Free Up Through the Water by Darcey Steinke Page B

lanterns. He watched her in the picture of sailboats, dark sky, and water.
    Island boys cruised by in a jeep; he heard empty beer cans rattling between their legs and saw a green-tattooed arm and cigarettes in a shirt rolled over a muscular bicep.
    He watched Lila. He liked how she lay on her stomach in the sun with her little fists curved under her hip bones. She said things that were hard to forget, that swung round in him like a pebble in a hubcap.
    Eddie picked up his board and walked under the big, dark sky. He thought of the time when he was thirteen in the church with a girl who reminded him of Lila. They found the open side door of the local Methodist church and lay toe to toe in the center pew, the long stained glass windows deep with royal blues, ocean greens, and burgundy. It was the girl who had suggested that they strip down to underwear and lie still, catching holy light through glass figures of Jesus, John the Baptist, Moses, and Mary. His head rested on his jeans. Eddie remembered her body and his in a hazy aura and how he tried to make out her breasts and then the altar up ahead, just one hanging candle showing deep tones in the velvet fairlane.
    “You're late,” Lila yelled up from the dock. He heard a cling-clang crawling sound and saw a pail of crabs. In her hands was the white cord she teased them with. Over the edge he saw crabs clawing on a barnacled dock post. The dock smelled of charcoal, a lazy banjo tune tinkled from a sailboat anchored in the inlet, and a cluster of tourists in lawn chairs were settled near their rocking boats. They drank gin from mismatched glasses and talked sleepily among themselves. “I almost got one,” Lila said, hand over long-fingered hand, pulling the string up. “It's a baby,” she said. She wriggled the line and let it drop.
    “Ready?” Eddie said. The banjo notes drifted over the water. The crabs crawled over each other to get out. He wanted to be home where the beers were on ice. He'd made his bed and selected a few tapes, piling all his laundry discreetly in the closet.
    “I knew a boy off one of these boats,” she said. “He was going to play the clarinet in a circus band. He had this tune he was thinking would be perfect for the elephant routine. And another one for the poodles.”
    “I saw a circus,” Eddie said, picking up the pail and leading her away. “This lady in a sparkly bikini did tricks on a high bar. No safety net or anything. It was like she'd jump right into your lap. The program said she was afraid of city traffic.” He slipped an arm around her waist. “Isn't that weird?”
    “Yeah,” Lila said. “It's like my father. He's out in the ocean with his pound nets every day but he can hardly swim.” She matched her body to his stride. The lighthouse shone like a candle on the trees of the wild side of the island.
    Eddie asked if she had the keys. Lila nodded. “I almost snagged the ones for my father's truck, too.”
    “That would've been great.”
    “Yeah,” Lila said, “but he keeps them with him most of the time.” She stopped and looked carefully at him. “Don't think anything is going to happen.” She put her hand into his jeans pocket.
    Eddie heard a crab scratch. He heard his heart like a tom-tom in his head and he felt her pulse through her fingers.
    “I've had beer before,” Lila said as they sat on his bed popping two of the assorted brands, some green bottles with fancy labels, a few cans, all sneaked from the restaurant. They leaned against the wall of his bedroom, light only from the tape deck. He gulped his beer, embarrassed by the purple beads his mother had strung across the doorway and pulled to one side with a shoelace. The room was paneled gray barn color with a matching twin bed and dresser wedged in and had a view of the porch chair swing moving slightly through sheer curtains.
    “I drank a six once. Threw up for three days,” Lila said. Her dice earrings rocked. Eddie put his hand on her knee.
    The