“Okay,” I respond as I shuffle in front of him, and he places his hands on my waist to come behind me. A trembling breath escapes me before his hands leave my body.
Once we’re in our new positions, I grip the steering wheel, holding it tight. I crank it to the left slightly and notice that while it feels similar to steering a car, it’s almost a bit slower. Like we’re going through molasses, but at a faster speed. There haven’t been many times I’ve felt truly free in my sheltered and comfortable life, but right here, right now, driving Dylan’s boat, is one of them. I’m in charge, and as the boat parts the ocean waves in front of me,it’s a moment of pure bliss and pride for how far I’ve come since moving here.
We coast for a few minutes more, Dylan letting me steer the boat wherever I want, until finally, he looks around us and says, “This should be a good spot.” I nod and hold the wheel while he pulls the handle back to the middle, and the boat starts to slow and coast for a bit before coming to a stop. “Alright, let’s fish.” He claps his hands together and opens the door behind us, letting me step out into the back first.
He trails behind me and walks over to where the motor is and grabs an anchor. It’s a flat, grey piece of metal shaped like an arrowhead but with wings.
“That’s a neat anchor,” I point out as he easily tosses it over the boat like it’s made of Styrofoam instead of metal. It crashes down into the water, and the pile of rope beside us gets smaller as the anchor goes lower and lower. Finally, it stops. We must not be that far out. We’ve circled back to a place where I can spot land on all three sides of us, so the bottom must not be too far down here.
“It’s a Danforth-style anchor. Great for fishing boats. Now we won’t go anywhere.”
He grabs the fishing rods and gets the hook out from where it’s secured around the rod. They’re very similar to regular fishing rods, but the heavy-duty version of them, a bit longer and thicker. The tackle box opens next, and Dylan pulls out a long silver lure with a red end and four little hooks around it.
“That’s shiny,” I say as he adds a second one to the other fishing rod.
“By design.” Handing one of the rods to me, he adds, “Attracts the fish.”
After walking me through the basic steps of casting, with a little help, I get my first real cast into the water. “This is so fun,” I say as I hold the rod with both hands and impatiently wait for something to bite. “How long does this usually take?”
He laughs as he sends off another cast, farther out this time, and reels it back in a bit before taking a seat on one of the powder-blue milk crates. He motions to the other one beside him. “As long as it needs to.”
I take a seat, chuckling to myself at the fact that I’m sitting on a plastic crate, the grooves and holes at the top poking into me. What a difference this is from the last time I was on a boat. If only my parents could see me now. The sun is peeking out from behind all the clouds, and the wind is strong, whipping my hair around my face, but sitting out here is nice with him. Peaceful.
“I’ve never done something like this before,” I tell him after a few moments of comfortable silence. The waves lap against the frame of the boat, adding to the coastal soundtrack of our day.
“No?” He looks over to me. “I guess being from Ottawa, you’re not fishing in too many oceans.” He playfully nudges my arm with his shoulder.
“Ha ha, real funny,” I say sarcastically. “No, we didn’t do any of this stuff growing up. I grew up in a very, um…” Embarrassment at how I was raised causes my cheeks to redden. How wealthy my family is. I’m trying not to be ashamed of anything—my parents worked hard for their money. But something about my childhood and life up until coming here feels vapid and empty. Like I missed out on all the best parts of life. The still moments. The messy moments. Easy moments. Like this, sitting on a plastic box in an old fishing boat on the ocean. We never would have done something like this. My parents would have scoffed at the very idea of it. No, we would have been on a huge yacht, eating shrimp—that someone else caught and prepared—drinking champagne, while a hired captain toured us around the area. This feels different. I like it.
“I grew up pretty privileged.” I finally say out loud. “It’s kind of the reason I’m here, actually. I needed to get away and feel like I could survive on my own. You know, work a job, support myself, drive an old, beat-up car.” I laugh at that last one. I never would have thought I’d love my little Honda as much as I do. “Even though the Check Engine light never seems to shut off.” I roll my eyes as another chuckle escapes me.
“I see,” he replies, staring out into the ocean. “When was the last time you changed your oil?”
“Hmm? Oil change?” I grimace. Oh no.
“Lucy.” There’s that devilish smirk back, just for me. It’s sort of uneven, going up higher on the left side, and his eyes always crinkle the slightest bit when he does it. “When did you get your car?”
“Umm, a couple months ago now. I bought it in Ottawa before coming here.”
“And you drove here?” He’s now turned to face me, an eyebrow cocked.
“Yes.”
“And you’ve driven it a bunch since getting here? Like, to my lighthouse every weekend?”
“Yes,” I repeat, feeling a flush creep up on my neck and cheeks.
“Lucy, you probably need an oil change.” He scratches his head and looks back to me, a wide grin on his face, showing off those sharp canines. Is it odd that I want him to bite me with those teeth? I bet they’d leave a mark.
“Okay, so I’ll get an oil change!” I throw a hand in the air for dramatic effect. He shakes his head andlaughs.
“I don’t know what garages are near you, but find a local garage in Pleasant Cove and tell them you need an oil change. There should also be a small white or clear sticker in the top corner of the windshield on the driver’s side. Mechanics write down the date of the last oil change and the recommended mileage for the next one.” I think he catches my eyes falling, because he places a hand on my arm and gives it a squeeze. “It’s okay. Now you know. I bet that’s why your Check Engine light is on.”
I give him my best reassuring smile and say thanks.
“I think it’s cool what you’re doing,” he adds after we sit a bit longer.
“Yeah? Sometimes I wonder if I’m just being ridiculous. Some people would happily switch places with me.”
