Page 56 of The Falcon and the Foe

Our canoe made a 360 turn, spinning like a bottle at a middle school party.

“Yes,” he grumbled. “You go left.”

“Got it.” I stuck my oar back in the water.

“I said left.”

“I thought you meant your left.”

“My leftisyour left.”

“I’m getting dizzy.”

“Are you guys okay?” Quentin asked. He and Josh stuck their oars in the water to stop by us.

“Dad.” Josh tipped his head at me.

“Why do you think this is my fault? Scout Leader Russ is the one gaslighting me with his rowing instructions.”

The sound of Russ slapping his hand to his forehead echoed down the river.

Somehow, we found our groove. We rowed in silence, taking in the beauty around us. Russ let out little grunts as he rowed, which made me a little funny in the tummy.

He pointed out a deer on the banks, frolicking in the trees. The kids didn’t have their phones; they got to enjoy this moment purely, something to be remembered, not documented.

The sounds of the oars hitting the water became rhythmic. I was staring at the slope of the mountains in the distance when I felt a splash of water on me, sprinkling my shoulder.

I turned around. “What was that?”

“Oh, must’ve hit a rock underwater.”

I turned to row again but got hit with another splash.

“Another rock?” I asked with sarcasm.

“Must’ve been.” His smile was one hundred percent shit-eating.

Two could play at this game. When my oar went in the water on the next row, I jerked it backward.

“How do you like that?”

“The water feels great.”

Oh, right. He swam naked in it this morning. How could I forget?

He splashed me again, freezing droplets searing my skin. “Russ, stop,” I said through laughter.

“It’s not me. It’s the rocks.”

I shook my head. I stared ahead, rolling my eyes hard. “I miss the uptight scout leader.”

Not one to miss out on the mischief, I switched my rowing side to his, spinning us in yet another circle.

* * *

At night,we cooked up a feast of steak and potatoes, followed by s’mores for dessert. Russ had seasoned the food with a mix of paprika and cumin, giving it a smoky flavor that sizzled on the grill. It was one of the best meals I’d ever eaten, but I couldn’t dig in like I wanted. My stomach rumbled with nerves because dinnertime meant we were almost at lights out and another night in the tent with Russ. Would my sleep-groping return again?

While we roasted marshmallows under the dark sky, I told a ghost story in one of my spooky voices used for Halloween specials and voiceovers for political attack ads. I walked around the campfire slowly and deliberately to set the mood. The tale was about a cursed cabin, a ghost story I remembered from their age. They hung on my every word. At the climax, I lurched my hands on Russ’s shoulders, and he flew in the air.

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