Page 30 of Redemption Island

On day fifty-six, we took our maiden voyage.

“We’ll go just to the edge of the bay and back,” he promised, but I worried a riptide was out there. If we fell overboard, we couldn’t swim back.

“I think mice prefer to stay on dry land,” I said, teasing him, but he held up his hand, offering it for me to take. He led me to one side of the craft.

“We’ll have to work together to get it out there, but I’ll let you hop in before it’s too deep. We each have an oar, and I’ll tell you how to stroke once we are settled.” He winked at me. “The Vixen awaits.”

“The Vixen?” I questioned.

“Every boat needs a name, and every boat is a she, so this one is The Vixen, named after one of our building crew.” He winked at me again, and I blushed.

“Foxes like dry land as well,” I teased.

“Yes, but a vixen is sly and cunning, and can handle any situation dealt to her. She knows when to trust in her captain, as well.”

I shook my head again. He made no sense, but he crossed behind the boat we’d designed together and walked the double outrigger out to sea. When we were calf-deep, he told me to jump in. I fumbled a bit, not finding leverage with the water, but he held the boat steady enough and patiently waited for me. Once inside, we both sighed a breath of relief. She wasn’t sinking.

He jumped in after a few more steps, and I screamed when the craft elevated on my end with the sudden weight on the back. I held my breath, preparing to capsize when my portion of the boat returned to the water. Slowly, we skimmed across the ocean bay.

“She’s sailing,” I yelled behind me.

“She’s perfect,” he chanted back. I twisted in my seat to find a brilliant smile on his face, white teeth fully on display. He paddled like he’d done this every day, stroking side to side to keep us moving straight ahead. Without his shirt, and in his tan skin, he looked like a voyager set to see the world. He looked happy.

25

Day 60 – Tack

I almost dreaded Garvey’s visit, but he brought fresh supplies and occasionally new linens. I hadn’t mastered washing sheets that well. He never brought letters. I wasn’t allowed communication with the outside world, but I had to ask.

“Has anyone asked about me? Has my dad?”

Garvey looked up from admiring my small boat. I was proud of my first attempt at building something. I’d had some trial and error in the design but it felt amazing to build something. I hadn’t worked on anything like that since my grandfather had me help him sand an old wooden boat in the back dry dock. The thought was so ancient in my memory, it was hazy, but I saw the outline of my grandfather, working slowly as he pushed the sanding block along the grain of the wood.

“You treat her right, stroke her like she needs, and she’ll skim like a dolphin through the sea. You’re a lucky sailor then,” he whispered in my recollection. His reverence spoke of the boat, but now as a man myself, I sensed he was trying to impart some deeper wisdom on me.

“You know I can’t tell you anything,” Garvey said softly, letting his hand coast over the curve of the canoe. “You built this yourself?” he asked.

Irritated that he couldn’t even hint about my parents, I snapped in response. “Nah, my monkey minions helped me.”

“Anger still lives, I see. But I’m impressed.” His hand cupped the outrigger float.

“I don’t think it’s ever going to leave,” I retorted, ignoring his compliment.

“It won’t,” Garvey said, creeping his fingers along the outrigger on the port side. “But what you need to learn is to control it. Without anger, we cannot know peace. Without hatred, we do not know love. It’s about recognizing one and controlling the other.”

“That sounds kind of negative,” I snorted.

“It isn’t. It’s opposites. We cannot appreciate one thing without knowing the opposite of it. Love. Hate.” He held up two fists and moved them back and forth as if they struggled for balance. “Anger. Calm.” He flattened his hands, and slid them away from one another as if he smoothed out a bed sheet. Garvey’s analogies made me irritable. Anger still lives, Garvey’s words rang through my head. I hated when he was correct. Maybe my irritability was because it took me away from Juliet. She seemed to be the calm I needed. She was taming me, and we were becoming friends. It was a foreign concept, and one I’d begun to relish, but my body ached for hers. I wanted to take things deeper but didn’t trust myself. Not yet. I looked off toward Juliet’s tree house.

“There’s a storm coming. I don’t know that it will reach here, but you might want to take precautions. Tie down some things. Save up others. You haven’t been fishing or gathering food like I expected.”

I hadn’t gone into forager mode, although after building my own boat, I imagined anything could happen next. Some moments I worried I was going native, but I had Juliet to keep me in check. She kept me sane. I don’t know that I’d fare well on the island alone. She’d been my opposite. My balance.

“I’m assuming you haven’t danced yet.”

I rolled my eyes to the sunny sky overhead, wondering how he detected a storm from this beautiful weather.

“I don’t dance alone,” I said.