The Color of Water in July by Nora Carroll Read Free Book Online Page B

around to look at her.
    “Wild Turkey?”
    Jess stood up a little to grab the bottle from him, falling back onto the cushioned seat as the boat whacked the water.
    “Why not,” she said, tipping up the bottle and downing some of the fiery liquid. She sloshed a little as the boat hit another wake. She felt the cold liquid dribble down her chin.
    About two hundred yards offshore, Phelps cut the motor and idled.
    “I’m gonna swim in,” Toni said, already shimmying her jeans over her hips. She stepped out of them, leaving them in the bottom of the boat, the legs crinkled up like two empty sausage casings. She had long, slender feet with frosted pink polish on the toenails, covered with a faint dusting of sand. Without waiting for a response, Toni stepped up onto the boat’s gunwale and dove cleanly into the lake, making the boat sway in the quiet water. Jess froze for a second. The shore still appeared far away to her. She was ashamed to admit it, but she was afraid to swim. Mamie’s sister had drowned in the lake, years ago, and Mamie had never really let Jess learn. While the other children were swimming and boating, Mamie had always flooded her with streams of cautions: be careful, watch out for the drop-off, stay near shore—not an approach that led Jess to feel confident in the water.
    “Come on,” Phelps said. “I can pull up at Lauder’s dock. No need to get wet.” Standing with his hand on the throttle, brown-bagged whiskey bottle now braced between his feet, he put the boat into forward and they chugged slowly down to the little dock.
    The narrow strip of beach that ran along the edge of the woods was studded with sharp rocks. As they rounded the curve of the shoreline, the beach widened slightly into a ribbon of white sand. From there, Jess had a clear view across the cove. First, she noticed the woods that were adjacent to Wequetona, with their uncommonly tall trees. She could make out Journey’s End, though it was too far away to see clearly. Then, along the crest of the hill, like pearls on a knotted strand, the other Wequetona cottages lined up. They looked like dressed-up ladies, their paint making bright splashes against the dark green of the surrounding woods. She could see the Wequetona dock, the brightly colored cabanas on the beach, the moored sailboats and motorboats. The kind of place you might look across at, from somewhere on the lake, and think: Aren’t they the lucky ones? Dusk was falling, and the water had taken on a purplish hue.
    Turning back toward the beach, she made her way over to the bonfire where some of the kids had gathered. Toni was already there. On the other side of the fire, Jess saw a solitary figure, only his silhouette visible through the flames. Mostly what Jess saw was the graceful curve of a solid shoulder, and the hair, longish, framing his invisible face. Jess recognized the boy from the canoe.
    Though by now it was very cold except right next to the fire, Jess could see that Toni had not put a shirt on over her bikini top, and her lean brown arms were glowing a bit—the tanning oil had lent them a perpetual shine. Toni was talking to the boy from the canoe, leaning so that her long feathered hair kept falling forward, each time just brushing the boy’s forehead before she flipped it back behind her shoulder again. Their words were not audible, but Jess could hear the low rumble of the boy’s voice as he spoke. He seemed pleased by whatever Toni was telling him—Jess couldn’t help but notice his easy smile.
    The time spent around the campfire passed in a warm blur. Jess couldn’t remember how many people were there. Or what they ate. Or how many bottles Phelps Whitmire produced. For a while, everyone had been talking, and then the talking had died down. A group of kids left in somebody’s motorboat, so just the four of them were left: Jess, Toni, Phelps, and the boy, whose name was Daniel. Now, they sat around the fire, hearing the pop and spit of the