hull of the boat. I moved to the middle of the seat and reminded myself that I trusted Sarge because other people
I knew trusted Sarge.
The cabins on shore grew sparser until there was just a wall of trees. We turned down an inlet and in the
dimming light I wondered what that cow was doing in the shallows there. Then it dawned on me that I was
looking at a moose, a fairly young one, its coat sleek and deep brown, the half-grown antlers lifting with its head
like a hello. It didn’t startle as we passed, just stared. I watched for as long as he stayed in sight, turning in my seat
so I faced the man steering the boat into this oblivion.
“Never seen one before,” he said, but he already knew.
“He was magnificent,” I shouted over the motor.
“That’s generally what people say.” He barely had to strain to be heard. My voice in comparison was a flimsy
thing, the generic version you buy at the discount store, knowing you’re going to throw it away after one use.
I turned back in my seat and watched as a dock stretched toward us, alone in the cove. As we pulled alongside
and I reached out to steady us, I saw that the wood was aged and peeling, a dusty gray, the boards warped and
straining against the nails attempting to keep them in a straight line. A giant cobweb stretched across one corner
of the dock but not a spider in sight. I heaved my backpack over the side of boat and then followed it with a light
jump.
“Are you coming?” I asked. I looked for the rope to tie us up.
“Getting dark,” he said.
“Oh.” My eyes followed the path at the end of the dock up through the trees into shadows.
“Can’t get lost,” he said. “Not far,” and he nodded where I had been looking. He rested his elbows on his knees,
like take your time.
“Thank you,” I said. I wanted to say more, but I couldn’t figure out how to express this very real gratitude that
welled up inside of me.
“They know how to reach me, in the house.” I suppose he meant if I needed a ride back, which presumably I
would someday, right? I lifted my pack onto one shoulder.
“Well, thanks again,” I said because I wasn’t ready to leave yet. I looked all around the cove, trying to remember
this moment, maybe drag it out a little.
“You’re going to be alright,” he said and I believed him.
Hannah Harlow received her
MFA from Bennington College.
She promotes books for a
living and lives near Boston,
Massachusetts.