In the Same Boat

by Holly Green

  1:25 P.M. MONDAY

  I can’t see Johnny when we set out again.

  We push forward and it feels like a hundred hours of being slapped around by the waves.

  But the spoil island grows bigger on the horizon.

  Slowly.

  Slowly.

  Slowly.

  We’re even with the end of it, angling toward the shore.

  We keep pulling.

  We’re to the tip.

  We’re ready to make the turn.

  2:39 P.M. MONDAY

  That’s when I see them. Two guys stand in the shallow water next to the island, their boat on its side. They wear highlighter-yellow shirts.

  They don’t see us.

  There’s a freaking hummingbird in my chest.

  I can see my brother’s face all those years ago. Face it, Sadie, you just can’t keep up. I see him in the kitchen, avoiding my eyes. I see him at Spring Lake, trying to get me to go home.

  Then I remember the whistle on my life jacket. I raise it to my lips and blow.

  For a moment, the shrill sound drowns out the waves and the wind and everything else.

  “You okay back there?” Cully asks.

  My brother’s face lifts away from his canoe. His jaw falls. If I could, I’d take a picture and frame it.

  We’re going to beat him. We’re going to reach the finish before my brother and Hank.

  We paddle for another ten minutes, drawing closer to the finish line.

  Something huge and black zips across the water. It hits the side of our boat with a thud. The wind pins it to us.

  Cully’s paddle bangs against it. “What the—?”

  My stomach sinks.

  It’s a canoe. A three-person shell with a spiderweb of duct tape and fresh patches across the hull. The partially snapped spray skirt whips in the wind.

  It’s empty.

  I brace on my left with my paddle in one hand and grab a loose bit of the bright blue spray skirt. White vinyl stickers on the side spell out the words NEVER SAY DIE.

  That’s right. Erica and Gonzo said his boat got damaged.

  No.

  I hit the water with my paddle.

  “Damnit!” I yell.

  “What?” Cully’s voice barely carries over the wind.

  “It’s your dad’s boat!”

  “What?”

  “Your dad!” I repeat. “He’s out there!”

  “He’ll swim to shore,” Cully says, taking the next stroke toward the finish. Toward beating both his dad and Tanner.

  I see them now. Three dots in the water. Cully’s right. They could swim to shore. They might even walk to shore. Huge parts of the bay are shallow enough to walk.

  If the race officials don’t think it’s life-threatening, we could be disqualified just for taking them their boat. I could still not get my finish.

  But it’s been over fifty hours. They’re in the middle of the bay with no water, no phone, no spot tracker, no flares. And even with binoculars, nobody’s going to spot them from shore.

  Damnit.

  “We have to,” I yell to Cully. Because even if it means we’re DQ’d, even if it means I don’t get my patch, I’m not gambling with anyone’s life. Even Johnny’s. “It might be an hour before we can tell anyone. They’ll drift.”

  I can still see Johnny back at the last stop dangling everything Cully wants in front of him to make him quit. To keep his son from beating him.

  I get why Cully wants to keep going. He’s probably right. They’ll probably be fine. But what if they’re not?

  “Cully,” I say, “you’re the better man.”

  He uses his paddle to swing at the next wave like a baseball bat. “No!” he yells.

  But he draws the boat to the right.

  I adjust the rudder pedal, and as he paddles, I use the stern rope to tie Johnny’s boat to ours.

  Waves crash over the bow and I cinch the spray skirt tighter around my chest. Without it, we’d swamp in about thirty seconds. As it is, the pump is working overtime to empty the boat. We’re rocked back and forth, side to side. Johnny’s canoe gets tossed by the waves and blown in the wind. It slows us down like we’re dragging a parachute. We pull as hard as we can and we move slowly. So slow it doesn’t feel like we’re moving.

  Everything hurts. My stomach has gone sour again. I pull a small sip from my water tube, but I can’t stand the sweet grapefruit flavor anymore. My stomach clenches and rolls, and everything comes back up. I vomit onto the spray skirt and the side of the boat, but I don’t bother to wipe my mouth. Just spit until the taste of the salt water spraying on my face takes over.

  3:05 P.M. MONDAY

  A whistle cuts through the air and someone raises a paddle. They see us. Two of them swim our way, pulling a third, floating on his back.

  “John Cullen?” Johnny says when we get close. Ted Stern nods at me.

  “What’s wrong with Walt?” Cully asks.

  “Muscle cramps,” Ted says.

  Walt grunts.

  “What do you need?” I ask.

  The boat rocks and Johnny puts a hand toward our gunnel.

  “Don’t touch this boat!” I yell, ready to beat his hand away with my paddle. We might still be in the race. I’m not getting disqualified for anything unnecessary.

  “Just give us our boat back,” Johnny says. “We’ll get to the finish on our own.”

  I untie the boat and make sure it gets in Johnny’s and Ted’s hands. “Don’t let go this time,” I say before we paddle away.

  I don’t know why I thought they might say thank you.

  We turn the boat toward shore and pull. An hour passes. Or maybe fifteen minutes. I’m too scared to look away from the waves long enough to check the time. We fight the wind and waves and we paddle until we see the pavilion onshore, the stairs, and the wooden awning where we’ll take pictures. My watch reads 3:51 p.m. when we pass the buoy in the water that marks the actual finish line. Tears spring into my eyes.

  Erica and Gonzo are there. Mazer. Mrs. Gonzales.

  And Dad.

  We made it.

  “Tip right?” I ask Cully.

  “Yeah.”

  Deep breath. We both lean to the right, knocking our canoe over on purpose for once. I slide out of my spray skirt and go under, letting the water hold me for a moment. There’s no paddle in my hands, no sharp pain in my shoulder, no next stroke to take. I made it all 265 miles, and I am so completely satisfied.

  When I surface, Cully is already there. A warm happiness spreads through my chest. I pull him to me, close my eyes, and shut out everything but Cully. His arms go around me. My temple presses into the rough stubble on his cheek.

  “You smell terrible,” I whisper.

  “So do you.”

  I pull him tighter. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

  “Me neither,” he says.

  3:54 P.M. MONDAY

  There’s a hand on my back. A third hand.

  I break away from Cully. Dad stands waist-deep in the bay. His blue eyes meet mine.

  There are so many things to say. But I’m so damn tired.

  He puts a hand on the boat and nods toward the stairs. A silent go on up.

  Two tall blue poles rise out of the grass onshore. The white board that spans the tops has the words TEXAS RIVER ODYSSEY in red letters.

  I’ve dreamed of walking under that finish line my entire life.

  Walking away from my boat, I feel like I’ve forgotten something. But I grip my paddle tight in one hand. Waves slap me around, but as I climb the stairs, the rail in my other hand is so steady it’s unreal.

  My feet find dry ground. My body still sways. I survey the finish. A couple dozen spectators and volunteers in lawn chairs under the pavilion and on the grass. A handful of racers napping or eating. A line of five boats on the lawn. A longer line of port-a-pots up by the road.

  Dad and Ginny pull our boat out of the water and lay it across the grass in front of the finis
h line.

  “Fifty-four hours, fifty-one minutes,” a race official tells us. “That puts you in sixth place. Second in class.”

  One boat away from our goal.

  But it turns out, I don’t care what our time is or who we beat. I just care that I’m here, with my arm pressed against Cully’s.

  Erica unclips Mazer from his leash and he runs at me. I bend down and give him a good scratch before he moves on to Cully, who gives Gonzo one of those back-pat hugs.

  “I’m gross,” I warn Erica, but she hugs me anyway.

  “Thank you so much,” I whisper.

  “I did it because it’s hard,” she says.

  “You’re fucking invincible,” I tell her.

  “So are you.”

  Gonzo hugs me next. He’s put his pompadour back together, but he’s still in athletic shorts and a river-stained shirt. I understand for the first time that I’ve had the privilege of seeing Gonzo with his guard down, not the polished-up version he presents to everyone else, and for some reason, it gets me all choked up.

  “I’ll never be able to thank you enough,” I tell him.

  “Just promise you’ll never take a boat out during a lightning storm again,” he tells me.

  I laugh. “Promise.”

  We let go of each other, but he keeps a hand on my arm.

  “Maybe you had a point about Cool Runnings,” I say.

  “I know.” He lets his hand fall. “But so did you.”

  Mrs. Gonzales hugs Cully, then cups his face in her hands and tilts his chin down so their eyes meet. “I am so proud of you.”

  Leslie Hink stands beside the pavilion, watching another woman be mother to her son.

  Cully and Mrs. Gonzales stay like that a moment, before she turns to me. “Sadie. You are so strong.” She pulls me into a quick hug.

  Dad is only a few feet away, hands in his pockets. Someone’s missing.

  I look more closely at the people in the chairs. Coop, Randy, and Hank are eating burgers. Coop’s eyes and nose are bruised purple and scabby. But my brother isn’t with them.

  I turn to Dad. “Where are Mom and Tanner?”

  “At the hospital. Your mom thought Tanner needed stitches,” Dad says. “He stepped on a stingray.”

  “Did you tell them to put a butterfly bandage on it?” I ask.

  It takes Dad a second to remember before his chin wrinkles, holding back his laugh.

  “I told them I had to be here for your finish.” He holds out a hand to Erica, who puts his phone in it. He must have handed it to her before he got in the bay. “Someone has to take the pictures,” he says.

  His words hit me in the chest. My dad chose to be here. For me.

  “Go ahead,” he says, pulling his phone up to picture height.

  We pose with our bank crew first. And Mazer. He’s not leaving my side.

  “One of just Cully and me,” I say, and Erica and Gonzo stand off to the side, leaving Mazer with us.

  I slide my arm around Cully’s waist and squeeze him tight. His arm goes around my shoulders. We smile at the camera, and then I turn my head. I’ve spent so much time looking at his back. Now I take in Cully’s brown eyes, his copper hair, his golden skin. His freckles are out of control, and I can feel the goofiness of my smile. I don’t know what the future holds for us. I just know that right now I want to stay in this moment, happy that we made it here together.

  * * *

  Dad and I carry the canoe across the grass and line it up in order of finish with the other boats. We’re next to Mark and Kimmie’s boat. Tanner’s canoe is one ahead of them. Conner Howell took fourth and the Wranglers took third. But the best thing is seeing that it isn’t a six in the spot for first place. A four-person canoe is resting in the top spot, the words NO SLEEP TILL SEADRIFT in white letters on the side. Molly, Mia, Erin, and Juliette took the whole damn race! It’s the first time an all-female boat has ever won, and it makes me so ridiculously happy. I spy them across the pavilion talking to Kimmie. Maybe they’re trying to recruit her. I wonder if they’d take me on next year, too.

  A few people walk around, checking out the boats. Someone catches Dad by the arm. An old racer whose name I can’t remember.

  “Find me later,” Dad tells him, and we finish our walk to the pavilion.

  Cully and I settle into two beautiful reclining lawn chairs, and I melt into mine. Just resting my back against something is a ridiculous luxury.

  Dad comes back and sits next to Gonzo and Erica and Mrs. Gonzales like they’re old friends and takes a sip from a drink that was already in the cup holder.

  I ease off my shoes and examine my feet.

  “That’s not right,” Erica says, because they’re ghostly white and covered in wrinkles, but every racer in this tent arrived with feet just the same.

  Cully takes his shoes off, too. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be fully dry again.”

  I hold out both hands to show Erica how every section of every finger has a blister, and the line of blisters across the tops of my palms.

  My cold burger and fries are the best thing I’ve ever eaten. I sip on a half-melted chocolate milkshake in between bites.

  Gonzo sucks the last of his shake through a red straw, making a loud gurgling noise. “Sorry the food’s been sitting out so long.”

  “The tracking app said you’d get in about an hour and a half sooner than you did,” Erica says.

  “Yeah.” Gonzo leans forward. “The app made it look like you and your dad were paddling on top of each other for a while.”

  I’d just as soon never tell anyone what we did for Johnny Hink, but the story tumbles out of Cully’s mouth.

  Everyone turns to look at the bay, like they might spot Johnny’s boat out there. Everyone except Dad, who’s looking at me with a serious expression. Evaluating me.

  “What else happened out there?” Erica asks.

  So we tell them about Cully losing his paddle and getting the boat pinned against a tree and the ants in my pants and everything else we didn’t have time for at the checkpoints. And they’re telling us about the water moccasin that dropped out of a tree two feet in front of Erica, and the property owner who tried to charge them fifty bucks for trespassing, and staying up all night to watch our dot move across the app on their phones.

  Then Mom’s back with Tanner and she hugs me and tells me how proud she is of me.

  “You ran a good race,” Tanner says, which is as much of an apology as I could ever expect from him.

  They join us, Mom and Tanner. The Bynums, too. Tanner soaks his foot in hot water. Allie’s here, too, and I don’t yell at her to go away because Cully doesn’t care. They tell us about losing their headlight, and Coop getting whacked in the face by a branch because of it, and all the bad blood there was between us has washed away. After Coop left, they made the hard choice to sit out for two hours until there was enough light for them to see. And they have another story about getting stopped by an entire herd of cows while they were portaging the log jam.

  “So much cow shit,” Tanner says.

  I’m able to laugh and cringe in all the right places, because it’s so much like the finish I always dreamed of. Like it was when we were kids.

  But for the first time, I see that finishing doesn’t actually matter. I got everything that I wanted out of this race before I ever crossed the finish line.

  * * *

  We all lie back to nap for a bit. I wake to the sound of Dad’s voice. He’s talking to Mom, but when he sees me awake, he crouches next to my chair.

  “Come sit with me, kid,” he says.

  He pulls me out of my seat with a calloused hand. I follow him again, past the pavilion this time, far away from Tanner and Mom and Cully. We sit on the seawall, dangling our legs. Dad’s feet just brush the surface of the water, and little waves roll over them. He studies his hands in his lap.

  On the bay, a boat appears on the horizon. We watch in silence for a few minutes as it slowly moves closer. Three people
in the boat. Only two of them paddling. It must be Johnny. People yell and clap a bit, but it dies down. That level of enthusiasm is hard to keep up the whole time a boat inches toward the finish.

  I glance back at the pavilion. Cully’s still sleeping. When I first agreed to paddle with him, I thought I could just leave him behind at the finish again. That everything could go back to how it was before last year’s race. That I would be Dad’s tough, strong daughter. It’s all I cared about.

  But thinking I could use Cully like that, thinking that he was just some sort of tool to get down the river … I was such an idiot.

  “Those were the brightest lights I’ve ever seen on the river that first night,” Dad says, just as the words “I’m not giving him up again” come out of my mouth.

  “What was that?” Dad asks.

  “Wait, you saw our lights?” I say.

  He waits for me to repeat myself, but I don’t. I want him to explain.

  “Everyone saw your lights. That first night when you came blazing down the river with them, it made me wish I’d done something like that the year we raced. What happened to them the second night?”

  “But you weren’t at our water stops.”

  “I went back and forth between you and your brother. But I saw you on the water a fair bit. Called your mom with updates all the way down the river. Erica and Gonzo were a good crew.”

  “You were hanging out with Erica and Gonzo?”

  “I like those two.”

  “Why didn’t I see you?”

  “Didn’t think you’d want to see me.” He studies his hands. “I knew it had to cost you a lot to team up with a Hink. You had to be pretty angry with me to do that. I tried to make up for it with the cookies and the tip about the Haymaker and Alligator Lake.”

  “How’d you know we could make it through?”

  “Second place was a tandem who zipped through there. I was watching on the app,” Dad says.

  “I thought you didn’t like all the technology the race uses now.”

  “Yeah, well, when your kids are on the water, it’s reassuring.”

  “But why?” I ask. “You barely talk to me.” My eyes burn.

  Dad lets out a heavy breath.