Minor put two cigarettes in his mouth and curled away from the wind to light them. He passed one to Kennet, then settled back, relaxed and confident, the wind lifting his hair into yellow and gold waves.

Regarding his brother, Kennet’s already tangled thoughts made a new snarl. Minor had come in late last night, waking Kennet out of a sound sleep. Tip-toeing into their shared room, shoes in hand, Minor slid out of his clothes without a sound—not a jingle of a belt buckle, not a soft thump of fabric on carpet. Like liquid he slid into his bed. No creak, no thump, no rustle. He was assumed into the bedclothes, disappearing into sleep, leaving Kennet wondering if he were having a lucid dream of some kind. Or worse, wondering if Minor weren’t here at all. He was dead. This was his ghost laying himself to rest.

Kennet sat up on an elbow and whispered, “Mine?”

No sound.

“Erik?” The proper name was always foreign in his mouth. Like a word in Chinese or Hungarian. But it worked: the lump of sheets and blanket stirred.

“Shh,” Minor said. “Go to sleep.”

But Kennet lay awake, breathing the air between their beds and pressing it to the roof of his mouth. A strong scent was coming up off Minor’s discarded clothes. Artificially fragrant, but too stringent and piney to be a woman’s perfume.

This morning, the brothers were bashing around each other in the bathroom, elbowing and hipping at the sink as they washed and brushed and shaved.

“You using aftershave now?” Kennet asked casually.

“Nah. It stings my delicate face.”

It was then Kennet noticed little bruises on his brother’s upper arms. Small, delicate ovals lined up on Minor’s biceps. A couple more clustered on his sides, above the towel wrapped around his waist.

“Who’ve you been wrestling with?” Kennet said.

Minor spit out a mouthful of toothpaste. “What?”

“Must’ve been a hell of a match. They left fingerprints.”

Minor looked over his shoulder, twisted an elbow. Then shrugged. “The rich hold their money tight and their lovers tighter.”

Kennet hitched one side of his butt onto the vanity and crossed his arms. “Who is she?”

Minor rinsed his foamy lips and tossed his toothbrush into the water tumbler. “Fish never tell tales out of school.”

He wiped his mouth on the hem of Kennet’s undershirt and sauntered out.

“You’re looking at me like I owe you money again,” Minor said, bringing Kennet’s thoughts back to the boat and the present.

“I’m looking because you’re a dish.”

“Yeah, well…” Minor crossed one knee over the other and picked the knife-edge crease of his trouser leg into place. “I’ll take the wheel if you want to head back and press your suit.”

“In that crush? Forget it. I’ll wait it out.”

“Don’t wait too long. I think Nalle is falling in love.”