over the dunes and back to the truck, I actually slug him in the arm like we’re old buddies.
“You okay there, Captain?”
“Grand.” Grand?
On the way back south again, we approach the bright blue shotgun house, the one with the rocking chairs on the porch. Miah slows, one hand on the gearshift, the other on the wheel. It’s the way his hand hangs there, so casual, so languid. Or maybe it’s just him.
“Do you want to come in for a minute?” The truck engine idles.
“Is that yours?”
“No, I thought we’d break in.”
“In that case, sure.” Yes yes yes.
Like that, my entire body is on alert. If I go in, anything might happen. I try not to think beyond right now. I concentrate on getting out of the truck, on walking up to the house, on going up the steps, on waiting for him to push open the door, on following him inside.
The house itself is small. A single light is on, sitting on a table opposite the fireplace. As I look around, I decide it’s like the inside of his truck—filled with treasures. Animal skulls of various sizes, bones and shells. Black-and-white photographs of more bones and shells, the Rosecroft ruins, the dunes, turtle tracks, the ocean. If I were designing a place for Jeremiah Crew to live, it would look just like this. A bright blue house. A cabinet of curiosities. Shelves overflowing with books. Maps and old cameras and relics everywhere. Everything a skeleton of some sort.
“Was all this here when you moved in?”
“Some of it. I’ve added a few things. Made it my own.”
I pick up an animal skull. “It’s a lot of nature.”
He laughs. I set the skull down and perch on the edge of the sofa, forcing my mind to focus, to not get ahead of itself, to not picture the two of us naked in his bed, which is exactly what it wants to do. I watch as he pulls two sodas out of the fridge.
I look up at the walls, at the framed pictures. My eyes rest on a shot of the ruins, stark against a brooding sky. “Did you take the photos?”
He glances up at the walls. “It depends on whether you like them or not.”
“They’re haunting.” They are a mix of raw and beautiful, dark and light.
“Then, yes, I did.”
“You could sell them.”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Bram was the one who got me into it. He gave me the camera and said, I swear to God, ‘Maybe this will help you see things other than yourself.’ ” Miah sets our sodas down in front of me. “He also gave me this house. Well, he and Shirley let me stay here during summers. I’d been through Outward Bound so many times, they eventually offered me a job. Living here is one of the perks.” He’s across the room again, sorting through a collection of records that are stacked beside a turntable. “Part of what I do is lead Outward Bound groups that come to the island, clearing trails, marking turtle nests, anything that gets people outside and working. Same kind of shit I did when I first came here.”
“What happens when summer’s over?”
“I join the space program.”
“I thought it was the CIA.”
“It’s actually both.” He sets a stack of records on the turntable. “NASA and the CIA were like, ‘We need you. Name your price.’ ” He sinks onto the couch next to me as the first record drops. But there’s something heavy in his voice. “Let’s not talk about that while I’ve got you here. In my house.”
He leans in. Kisses me. Before I can get lost in him, I pull back.
“You okay, Captain?”
“Do you have anything stronger than water?” It’s not about needing a drink to feel braver; it’s about wanting to stop time—or at least slow it down—so that I can savor every moment.
He arches an eyebrow. “There’s vodka in the freezer that’s about a hundred years old. Courtesy of Bram and Shirley, but I keep it around for guests.”
“Thanks.”
I start to get up, but he says, “I’ll get it for you. I’m not completely unchivalrous.”
I watch as he goes into the kitchen, opens the freezer, pulls out the vodka, pours me two fingers’ worth. I want to tell him to fill it up—maybe I need to feel a little braver after all—but I don’t want to seem like a lush.
When he’s back, I say, “Aren’t you having some?”
“I’ve done enough drinking in my life. I stopped at fourteen.