Page 111 of Every Beautiful Mile

“Well, this is amazing,” I say.

He hums in agreement.

“So, what’s the story here? How did you end up with a houseboat?” I take a sip of the beer he hands me.

“It’s not that interesting. I had a place here for a while, but as the kids got older, they didn’t want to spend their summers away from friends, so they stopped coming. It seemed silly to keep a big house for just me, so I sold it. I’m only here a few months a year. This seemed like a great solution. It’s big enough for me, and if the boys come, I’ll put them in a room at the hotel.” He points his beer toward the largest building in town.

A sailboat cuts across the horizon.

“This view is incredible. Better than most people will have in a whole lifetime.” My eyes move to the boats around us—nearly identical to his. “Do people live in all of these?”

He nods.

“A cop.” He points to the one closest to us before moving on to the other. “A plumber, a retired doctor, and I’m pretty sure that guy does something illegal.”

I laugh softly with a shake of my head as I lean against the railing.

“How do you think Finn and Marin are doing in Acadia?” he asks, mirroring my position.

My cheeks puff up with air before deflating.

“Gosh, I don’t know. Finn is probably loving every second, but Marin shocked me with this. I kept reading about the bathroom situation, but she insisted.” My lips lift in the slightest of smiles. “But I guess this is part of it, right? Holding onto them tightly just to ultimately let go.”

Another boat goes by, and again, we bob gently in the wake.

“The first summer the boys didn’t want to spend on the coast with me, I was shocked. It took some getting used to, not having their trail of clothes or dirty dishes to clean up and the days off to spend fishing with them. Eventually, I figured it out and accepted they were growing up. They usually come for at least one weekend now, and I go home for at least one. It’s a wild thing, seeing it happen. The change of watching kids grow is slow until you notice it, then it happens all at once, like a lightning strike.”

I nod, knowing exactly what he’s talking about.

“What’s that for?” I point at a half-eaten loaf of bread in a bag tucked in a corner.

His eyes slide in my direction with a playful glint as he picks up the bag. He pulls out a slice of bread, balls up a small piece, and says, “A game,” with a small smile.

Leaning over the railing, he whistles before he tosses the bread ball over the water. Within seconds a seagull swoops down to grab it out of the air in its beak.

His small smile morphs into something bright and full blown as he hands me a piece of bread that I refuse.

“Too grown up to play with the birds, Nel?” he asks, tossing another bread ball into the air, another bird swooping to catch it.

“No, this is just stupid,” I say, only half meaning it.

“Really? Too stupid for someone who wears squeaky rubber boots around?” he mocks.

I cross my arms, nostrils flaring. “My luggage is a trash bag. Give the wardrobe a break.”

His smile doesn’t leave his face and his voice is an annoying sing-song sound when he responds with, “Don’t knock it ’til you try it.”

He tosses another piece of bread, a bird swoops in to catch it, and dammit if it doesn’t feel like a little bit of a privilege to watch this man play like an overgrown child.

I hesitate only a second longer before relenting and taking a piece, tossing it the same way he does. A bird dives across the sky and catches it. I bite my cheek to hide my smile.

“Told ya,” he hums, tossing another one.

It’s stupid really, laughing this hard throwing bread to birds, yet somehow, it feels like I’ve been missing out. Like it should be part of every day. Like a day where I don’t do this just can’t possibly be as good.

When the loaf is gone, dark clouds roll in and mushroom across the sky. I smell the rain just before the first drop lands on my arm. The once clear horizon looks almost black as thunder rumbles in the distance.

“Storm’s coming,” he says.

---