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To Manning’s credit, except for a libido in overdrive, he’d been nothing but calm about the wedding since he’d proposed. He had no doubts. No nerves. If anything, he’d been working harder than usual to ensure all the details were taken care of. So when I found him waiting at the base of the porch steps with Blue, looking every inch a man in jeans and fishing boots, the porch swing’s floral printed cushions under one arm, any fears I had vanished. Tomorrow was about marrying the man I loved, a man both tough and sensitive, determined but attentive. It wasn’t about anything or anyone else but us.
“Why are you wearing galoshes?” I asked, taking his outstretched hand. I started for his truck but he pulled me around the side of the house, toward the back. “And what’re the cushions for?”
“Guess,” he said.
Manning and I had explored the woods behind the house plenty of times. Usually we went back there for two reasons—to walk Blue, or to go on the lake. Neither of those seemed like great after-dark activities. “I’m stumped,” I said.
As we crossed from our backyard into the woods, Manning kept me close with an arm around my shoulders. Blue darted through the trees but always sprinted back when we whistled for her. Perhaps if I’d been anywhere except the place I called home, I might’ve been spooked by the cover of darkness. By the rustling bushes, or the haunting hoots and flapping of wings echoing around us. Instead, I snuggled into the side of the man I knew would kill to protect me or die trying.
The closer we got to the edge of the forest, the more convinced I was that Manning had lost his mind and decided to recreate the night we’d snuck out of camp, gone for a drive, and wound up in the water.
The woods spit us out into a clearing that opened up to a tiny lake we’d come to know well. It was shallow, mostly off the map, and small enough for us to drift aimlessly. Manning kept the first dinghy he’d ever made there, tied to a stake in the ground. He’d built other boats—some he’d sold, and with help, a larger one we kept at one of Big Bear Lake’s marinas—but we had this little slice of heaven all to ourselves most of the time.
“We’re going on the lake?” I asked.
“Bingo,” he replied. “Go on. Climb on over the starboard side.” Manning winked before he added, “And into my lap.” It was the same thing he’d said to me my first night at the house in Big Bear, and he knew I loved the word, pronounced starbird.
No matter how endearing his invitation, I stayed where I was. We’d made love in this boat. I’d laughed until my sides had ached watching Manning try and fail to catch a fish with his hands. We’d drifted around in it on hot afternoons eating orange slices as the sun had set. But we’d certainly never taken it out at night.
Blue whined, probably sensing she was about to get left behind. “Blue and I are going to need a bit of an explanation before we proceed,” I said.
He squatted to untie the boat, and I heard the smile in his voice. “What’s wrong? Don’t trust me?”
“To steer this thing in the dark?”
“The stars are out.” He gestured up at the sky. “They’ll guide us, Birdy.”
“Actually,” I said, hands on my hips, “it’s a crescent moon and particularly dark tonight.”
“I know,” he said. “I wish I could say I planned it that way, but we just got lucky.”
Warily, I climbed over the starboard side and set up both cushions. Once I was seated at the bow, he pushed the boat through the weeds and waded in after it.
“Stay,” he told Blue.
She barked once to get her point across but plopped down at the edge of the lake, watching us go as she had many times before.
“Where are we headed?” I asked once Manning had climbed in.
“To the middle.” Slowly, he rowed us out on the water. As the night spread around us, complete stillness punctuated by occasional splashes and croaks, I began to wonder if the journey was the destination. Though Manning and I had planned a fairly low-key weekend for the wedding, there was no getting around the chaos that came with having friends and family in one place. Tiffany’s dress had needed last minute altering. Henry’s truck had broken down ten miles from the house. Our washing machine’s hose had begun leaking hours before guests had arrived. It’d been days, maybe even weeks, since I’d experienced this kind of stillness and peace.
“Okay, this was a good idea,” I admitted, shutting my eyes and relaxing against the back of the boat to enjoy the warm breeze.
