The Water Keeper(47)
She let go and wiped her hand on her jeans. “Now that we’ve had our little moment, if you don’t come back, I’m keeping the watch.” Admiring my several-thousand-dollar dive watch, she walked through the automatic doors and disappeared inside the hospital.
I deliberated taking a car to get there faster, but that brought about two problems. First, I didn’t have one. Second, if Fire and Rain cast off from her mooring, I’d need Gone Fiction to follow.
We returned to the dock where Gone Fiction floated expectantly. Feeling somewhat guilty for how I’d neglected him, I lashed Fingers’ orange lunch box to the underside of the T-top so he could look down on the world. Given that you couldn’t really see him unless you were looking for him, I thought maybe I’d just leave him there for the duration. Directly above my head. Three minutes later, we idled out of the yacht club and into the no-wake zone.
Summer stood close, biting what remained of her fingernails. She’d start to say something, then swallow it. She did this several times before I looked at her, inviting the question.
She whispered, “Priest?”
Her face betrayed both disappointment and curiosity. I wasn’t sure where she was going with this, so I dodged it. “I don’t follow you.”
“The morgue. Your wallet. That guy took one look and—”
“Oh.” I couldn’t tell if she was irritated or amused, so I downplayed it. “Short question. Long answer.”
She waited.
“It was a long time ago.”
She thumbed over her shoulder toward the morgue. “Evidently not.”
She wrapped an arm around my waist. I answered while not answering. “I’m also a priest. Or . . . I was.”
“I thought once a priest always a priest.”
I shrugged. “I’m in a bit of a gray area.”
“Why?”
“Priests don’t do what I’ve done.”
“You want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
“Why?”
This conversation was moving fast. “You ask a lot of questions.”
“Well . . . ?”
“You won’t like the answer or me.”
“Why?”
“It’s painful.”
She stared out across the water. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re swimming in pain right now.”
She was right, and maybe none more so than herself. “Maybe some other time.”
She smiled. “There it is again.”
“What?”
“That thing you do where you avoid the tough questions I’m asking you.”
She leaned against me, pressing her heart to my shoulder. Not speaking as the keel sliced the water. Still not satisfied, she turned to me and held up her hand, a single finger extended—just like I’d done with Ellie. Then, with her palm facing outward, she extended all five fingers, eventually resting them on my chest. Having mimicked the hand motion, she stood with her index finger extended like E.T. Waiting. “There’s more to this, isn’t there?”
“Yes.”
“What’s it mean?”
I spoke as our fingertips touched. “The needs of the one . . .” When all five fingertips touched, I pressed my palm to hers and our fingers interlocked. Her hand felt strong. “Outweigh the needs of the many.”
She waited. Baiting me for more. She leaned closer, her face inches from mine. Breath on my face. She had yet to let go of my hand, and I could tell she liked being in my space. She found comfort there. “Are you?”
“Am I what?”
“Going to find the one.”
“Working on it.”
She shook her head but didn’t back up. Still bathing me in breath. Sweat. And the smell of woman. “Why? Why you? Why not—” She waved her hand across the earth. “Some other schmuck out there?”
The no-wake zone ended. I turned to her and spoke as the names flashed across the backs of my eyelids and I pressed the throttle forward. “I don’t know that I have an answer for that. Maybe I got tired of waiting.”
Sensing that we were now swimming beneath the surface, she didn’t speak. Just waited. Finally, she offered, “In my experience, men who say things like that seldom, or never, back them up. They chicken out when it comes time to pay the bill.”
A dozen or so places on my body began hurting simultaneously. I turned the wheel slightly. “It can be costly.”
She was playing with me now. Still invading my personal space. “What’s it cost you?”
I slid my shirtsleeve to the elbow and exposed a long scar that traveled nearly to my wrist. “Knife.” I lifted my pant leg and pointed to a scar mid-shin. “Sudden impact with the ground after I jumped out of a third-story window and my shinbone poked through the skin after it snapped.” I pressed my left ear forward, allowing her to see the long scar behind my ear. “Jumper cables.” Those were probably enough, so I fell quiet. The complexion of her eyes changed as she looked at me.
She glanced at my ear. “Jumper cables?”
I nodded.
“You’re serious?”
“Yes.”
“What? How?”
I chuckle. “Somebody was attempting to jump-start the truth out of me.”