Page 45 of No Kind of Hero
“Nope.” He cast off, then started the engine and backed his pretty white boat carefully out of its slip. “Dads don’t ride motorcycles, at least I don’t. I got worried when Apr—when Gracie was on the way and got rid of it.”
She paused a second, and he glanced at her. He was waiting for her to ask about April, but all she said was, “I can see that. But I’ll admit I’m a little sorry. You were so . . . well, you were. When I came back from school that summer and saw you that first time, when you rode into the parking lot at the beach to meet me. It was just about to get dark. Remember that?”
“I might.” Only perfectly. The sun had been setting in a glory of pink and crimson, the beach nearly deserted after the heat of the day. Beth had looked so tentative standing there, shifting from foot to foot like he might not show up. And when she’d swung up behind him on the bike and wrapped her arms around his waist that first time? When he’d realized that she’d looked forward to this almost as much as he had? Yeah, he might have felt like a king that night. Like a winner.
She said, “So now you have a van, and a house, and a boat. Agreatboat.”
“Yeah, she’s pretty sweet. I didn’t buy her new, but I’ve got her running good now. But you know, if I’d really done it right, I’d have brought wine for this part. You should be drinking a glass of white wine on the boat like the lady you are.”
She leaned back, stretched her legs out, and said as he spun the boat around and the engine picked up speed, “I don’t need wine. I’m happy. How’s Gracie doing today?”
“Still got the cold. I bought her a humidifier, though, and I’ve got my mom giving her water with a little apple juice in it so she wants it and doesn’t get dehydrated. That’s the big one, especially when it’s hot.”
“Babies can’t tell you,” she said, “so you have to watch for their cues, I suppose. That’s a lot of responsibility. Do you worry?”
“You kidding? Yeah, I worry.” He was headed straight over to Busano’s, and then somehow he wasn’t. He was easing the boat over and ducking into that secret spot instead, the cove where the hidden creek ran down into the lake. Beth didn’t say anything at all, and he turned the boat to face toward the entrance, eased off on the throttle, and drifted.
Wild Horse Lake, an hour before sunset. A few clouds hanging like silver against the blue of the sky, the water glowing like a sapphire in the slanting rays of a late-afternoon sun. Cicadas buzzing in the trees, the occasional bit of white fluff drifting past on the breeze as the cottonwoods released their seeds. Near shore, a willow dipped its branches in the water, and out on the lake, an osprey soared overhead, then dove. It came up flapping hard, which meant it must have caught that fish, and headed off to its nest.
Everything in the world mating, spreading its seeds, fulfilling that need to create the next generation.
And the zip-zip-zip of dragonflies. Fire-engine red, neon green. An electric-blue pair flying, darting, diving and rising, one pursuing the other in the most ancient of dances, the one all living things would be dancing forever.
“Oh,” Beth said, and it was a sigh. “Beautiful. Thank you. Why do you have to be so sweet? You just . . .” Her hand was at her chest. “Thank you.”
“Dragonflies,” he said, wondering how she could do that to his heart. “I come here to fish sometimes. And sometimes, I . . .” He may have had to clear his throat. “I’ve thought of you.” Because, of course, this was the spot, the one he’d brought her to in that rowboat. On one especially hot day, he’d remembered a few hundred times since, she’d given him a sassy smile and tipped herself straight out of the boat, and he’d gone in after her. Their own chase and dance had ended with them making love standing up, waist-deep in the cool water and Beth wrapped around him, gasping, calling his name. And he’d known he was happy.
“A dragonfly,” she said after a long moment during which he was fairly sure she was remembering the same thing, “can fly up to forty-five miles an hour. Did you know that?”
“No. I just knew they were pretty, and that you liked them.”
“They can hover like a helicopter,” she said absently as she watched the shining insects swoop and dive and, yes, hover. “They can fly backwards like a hummingbird, but they only flap their wings thirty times a second. A mosquito flaps its wings six hundred times.”
He didn’t ask her how she knew. He knew she knew. “Powerful but graceful, I guess you’d say. Well engineered.”
“And beautiful. I’ve always loved them best. Better than butterflies, because they try so hard. You gave me dragonfly earrings, remember?”
“They weren’t worth much.”
“You’re wrong. They were worth a lot. I still have them. I don’t wear them, though, because they make me sad. A dragonfly is about change. I looked that up too, a long time ago. So that’s a fail.”
She said it like it was funny, but he knew it wasn’t. He said, “I’d say you’ve done change. Law school. Moving to the big city. That tough job, and doing it all on your own.”
She turned to look at him, and she wasn’t vixen or innocent or anything else. She was a woman who saw all the way inside him and was letting him see her. No doubt, and no fear. She looked at him, she talked to him, like she was sure. “No. Not that kind. The kind you’ve done. A dragonfly’s about the change you make when you find out what’s important. It’s not just about flying over the water, it’s looking under the surface. Growing up. Growing strong.”
“Maybe,” he said. “But that sounds like a choice. I’ve changed because I had to. Every time.”
“When you had Gracie, and your girlfriend left. And before. When you lost football, and you came home. But there was choice there, too. You graduated from the University of Washington. Exactly like me.”
This wasn’t what this night was supposed to be about. This was fantasy and fun. This was butterflies, not dragonflies. Not Beth’s eyes shining blue as the lake in the twilight, asking him to lay his heart bare.
He didn’t dive into strange waters anymore. He didn’t drive too fast or jump too quick or speak too soon. He couldn’t afford to. And all the same, he said, “I didn’t like the big city.”
“But if football had worked out . . . Every team’s in a big city, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Well. It didn’t. I wanted the Devils, and Portland’s not so bad. And I thought if I got drafted by another team, which is probably what would have happened . . . Well, with that salary I thought I could, you know, have a place. Some land. Buy my mom a house, too. All of that. It didn’t happen. I couldn’t make it happen. That’s life. Like I said. No choice. ”
The words were hard stones, dropping into the lake and sinking down deep. Just like they’d been when the doctor had said, in that hospital room, “A year,” and Evan had thought,No. It’s not possible. I’ve worked so hard.
