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“We know; we know,” she tells me, leaning over the car seat Dad’s pulled out of the car to smile at Dylan. “We remember everything.”
“He’s gotten bigger, Red,” Dad says. “Don’t you think so? Look at those hands. He’s going to be tall. And strong. Maybe a soccer player.”
I exchange an amused look with Collins. My parents saw Dylan last night. He’s growing fast, but not overnight.
“Okay, well,greatto see you guys,” I state. “Good talk. Really glad we had this quality time together.”
Mom smiles. “You two have fun. He’s in good hands.”
Collins and I climb back into the minivan, and then we’re continuing toward the marina.
It’s warm out, but not as sweltering as it’ll get later in the day. I turn the air-conditioning off and roll the windows down instead, letting the salty breeze sweep through the car. Collins sticks her right hand out the window, having her fingers surf the wind.
Unsurprisingly, the marina is packed. This weekend is undoubtedly one of the busiest of the summer. The busiest maybe.
I find a spot in the crowded lot. Collins glances around, wide-eyed, as we walk down the ramp and onto the floating docks. Her grip tightens on my hand as they shift under our feet, rocking with the currents of the water.
“Hey, isn’t that Wren?” she says.
I follow her gaze, squinting through my sunglasses. Sure enough, my cousin is standing next to a Boston Whaler, arms crossed as she scowls at a guy whose back is turned to us. He’s wearing the same polo shirt as all the marina employees, suggesting he works here.
“Yeah, it is.”
“Should we go say hi?”
Wren’s talking now, her ponytail swishing back and forth as she speaks passionately.
“Uh … doesn’t look like a great time,” I state. “She’ll be at the party tomorrow. We can talk to her then.”
Collins nods. “Okay.”
We walk down to the end of the dock, where the dinghies are tied.
“What—thisis the boat we’re going out on?” she asks incredulously.
I smirk as I squat to untie it. “This is the boat we’re taking to the boat we’re going out on. Unless you want to swim?”
Collins chews on her lower lip, studying the small boat.
“We don’t have to go out,” I assure her. “We can go to the beach.Or the restaurant here has really good lobster?—”
“No, no. I want to.” She takes a deep breath, then white-knuckles her way onto the rowboat.
I toss her a life jacket from the bag I brought. “Put that on.”
She doesn’t argue before slipping the straps over her shoulders and buckling it. She’s more nervous than she’s letting on, and nothing has ever felt more precious than that earned trust.
I toss the bag with the other life jacket on the scratched fiberglass, then climb in the back and pick up the oars.
Collins smiles as she watches me row out to the mooring.
I smile back. “What?”
“This is nice.”
Itisnice. It’s also one of the few moments we’ve had alone together since Dylan was born. The weather, bright and sunny, matches my mood.
I jerk my chin to the left since both hands are occupied. “That’sthe boat we’re taking out.”