Page 60 of Even After Sunset

“Here. I can carry that.”

I let him, because I know it’s his way of feeling like I’m not the one doing everything. He won’t be able to pay for every stop we make today, so whatever he can do to feel like less of a charity case is important to him. He won’t let me give him much, but he’ll let me give him that: a stupid picnic bag on a ferry ride.

We buy our tickets just as they’re closing off the fence for the next ferry, and we full-on race to make it in time. Silver lining: we’re in such a rush that Silas doesn’t get a chance to argue over the fact that I pay for both tickets.

We make a mad dash toward the boat: Silas hot on my heels and me waving my arms like a pinwheel and calling out to the orange-vested guy at the mouth of the ferry, who glances our way and sighs, like it’s the biggest hassle of his day having to wait the extra fifteen seconds to let us on.

We’re both out of breath as we stumble onto the crowded boat. Silas is craning his neck, checking out the white and yellow-striped vessel like it’s a spaceship that just landed in his back yard.

“Whoa… It’s got three levels,” he murmurs under his breath.

It makes me smile: the way he seems to have a thing for tiered attractions: first the waterfalls that caught his eye in the guidebook a couple days ago, and now this ferry. And yeah, I know it’s random. Still, I find myself pocketing these little observations like smooth bits of sea glass.

I follow him up the steps to the open-air deck and all the way to the bow. We lean against the railing facing the water, forearms resting on the sea-spattered bar. From up here, we have a three-sixty view of ocean and brightly colored sailboats, fishing vessels and islands and picture-perfect inlets.

Silas is quiet, but his eyes are alive. I know how he feels: this moment is amazing.

We stand there for a while, side by side, just breathing in the sea air. We pass an island that is entirely taken up by an old ruined fort. It looks like something out of a dystopian video game.

“So…” Silas finally says, his silver-grey eyes still scanning the waves and the mass of land ahead. “What’s on this island we’re going to?”

I glance over at him. The fresh air is good for him: there’s color in his face again.

I turn my attention back to the water. “You’re going to think it’s super weird,” I tell him. “Like, really weird.”

His eyes widen just a fraction, and he turns his head to look at me.

“Okay… Are we talking weirder than the Toilet Museum, here?”

“Weirder.”

“Oof.” He shakes his head, and I laugh.

“Alright… What is it?” He draws in a slow breath. “I’m ready for it.”

“You sure?”

He nods. “Hit me.”

“It’s the world’s only Umbrella Cover Museum.”

His usually so serious lips fold into a sloppy grin. “Jeeesus…”

I shrug. “Told you it was weird.”

“Yeah. Well, you didn’t lie.”

“I never lie.”

He rolls his eyes. “Shocking.”

I elbow him in the ribs for that one, and then immediately feel bad when he flinches, because I forgot about the bruises.

“Sorry,” I say.

But he just grins. “Not as sorry as the crazy cat lady who had nothing better to do than open an umbrella cover museum.”

“It’s a guy who opened it.”

---