Page 14 of Thin Ice

Jerry worked the bench across from me, and Jerry-quiet is a good quiet, radio between us, tools going back where they live. And then, without looking up from the carburetor in his hands, he lobbed it over.

"Say. That summer kid, few years back. Came in hot on his old man's boat. He turned a screw half a thread. "Harrington's boy. He was about your year, wasn't he? He's not up at that house, is he? Whatever came of him?"

And there it was.

What was I going to say? He's my boyfriend. He's in that lit-up house right now going to war for me, and we like to fuck, naked.

"We row against each other."

Jerry grunted. True things get grunts. "Small world," he said, and went back into the carburetor, and I stood there with the lie still warm in my mouth.

At school, I was out. Done. The photo went around, I walked into the boathouse with Alex, Hale shook my hand. But standing in that shop five feet from Jerry, I understood: I would have to come out to him too. And to Denny. And to every person on this lake, one at a time, from scratch. Jerry would probably be fine.

I didn't say it. Not today.

By four the light was going, that early December drop where the sky just gives up, and I finished the wrap in the blue dusk with the work lamp on. Last seam. One pass, slow. The plastic hazed and drew down tight, and I killed the gun and pulled a glove and ran my bare palm over it — smooth, hard, drum-tight, not going anywhere till April.

Good seam. Nobody would ever see it but me, Jerry, and the wind. I stood there in the cold, being proud of it anyway.

In the office, Jerry counted twenties out of the cash drawer, licking his thumb, and folded them into my palm.

"Whole week's work if you want it. Storage checks and that Grady-White's impeller."

"I want it all."

"Course you do." He looked at me over the top of the glasses he pretends he doesn't need. "You're the only one of these kids worth a damn, you know that? Don't tell nobody. Ruins my leverage."

"Secret's safe, Jerry."

That one sat in my mouth wrong on the way out the door.

Walking through the lot, I counted the fold through my pocket and put it against the gift problem. Meaningful. I still didn't have it.

And then, passing the back row on my way to the road, I stopped.

The Hendersons' Sea Ray. The one I'd spent the morning patching. Thirty-two feet, deep-V hull, a cabin you could stand up in. Teak trim. Helm console that cost more than my mom's car. In the summer, somebody's lake-weekend trophy. In December, wrapped and forgotten.

I looked at it.

I looked at the extension cord coiled by the shop wall. The space heater inside. The camp lantern on the shelf next to the batteries.

Giant space. Fancy. Private. Nobody would come near it until April.

Alex would love it.

The entire plan landed at once.

I got out my phone.

Liam

Wednesday night. Dress warm. I found us somewhere.

Alex

Found us somewhere. Where?

Liam