“You won’t take this the wrong way?”
“I will now.”
“Why weren’t you and Michael closer?”
“There’s no law that says siblings have to be close.”
“But you and Michael seemed to have so much in common. He spoke so highly of you, and you obviously were proud of him. I sense you had some differences. I’m just confused as to what went wrong.”
Fiske shut the engine down and allowed the boat to drift. He cut off the beacon and the moon became their only source of light. The river was very calm, and they were at one of the widest points. Fiske pulled his pants legs up, went to the side of the boat, sat on the edge and swung his feet into the water.
Sara sat down next to him, hiked her skirt up a little and lowered her feet in.
Fiske gazed out over the river, sipping his beer.
“John, I’m really not trying to pry.”
“I’m not really in the mood to talk about it, okay?”
“But — ”
Fiske sliced the air with his hand. “Sara, it’s not the place to do it, and it’s damn sure not the time, okay?”
“Okay, I’m sorry. I just care. About all of you.”
They sat there as the boat drifted along, the noise of the cicadas barely reaching them from shore.
Fiske finally stirred. “You know, Virginia’s such a beautiful place. You’ve got water, mountains, forest, beaches, history, culture, high-tech centers and old battlefields. People move a little slower, enjoy life a little more here. I can’t imagine living anywhere else. Hell, I’ve never been anywhere else.”
“And they have really nice trailer parks,” Sara said.
Fiske smiled. “That too.”
“So does your segue into the travelogue mean the topic of you and your brother is officially closed?” Sara bit her tongue when she finished. Stupid mouth, she berated herself.
“Guess so.” Fiske abruptly stood up. The boat rocked and Sara almost ended up in the river. Fiske’s hand shot out and gripped her arm. He squeezed tightly and looked down at her. She looked up at him, her eyes as big as the moon over them, her legs splayed out and gently drifting in the water, her dress wet where the river had touched it.
“How about a swim?” she said. “To cool off?”
“I don’t have any swimsuits,” he said.
“My clothes are wet enough.”
He pulled her up into the boat and then went over and started the engine, destroying the peace. “Okay.”
“Why not swim here?”
“Current’s a little too strong.”
He swung the boat around and headed toward the dock. Three-quarters of the way there, he cut across and headed to the shoreline. Here the bank sloped gradually down to the water, and as they drew closer Sara could make out fifty-gallon drums floating about twenty feet apart. As they kept heading in, she could see that they were tied together by mesh rope forming a huge rectangular-shaped pool.
Fiske cut the engine near one of the drums and let the boat’s momentum propel them along until he could reach out and touch the big container. Then he tied a line to a hook mounted on the drum and dropped a small anchor, actually a gallon paint bucket filled with concrete, over the side for added security.
“It’s about eight feet at its deepest point inside the ropes. There’s a fence of wire mesh that circles the whole area and goes all the way to the bottom. That way if the current catches you, you won’t end up in the Atlantic.”
When Sara started to slip out of her dress, Fiske quickly turned around.
She smiled. “John, don’t be a prude. My bikini shows more than this.” In her panties and bra, she dove over the side, coming up a moment later treading water.
She called out, “I’ll turn my back, if you’re too embarrassed.”
“I think I’ll sit this one out.”
“Oh, come on, I won’t bite.”
“I’m a little old for skinny-dipping, Sara.”
“Water’s really great.”
“It looks it.” He still made no move to join her.
A disappointed look on her face, she finally turned and swam away from him, her arms cutting powerful strokes through the smooth surface.