makes me feel in tune with him, yet disconnected at the same time. I’ll never completely know him and his secrets. And in a strange daughterly way, I don’t really want to.
I glance over to see if he’s still awake, appreciating the heavenly show. His eyes are slits, but open. Out of his peripheral vision, he catches me watching him and flashes one of his cute Papi smiles. An adorable Papi smile. I smile back. The creeping shadow finally stretches across the moon’s surface, covering it with an intense shade of reddish orange, and I can’t help but think that my dad is a bit like a lunar eclipse—obscure in his umbral shadows but still visible, still beautiful, and still there when I look for him.
Spring break finally arrives, and I could not be more elated to sleep the mornings away. For a whole week, I will not have to see ancient Rooney or deal with any equations. I help my mom out with the babies during the day, and discover that a mom with help is a Happy Mom. Some mornings, I find Rock asleep on my front porch, at which point he comes in for breakfast, watches old VH-1 reruns with my mom, then leaves like he’s on a mission. I don’t ask where anymore.
On Wednesday morning, I wake to the sound of the house phone ringing, my mother laughing, then her footsteps inside the babies’ room. I don’t remember much else, because I doze off again, dreaming of a warm, sandy beach and the faraway smell of grilled ham and cheese.
“Chloé, come eat!” I hear someone calling me from down the beach.
A deep hunger shoots through me, sending me the urgent message to wake up and get my butt over to a kitchen-counter stool. As if I haven’t seen food for days. “Yay, breakfast,” I mumble, rubbing my eyes.
“It’s noon. I take it you’re enjoying your time off?” Mom says, sliding a sandwich onto a plate and cutting it in half. In no more than four seconds, I have eaten through the first half.
“Yep.”
“Rock called a little while ago.”
“Why didn’t he call my phone?”
“I don’t know. He called to see if you were home. He probably didn’t want to wake you.”
“What did he say?”
“That he’ll be home today if you need him and that he’s been bothering us too much. He apologized for ‘loitering like a leech.’” She laughs, shakes her head. “He’s not a bother to anyone, poor thing.”
“He could’ve just called me and told me that.”
“Maybe he wanted someone else to talk to. You’ve been spending so much time with Gordon, honey. I think maybe he’s just feeling a little…I don’t know…rejected, maybe?”
I nod, finishing off the rest of the sandwich with a wad of guilt in my throat. I’ll talk to him later. “Can I have another one?”
“Sure.” She starts on another sandwich, then says, “You know, I feel bad for Rock sometimes. We’re like his family.” She looks at me for a quick second, then goes back to fiddling in the kitchen. “It’s sad. It makes me appreciate that my mom and dad were around to raise us, as much as I complain about them.”
I nod. Is this her way of telling me I shouldn’t go seeking answers about my adoption case? Because if it is…sigh. “Yes, and we should appreciate whoever loves us whether our DNA matches or not. I get it.”
She stops and looks at me. “That’s not what I was going to say.” Our eyes connect, and I can just barely see my uncle’s expression in hers for a quick second. She serves up another sandwich, cuts it in half, then slides it over to me. “What I was going to say is that I took my dad for granted, but had he not been a part of my life, I would’ve wanted to know him. So if you want help finding your birth parents, Chloé…”—the spatula in her hand trembles slightly—“it’s okay. I’ll help you.”
I look down at my ham and cheese, melted American oozing out of the sides, sticking to the plate. Suddenly, I’m not so hungry anymore. I appreciate that, but I’d feel better doing it alone. “Okay,” I say.
I force the sandwich down, thank my mom for lunch, then trudge back to my room.
Every time Rock has called today, he has made it a point to tell me that he is not doing anything, just watching TV in his room all day. This is an attempt, I fear, to prove that he is capable of abstinence and that I am wrong about him. As a result, I have to constantly switch lines while on the phone with Gordon to talk to Rock when he calls.
“It’s Rock again,” I mumble into the phone.
“Tell him you’re feeding your brothers or something.”
“I can’t. He’s in a depressive state.”
“I’ve noticed. I have tried to tell you.”
“I—I know, Gordon. But it’s weird. I can’t stop bei
ng his friend either. It would kill him.”
“But you can’t be his therapist either. He’s too emotionally connected to you.”
“But I am,” I say, realizing I’m being totally honest here. “And he’s my therapist too. I’m sorry, I know he’s a guy, but that’s just how it is.”
“So…” He’s quiet for a few seconds. He clears his throat. “You tell him about us? About private stuff?”
“Normally I would, but things have changed. I have to wait until he has a new girlfriend before I can tell him anything so he doesn’t feel sorry for himself. Right now, he thinks he’s in love with me.”
“I could have told you that the first time I met him,” he says. I stare at my ceiling fan, absorbing the echo of Gordon’s words. So it’s apparent to others, not just me.
“He’s not in love with me, Gordon. He’s just…needy. He needs someone at all times.”
I don’t tell him that I think maybe Rock’s profession of love is real this time. That maybe all those other times were real too, they were just leading up to this one. Rock has never abstained for a whole week since he lost his virginity four years ago. Since then, it’s been wall-to-wall women.
“Are you doing anything right now?” I ask.
“I guess I could take a break now. Why?”
“Can we meet at the dock? I’m dying to see you.”
I’ve been going crazy thinking about our times alone in his room all this week, times that are slowly leading up to the inevitable…for which I now feel I’m ready. All week, he’s been very sweet and he lets go of his authoritative personality when we’re together. I love the look on his face when he realizes that girls rule and that I hold power of my own, therefore he can’t possibly know all the answers of the universe.
“I’m leaving now,” he says, and I’m out the door four seconds later.
It’s time Gordon learned another one of the dock’s secrets. The estuary is great for swimming. There’s no slimy surface today. The water is clear, down to the bottom. There’s fish all around, but so what? It’s ninety degrees outside. Cooling off is the only option.
I pull off my shorts, leaving on my underwear and bra as swim gear, and jump, cannonball style. “Weeeee!” I squeal, crashing into the water’s surface, the bubbly silence surrounding me in the warm water. When I come up, I see Gordon standing at the dock’s edge, hands on his hips.
“I can’t believe you just did that. That water is nasty. What if there are gators in there?”
“Then we’ll get eaten. Jump in, babe. Or are you chicken?”
He tilts his head to one side, like he’s debating whether or not to accept the challenge.
“Bock, bock, bock…chicken!” I taunt, splashing water up at him.
Determined to prove that he is not, in fact, poultry, Gordon pulls off his T-shirt and jumps in. A bigger splash could not be possible. The waves he creates are tsunami-sized. I swallow a small amount of lightly salted water.
He comes up for air, hair plastered to his forehead. “How’s that for chicken?”
“Whoa, you really showed me.” I paddle up to him and boldly wrap my legs around his waist.
Instinctively, he grabs hold of me. “You shouldn’t do that.”
“And why not?”
He chews on his lower lip. “It’s dangerous.”
“What is this obsession of yours with danger?” I kiss him. In the background, I hear my phone ringing. Rock must be breaking down and needs me before he falls off the abstinence wagon. But I can’t talk to him right now. He’s going to have to deal with things without me.
“It’s addictive.” Gordon kisses me back.
I don’t know if it’s the sun, the water amplifying things, or what, but this is it. Something of sexual significance will definitely happen today. Gordon is definitely the one.
I reach behind my back to unclasp my bra. It’s water-logged anyway.
“What are you doing?” he asks, breaking the kiss.
“Being dangerous.” I hurl my bra onto the dock.
He smiles big. “You’re crazy, you know that? What if someone sees you?” His eyes glance down quickly.
“Nobody’s coming. Your turn, chicken. Bock, bock, bock.” I tug on his shorts. I bet he won’t do it.
But because he loves to prove me wrong, he makes a face like I’m a loser and pulls off his shorts. Not just his shorts, but everything! He whirls them around, imitating me, and flings them onto the dock. They land near my bra with a huge, wet thud.
I laugh the loudest I have laughed in a while. “I can’t believe you did that!”
“Thank God, I thought you were laughing at something else.” He pulls me back onto him, wrapping my legs around his waist again. There’s only one piece of clothing left between us, and believe me, it’s not much. Thoughts flood my mind. What if I get pregnant? Is that what happened to my birth mother?
“What’s wrong?” His concerned look snaps me out of my reverie.
“If I take this last thing off…” I can hear the nerves in my voice. “What’s going to happen? Will it be a mistake?”
He touches his forehead to mine. “That’s up to you. But I don’t see how it could be, Chloé. I love you.” He blinks softly, his lashes stuck together. His face is so beautiful right now.
“I love you too,” I say. And I know then that if anything terrible or unexpected were to happen, I would be able to handle it. We would handle it together. We kiss again.
Next thing I know, I am taking off my panties, without the slightest bit of regret. I ball them up and throw them onto the dock, taking in everything about our surroundings—the sun, the sky, the sound of fish slapping nearby. I feel confident knowing this is about to happen in my perfect place with my perfect guy.
Gordon holds me tight and kisses my cheek. I can tell he wants to show me that there’s no rush, that I’m in control of this situation.
Suddenly, I hear it. A rumbling engine coming up the road. Not the survey guys. Not a lost vehicle. But a ’68 Mustang driven by the only other person to have ever shared this special place with me. A person naïve enough to think he’s still alone in that honor.
Sputtering turbo sounds grow closer.
Gordon follows my gaze. “Someone’s here.”
“Rock,” I tell him.
He lets go of me and starts swimming toward the dock. “What are you going to tell him?”
“I have no freakin’ clue.” Even though Rock knows that Gordon and I are alone a lot, seeing us here will definitely induce a wake-up call. There’s no time to even climb onto the dock for our clothes.
I see the black hood of the Mustang slide up, crunching over the gravel. I hope he has enough decency to leave when he sees that my bike and Gordon’s car are here together.
“Go away, Rock,” I mumble.
The Mustang lingers, the sound of her engine filling the estuary. Gordon watches me from under the dock. I paddle toward him, but not so close that I can’t see what’s happening onshore. My phone rings, but it stops after two seconds, like Rock realized it was a bad idea to call. I hear the Mustang change gears, then it turns around in the gravel and heads back down the road again.
I exhale loudly.
“Chloé, you’d better go talk to him,” Gordon says, pulling himself up onto the dock. I look away, embarrassed. It’s one thing to see someone lying next to you naked, and another to see them climbing out of water that way.
He reaches down to help me up, handing me my clothes as I land on the wooden planks. “I don’t need to. He’s not a baby. Stay, Gordon. Don’t let him scare you off.”
Gordon pulls on his wet shorts and lies flat on his back. “No. You need to talk to him,” he repeats, and I know our special moment is over for now. He’s right. Rock’s probably wounded. He didn’t expect this, and I need to have an honest talk with him. But couldn’t it wait another hour?
“Fine,” I say, disappointed that our afternoon dissolved into this. Maybe the universe is trying to tell
me something. Maybe today wasn’t the day. I hate signs and I hate warnings, so it’s no surprise that I get dressed quickly and jump on Lolita to leave. “I’ll call you later.”
“Chloé,” Gordon says.
“Yes?” I hate feeling like he’s using this opportunity to stop and think about what we almost did together. I don’t feel any regret, and neither should he.
“Don’t be mad. We had a great afternoon together.” He smiles.
I nod in response.
I remember those first times in tutoring. How hard it was to get him to loosen up. Yet today, he jumped right into the estuary and peeled off his shorts. Isn’t that what I wanted? For him to put the world on hold and just have fun? Still, I can’t shake the irrational, gnawing feeling that he’s trying to get rid of me.
“I shouldn’t have met you now anyway,” he says, and I almost can’t believe what I’m hearing. “I was up to my ears in work.”
I don’t respond, just wait until he closes his car door, has gone down the driveway, and turned onto the main road. Then I put my head down on Lolita and take in the sudden stillness of the swamp.
Twenty-one
Rock sits on my bedroom floor, running his pocketknife underneath his grimy nails. In my girly yellow room, he looks about as comfortable as a cat in a bathtub. Per my father’s instructions a few years back, Rock is not allowed to sit on my bed under any circumstances—a pretty dumb rule if you think about it. If we were going to have sex, we could still do it on the floor.
“Are you going to say anything?” I ask, sitting cross-legged on my bed.
“You’re the one who called me here.”
“I know, but…”
“How long have you guys been going there, Chloé?” He looks up, the angle of his jaw sharp. The way he says “Chloé” makes my heart hurt a little.