The old gesture.
I left my palm there until his breathing slowed.
Then he touched the wheel.
He did not steer.
He only felt it.
The vibration of the engine traveled through the hull and into our bodies.
A smile began at the corner of Noah’s mouth.
It arrived gradually.
Then all at once.
“This is mine,” he said.
“Mercy?”
“This feeling.”
Wind lifted his hair.
He looked younger.
Not because the past had returned.
Because joy had temporarily removed the weight of it.
“I know boats,” he said. “I know the way the hull shifts before the wake reaches the stern. I know the engine is running rich. I know the wheel pulls slightly to port.”
“It does.”
“I knew before I checked.”
“Yes.”
He laughed.
The sound crossed the water.
I kept us at idle for one slow circuit of the basin.
At the far end, Noah placed his hand over mine on the throttle.
“Not faster,” he said.
“All right.”
“Just together.”
We guided Mercy home.
When we reached the dock, Noah remained seated.
His eye shone.
