Page 138 of Final Drive

“Wind’s holding across from the west. Gusts about every forty seconds through the middle thousand.” I hand him my notes, since he’ll want them for the record. “I’m going to start us one beat lower than the semi and take the middle long. If they want it early, they can have it early.”

Bennett reads the page twice.

“You’ve been doing that for months.”

“Doing what?”

“Handing me the plan after you’ve already made it.” He gives the notes back. “Thirty years I’ve had coxswains ask me what I want. You’ve never once asked.”

I wait for the rest.

“You’ve never once been wrong either. I’ve never told you that, and I’d like it said before this afternoon.”

I look down at the page in my hand, since I don’t have anything useful to say to that.

Bennett saves me from trying. “Go row your race.”

At one-fifty, we carry the boat down.

I’ve done this two hundred times. Hands on, split to shoulders, walk it, down to waist, roll and set. Eight men, a shell, my own two hands on the gunwale, then the sound the hull makes when it goes into flat water.

Best sound there is.

I’m hearing it for the last time.

I let myself have that thought for about a second before I put it away.

Cameron’s the one who notices. He always is.

“You’re quiet.”

“I’m working.”

“Okay.” He steadies the bow while I climb in, and when I’m settled he says, without looking at me, “You’ve got your face on.”

“Cameron.”

“Not telling. Just letting you know I can see it.” He gives the bow a push. “Go win the thing.”

We paddle out.

The last twenty minutes before a final are the longest part of any season. We do a build, two starts, and a short piece at race pace. After that, there’s nothing left to do and eleven minutes to do it in.

I take us to the start early and let them sit.

“Water bottles. All of you. Now, not in five minutes.”

Eight men drink.

Down the boat, Zane lowers his bottle. “Hey, cox.”

“What?”

“Do the thing.”

“There isn’t a thing.”

“There’s a thing. You do a thing before finals.”