When evening came, I crept into my sleeping bag as usual, but falling asleep was impossible. It was so damp, so raw; it didn’t make any difference how tightly I laced up the bag. It felt like I couldn’t get away from the tent canvas—it was far too close to my face all the time. The taste of burned canned stew was still in my mouth, and of denatured alcohol, and all of a sudden I was incredibly fed up with the taste of the denatured alcohol, the smell of it, and with the rain that was still pouring down, the dampness that penetrated everywhere, but I couldn’t share this with Magnus, who was sleeping with his face turned away from me. That would be admitting he was right.

Chapter Twenty-Four: David

Chapter Twenty-Four

David

“We’ re feeding the wood,” Lou said.

We’d found sandpaper, oil, and brushes in the toolshed. Now we were spreading oil on the surfaces of the cracked benches. The wood absorbed everything it was given, as dry soil absorbs water. The oil altered the surface. Softened it. Turned it a warmer shade of brown.

It was the three of us and the boat. I never found out what had happened to the Red Cross. I just wanted to stop time.

We cleaned out the cupboards. Found old books, some cans of food, bedding.

Marguerite dragged a stack of cushions into the cockpit. They smelled moldy.

“The sun will take care of it,” she said, putting the cushions out to air.

While we were working, I thought about Marguerite. About her lips against mine.

I wanted so much to kiss her, constantly, to put my arms around her waist, and bury my face in her hair.

But then Lou was there. With her high-pitched voice and those quick eyes of hers that didn’t miss a thing. Or missed everything, I couldn’t tell.

And I didn’t want her to leave us alone, because I liked seeing her close to Marguerite. I liked hearing them talk. Hearing them laugh.

Three days passed.

We didn’t talk about the day before, Marguerite and I, didn’t talk about the day that would come, about the drought, about how long it had been since it had rained.

We just talked about what we ate, the water we drank, about the sun in the sky, the trees along the roadside. About the boat.

Every time we approached another subject, I made sure that we stopped. Or she would, as often as I did. Even Lou helped out, with her chattering and laughter.

She talked a lot about Francis. They had a game, she said, they were in the midst of a game. But I didn’t ask what the game was.

Three days passed and then the fourth day came.