Natural Instincts (5 page)

Was I really gay? A deep part of me had always known I could be, under the right circumstances. Circumstances I realized I’d been waiting for. Circumstances that might be swimming toward the island right now.

Sue chatted for a few more minutes, mostly about her jerky ex. I did a lot of nodding and agreeing with her, and finally she headed out with her camera and her can of soda. She was in site two on the far side of the beach. I could come visit her anytime, and we should meet on the beach later. She gave me a hug before she left, and I could tell she meant it. Apparently a mute, gay, hot guy for a friend was way better than yet another sex partner.

I rose, feeling a bit bemused by all the sudden changes, and went into the tent to switch my shorts for my bathing trunks and put on some sunscreen, since I knew my pale skin would burn horribly if the sun came out from behind the misty clouds. I grabbed a towel and a bottle of water. My phone fit into my back pocket. I thought about leaving it behind, but not being able to communicate if I needed to freaked me out a little. Though I suspected written words weren’t going to do me much good. Then I headed for the boats.

I was pretty sure I had a date with a loon behind the island.

I
FOUND
the paddles and life jackets right where Hal had said they’d be, in a little wooden building on the edge of the sand near where seven aluminum canoes, three rowboats, and two paddleboats were resting. I’d read up on canoes, so I chose a wooden paddle that was a little longer than my torso, took a second one because it was recommended in case you dropped one overboard, took a cushion for my knees, buckled on a blue life jacket, and walked over to the boats. I was glad the beach was deserted. Somehow I had the feeling that just having read about how to paddle a canoe wasn’t going to be quite the same as knowing how to do it. Reassuring myself that I did know how to swim—a little—my phone was in a watertight case, and the lake was dead calm, I rolled over the nearest canoe and dragged it to the water. It floated reassuringly when I pushed it in. That was a good sign.

Now I needed to determine which was the bow and which was the stern. I studied the boat. Both ends were pointed. There were two aluminum seats. There were three aluminum bars going across the boat.
Thwarts
, they were called. The upper edges of the boat were gunwales, because they had once been used to support guns. But they were pronounced “gunnels.” I did not have a gun. I rubbed my eyes.
Concentrate.

Okay, the pointy end closest to me had to be the bow. I knew this because one sat facing forward to paddle a canoe, and there was plenty of space between this seat and the pointy end for a person’s knees, but there wasn’t in the other end.

That settled, I put my towel, water bottle, and paddles on the canoe’s bottom, within easy reach, and pushed it all the way into the water so it was floating freely. The lake bottom was smooth sand and shallow, so I waded out ankle deep and then, as I’d read, entered the canoe by putting one hand on each gunwale, inserting my right foot first, steadying myself with both hands, and smoothly swinging my left foot in. Kneeling was the most stable position. Stable was what I wanted to be while I got the feel of this.

I picked up one of the paddles. Everything certainly felt very stable. Too stable, actually. My weight had pushed the canoe down to sit on the sandy bottom.
Shit
. I gave a little push with my paddle. Nothing happened. I tried rocking forward. That didn’t work either. I was going to have to get out and start over, farther from land.

“Hey, mister, do you want a push?”

I looked up quickly. Two kids, a boy and a girl about ten years old, had walked out on the beach. I could see several women standing on the edge of the road, talking, their hands full of beach stuff. I had nothing to lose except my pride, so I gave a nod.

The kids ran into the water barefoot on either side of me and gave me a running shove. Suddenly I was free floating, shooting away from land, rocking from side to side in an alarming fashion. I instinctively grabbed the sides of the boat—gun whatever the fuck they were called—and hung on. Instantly I was aware that this was a really stupid idea. The book had said nothing about this sickening, about-to-tip-over sensation. Why on earth did anyone do this for fun?

I certainly didn’t need to. I could just sit on my rock tonight and see the loon then, when there wasn’t anybody else around. This stupid need I had to go behind the island, to meet the loon on my own terms instead of being the one approached, was probably only going to get me drowned.

“Mister, it’s okay!” the little boy called. “You’re fine.”

No, I wasn’t. I was too terrified to move. I was a failure at this, just as I was a failure every time I tried to push into the unknown. What had I been thinking? I wanted to glance over my shoulder, gesture for them to come pull me back to firm ground. Once there, I would run straight to my car and go home, where I knew what the hell I was doing. I wasn’t even going to pack the tent. I never wanted to see another loon for the rest of my life. Add them to my list of things that triggered my spells, like fire and ropes. I was perfectly happy in the silent dark of my home and the soft glow of the computer screen at my desk. Gay. What a joke.

“Just pick up your paddle,” the little girl called. “It’s easy.”

Bullshit
, I thought. I was too frightened to even turn around. And since I wasn’t calling for help, the adults on shore weren’t taking any notice of me. I was trapped in my own silence.

I opened my mouth. But it had been so long. I’d so firmly trained myself not to speak that it was as though I’d hypnotized myself and was really, physically unable to make a sound.

If I’d had anything to kill myself with, I probably would have done it.

Well, shit, that was pretty stupid logic. To be so terrified of drowning that you wanted to kill yourself so you wouldn’t die? Only I could come up with that.

If two little kids could canoe, then so fucking could I.

I let go with my hands, instinctively spreading my knees farther apart on the cushion. I moved from side to side just a little bit, testing things. The boat rocked, but it also responded to my attempts at keeping it balanced. Somehow I sensed that it wanted to stay right-side up, and if I didn’t ask it to do something stupid, it
would
stay upright.

Now I just needed to figure out how to make it go where I wanted it to. Cautiously I picked up my paddle, held my breath, and dipped it in the water. My first stroke was tremulous and ineffective, but the kids on shore cheered. I wobbled a bit as I swung the paddle forward above the water. I resisted the urge to grab the gunwales again. I took another stroke. I’d read about all the different kinds, like J-strokes and sweep strokes and cross bow draws, but straight front to back was all I could cope with. The author of the article I’d read had included little diagrams, but clearly he hadn’t factored in fear.

My craft moved forward ever so slightly.

“That’s it!” the boy cried.

But the canoe was also turning to the left. Physics, I thought. Paddling on the right caused a turn to the left.

“Now on the other side!” the girl called.

Feeling like I was risking everything, I moved the blade to the other side, having to switch hand positions as I did so. I made two cautious strokes, and the canoe continued forward smoothly, now turning to the right. I switched back.

“You got it!” the boy called.

Very daringly, I glanced over my shoulder. They waved like I’d just won a gold medal in canoeing. On shore, their moms were still talking, completely unaware that I’d just taken my life in hand and changed course.

Such moments often happen unnoticed
, I thought.

I waved at the kids. Then, falteringly, I headed for the island.

I
MADE
it in about fifteen minutes. An experienced paddler probably could have done it in five. My arms ached and my knees throbbed, but I was there. The afternoon was still foggy, though warm, and the diffuse lighting made the shoreline soft and indistinct, as though it had been painted with watercolors. Even the sounds from land came muffled to my ears. The ever-present robin’s song sounded far away. There were no other boats on the lake.

Carefully I made my way around the end of the island, not getting too close in case I hit a rock or a submerged log. The island’s shoreline was different from the mainland’s; it was mostly grassy, with reeds and cattails growing out into the water. The water moved through them with a gentle hissing noise, different from the gurgles along the rocky shore that I was used to, but everything had the same clean, fresh, watery odor. It was all so still that only the tips of the limbs of the pine trees swayed in the breeze, so faint that the surface of the lake looked like glass. Everything felt absolutely magical.

I rounded the far tip of the island. I’d hoped the loon would be there to meet me, but all I could see were empty water and more reeds.
Damn.
A strange, hollow feeling opened inside me—a sense of loss over something I hadn’t really known I’d had, or wanted, until very recently. I took one hand off my paddle and rubbed my eyes. Life was strange. Things I didn’t want found me easily. Things I wanted, I hardly understood.

I paddled on as quietly as I could. The way to implement the diagrams of the J-stroke finally started to make sense. If I held the paddle in the water behind me for just a second after I finished my stroke, and made a little hook-like wiggle with it before I pulled it out, the canoe kept going straight instead of turning. That was much easier than switching my paddle from side to side. I felt just a tad bit proud that I’d mastered something, for once, that didn’t have anything to do with computers or numbers or money. Just a boat and a paddle and the water.
Yes.

But my new talent didn’t help the ache inside me. With a sigh, I wiped my eyes.

I almost didn’t see the loon as I practiced my steering to maneuver out around a log that protruded into the water, a pine that had fallen years ago. He had been floating in the sheltered area between the log and the land; until he moved, he’d blended in perfectly with the dark trunk. I could see a little path beyond him up onto the island, where he probably slept at night, hidden from all eyes.

I was so close to the tree trunk that I put out my left hand and caught it, halting my forward motion, without taking my eyes off the loon. He looked straight back at me. After a moment he swam closer.

It was the nearest we’d been to each other yet. I gazed at him in awe. His feathers were like lacework. His head was dark green; his throat and breast were light with a dark band; his black back had flecks of white. But his eyes, his bright red eyes, burned. I’d never seen anything that spoke so much of age and strength and wisdom and… passion.

He stopped at arm’s length and neither of us moved, except for the gentle rocking of the water that held us both.

Without really thinking, I drew my phone from my pocket. I needed—wanted—I wasn’t sure. Quickly, I pulled up the camera. The loon watched me intently, not moving as I aimed at him and pressed with my thumb. Then I looked at the screen in my hand. There was the dark-haired man who’d made me think of the
David
. For an instant, I was distracted by his sleek, wet hair and long, lean body under the surface, but his dark eyes burned the same way the loon’s did. They had the same wildness. The same passion. The same—yearning? I wasn’t sure.

I looked back at the loon, who hadn’t moved. I hesitated, then turned the screen to face him, to let him see. His red eyes flicked to it briefly, then returned to my face. He did not seem distressed, as he clearly had been when the woman had captured his likeness. I knew now what I’d needed to know.

His trust in me was perfect. If I wanted to, I could offer mine in return.

Did I want to? I slipped my phone away. His soul was a wild thing. What would that mean? I didn’t know.

Taking it slowly, I held out my right hand.

He flinched slightly, his instincts probably saying to keep his distance. But I held my hand still. Very warily, as though drawn by something powerful, he came closer. I didn’t move.

He touched me first, a gentle poke against the back of my fingers with the point of his hard, smooth bill. I still didn’t move. He poked at me again and then turned his head into the curve of my palm. I’d never imagined anything as soft as the green feathers along the side of his head, his neck. They were almost too soft and light to even register against my skin, as though he weren’t part of the same world I was part of. Holding my breath, I let my fingers move ever so slightly against him, pressing just a little to find the solid strength of the body beneath them. Yes, he was firm and real.

He tilted his head up. His eyes were expectant, as though he wanted me to do something. It took me a moment. Then I reached behind me with one hand and pulled the elastic off my hair. I gave it a shake and let it fall free around my shoulders, thick and wavy. Carefully, in case I’d misunderstood, I leaned over the gunwale, letting my hair hang down like a curtain. The ends touched the water.

The loon stretched out his neck and pressed his head through my hair. I held my breath at the sheer sensuality of the sensation. I felt him touch my neck, felt the soft dampness of his feathers against my cheek as he combed his bill through the hair behind my ear. He smelled of clean water and fresh air. I imagined loons stroking each other like this. It felt good. Natural.

I hesitated, then realized I’d made my decision without really having to think about it. I closed my eyes and let him touch me as he wished, claiming me as his in any way he chose.

As though in a dream, I felt his touch change, but it was a few moments before I consciously registered that it was a warm, soft, human hand that stroked my closed eyelids, my lips. The canoe dipped slightly as he laid one arm along the gunwale and curved the other around my shoulders, pulling me close into a kiss. I tasted drops of water on his lips for just an instant; then I felt my mouth opening, his hand working through the hair at the back of my neck, steadying me.