"Next time," I replied.
"Next time I'll let you go by yourselves," he answered, smiling, then tossed us two life jackets. "When I'm chauffeur, I make people wear these."
"How about you?" I asked, when Mike didn't put one on.
"I can swim."
"So when the boat turns over and bonks you on the head and you're unconscious, you expect me and Tomas to save you?"
"Good point," he said. "After all, I am with two such graceful boaters." He put on the orange vest, grinning at me. Then he untied the rope and pushed off from the dock.
"Can anyone sign out a boat?" Tomas asked as Mike started the motor.
"You're supposed to have experience on the water and be connected to the college somehow," Mike replied. "My grandfather was from the Eastern Shore and used to take me crabbing. He lived down in Oxford, which is where the manager of the college boathouse grew up."
We puttered out of the tiny harbor. With each boat length we put between us and the shore I felt more at ease, free from the things that had been haunting me recently. The sun was warm on my skin and the breeze cool, ribboning my hair across my eyes. I drew an elastic from my shorts pocket, leaned forward to catch my blowing hair, then pulled it through the elastic in a loopy ponytail. When I looked up, Mike was watching me.
"She's beautiful!" Tomas breathed.
Mike glanced at him, startled.
"Yes, that yacht sure is pretty," I said, nodding toward the moored sailboat that we were passing.
Mike laughed and Tomas photographed the boat.
"Cool perspective! Jen, can you believe it? There are so many cool perspectives out here."
In the next forty minutes Tomas found heaven: a house with double-decker porches overlooking the river, an old bridge across Wist Creek, an abandoned mill. "I'm going to have enough stuff to draw for the next year and a half," he said, clicking away on his camera. We motored a distance up Wist Creek then turned around and headed back to the river.
"I'd like to stay out awhile longer," Mike said. "You can stay on or I can drop you back at the town dock."
"Stay on," Tomas replied immediately. "I mean, if Jen wants to." Sure.
We sailed past the town harbor again, then two marinas.
"That's the commercial harbor over there," Mike said, pointing toward shore. "They have all kinds of interesting boats, Tomas. See those long ones with low sides and little houses on one end? They're like my grandfather's. They're used for crabbing."
"Can we stay here a few minutes?" Tomas asked.
"I can drop anchor."
"Great! Then I can sketch."
"Is that okay with you, Jenny? You're not nodding off on us, are you?"
I was.
"I'd hate to see you fall asleep and fall overboard," Mike said, smiling. "It would be useless this time of day. The crabs don't bite when the sun's high."
"Lucky for you, I don't, either."
Mike smirked, shut off the motor, and dropped anchor. "Lift up your seat, Jenny, and slide the board beneath Tomas's, then you can hunker down safely."
I did and Mike tossed me two extra life vests, which I placed in the bow to cushion my back. He did the same thing on his side, then pulled his sunglasses and script from a boat bag.
With the motor off it was quiet enough to hear the light scratch of Tomas's pencil, the occasional turn of a page by Mike. I nestled down happily. The gentle rocking of the boat made me feel safe as a child in a cradle. I fell into a warm, luxurious sleep.
I don't know how long I napped, but I had slept so heavily that I couldn't open my eyes at first. I just lay there, too content to stir, and listened to their voices.
"Do you think we should wake her?" asked Tomas. "I sort of hate to. She told me she hasn't been getting much sleep."
"I'm afraid she's going to get burned," Mike replied.
"We could cover her with our shirts and let her rest a little more," Tomas suggested.
"That's an idea."
There was some movement and a bit of boat rocking, then I felt a soft cloth being laid over my legs and another one over my arms.
"Her ankles are sticking out," Tomas reported.
"I'm more worried about her face," Mike replied. "I think I have sunblock. Yeah, here it is. Put some on her face."
"On her face?"
"And her ankles."
"I can't do that."
"Why not?" Mike asked. I just can t.
"Tomas, it's no different from helping people put on their stage makeup."
"Then you do it."
"You're closer to her,* Mike pointed out.
"So switch seats."
"Why? It's no big deal," Mike said.
"You have experience," Tomas insisted. "Switch seats."
There was more movement. "Jeez! Careful."
I'd probably get us capsized, but there was no way I was going to open my eyes, not yet. This was too interesting.