Page 68 of Lost and Found

“Bea invited us for your birthday,” says Wren.

“Sheinformedus she reserved us some spots, is more accurate,” Ellis adds. Wren cuts him a look, and he winks at her.

Silas looks at me accusingly. “But they already celebrated me last weekend.”

“Well, yeah, but come on. Today’s your real birthday, and I figured you’d want your favorite people around,” I say.

He won’t stop giving me that incredulous glare.

“Sage and Fisher would be here, too, but Sage has been getting sick every morning, and Micah said he didn’t want to. Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Micah doesn’t fuck with boats,” he says, still scowling.

“I wanted you to feel special,” I say.

His face untethers finally. His eyes bounce back and forth between mine. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Butthank youis what he means to say,” Ellis says, cuffing him on the shoulder.

“I was getting to it,” Silas retorts. “I was getting to that,” he says to me. I can’t tell if he’s blushing or if he’s red from the cold.

“I had no idea Silas even liked fishing,” says Wren. “I’m excited. I’m glad you thought of us.” She envelops me in a hug.

“That’s the thing. He’s doing it for me, anyway. I figured this was the least I could do,” I explain.

More people start to gather around, and eventually, the captain comes up from the dock ramp and introduces himself before he checks us in individually, ensuring we each have a fishing license for the day before we’re handed a life vest and sent down to the ship. Silas takes my cold hand into his warm one to guide me onto the deck before pulling me off to the side.

“I would have been happy to spend the day with just you, too,” he tells me. “I want you to know that. But thank you.”

I reach up and thumb the frown lines between his brows. “You’re welcome. You deserve to feel special on your birthday.”

“I don’tdeserveanything,” he says, his voice dropping lower, more strained than usual. “But this is really nice, and I’m . . . Just, thank you.”

We take off from the docks, and we’re led into the boat’s cabin, where we’re taught basic safety instructions as well as the difference between passengers and sailors.

“Passengers are just along for the ride. You all are sailors today, because you’ve all got jobs,” he says.

We’re shown where the live bait is stored and told what to yell out when we have a fish on. Where to go on the boat if any of us start to feel queasy. Which is exactly where Ellis heads when he starts going a little green, with Wren trailing after him.

“Well, now I feel bad,” I tell Silas.

“Ellis is tough. He’ll bounce back,” he says. “He always does.”

After a few minutes, I find that I need some fresh air myself, so we head out of the cabin area and secure a couple of spots on a bench hugging the central tank.

“Try to keep your eye on the horizon. It’ll help,” Silas says.

I focus on the fixed point where gray sky meets grayer water, until it’s like my mind goes gray, too.

Irelax.

There’s no wild animal in my head searching for meaning or the lesson I’m supposed to find here. I feel present in my own body, in the places where the wind abrades my cheeks and in the warmth of the man at my side. Even if there’s an ache being this close, too.

Today, I am a sailor of my grief, and conditions are good.

“Have you been out here before?” I ask Silas after a bit.

“Handful of times when I was younger,” he says. “My dad took us a few times on boats like these.”