Page 61 of Even After Sunset

“Whatever,” he says. “He’s still gonna be off his rocker.”

“Don’t say that… I bet he’s really cool.”

Silas smirks. “I bet he’s really weird.”

“Tooold you…” Silas singsongs under his breath as we wander up the path to the white-washed cottage that houses the World Famous Umbrella Cover Museum.

“Shh!” I smack his chest as I plaster a smile on my face for Hrothgar, who I recognize from the website as the museum’s current owner. He is standing inthe open doorway wearing a brown knitted cardigan and orange Crocs. And he’s playing a turquoise accordion.

So okay, Silas could be right: he might be leaning a little on the weird side. But he’s also over-brimming with enthusiasm. He gives us (and the three other visitors who wandered into the cottage just a short ways from the Peaks Island ferry landing) a private tour of the one-room museum. It’s jam packed from floor to ceiling (and when I say ceiling, I mean the ceiling is also covered) with hanging umbrella covers from all over the world, and in every pattern and shade of the rainbow. It is tackiness in its purest, most glorious form and I love it.

While Silas was fascinated by the cryptozoology museum, here he is merely baffled. And he doesn’t do a great job hiding it. He’s looking at me more than he’s looking at the umbrella covers. I think he’s trying to gauge my reaction, because while he didn’t initially get the concepts of the other museums we’ve visited, hedidget the actual exhibits. Here, he doesn’t get either. And I want to explain to him that this is exactly the point: there is nothing toget.It’s pure whimsy. But I have a feeling that whimsy is a little out of Silas’ wheelhouse. Okay—a LOT out of his wheelhouse.

He doesn’t take one single photo. I take about fifteen.

As we trail back down the path twenty minutes later, Silas keeps glancing over his shoulder, as if he’s worried Hrothgar might be following us back to the ferry. But he’s still safely stationed on his perch by the front door, happily greeting the next batch of tourists with his accordion tunes.

“Well,” Silas says. “That was a trip.”

His hands are shoved deep in his pockets and he looks so bemused it’s actually kind of funny. He kicks a pebble with the toe of his shoe and it bounces off into the road that leads down to the cafe near the docks. We follow that same road and find an empty bench on the pier where we sit and take out our picnic lunch.

We’re quiet for a while as we both dig into our avocado and cheese sandwiches. Silas says he’s never had avocadoes before, and he watched me dubiously as I sliced one back in the camper. But there are no complaints from him now about the double-decker sandwich he’s devouring. Of course, I’m pretty sure this is hisfirst meal in about twenty-four hours. He finishes his sandwich before I’ve even taken five bites of mine.

He leans back and stretches his long legs out, then takes a drink from one of the water bottles I packed.

“Did you get those book covers finished?” he asks as he sets the bottle down on the bench beside him.

I look over at him, surprised by the question. He’s watching two guys docking a small wooden motor boat along the pier, and his expression is unreadable.

“Almost. The first one’s a romance novel, so those are pretty quick. Basically, just two blended images, and the title and stuff.”

He nods. “Cool.”

He glances at me, and our eyes meet.

He looks away again.

“I don’t mind manning the window again tomorrow… so you can work on them.” He pauses. “I promise I’ll stay away from the Nutella.”

I love this sweet, bashful side of Teenage Silas. It is a total one-eighty from his usual rough and prickly self, which just makes me like it even more. He wears this side of his personality like a pair of shoes he’s considering buying, even though they’re different from anything else in his closet.

I look away. “I kind of over-reacted about that. The Nutella was… not a bad idea.”

“It was a fuckingawesomeidea.”

I knock my shoulder against his solid bicep. “Well, I wouldn’t gothatfar… Rookie.”

“Whoa,” he grins, eyebrows arched. “Are you calling me… a cookie rookie?”

I groan. “Oh my Gosh, Silas… That issooocheesy.”

“Says the girl who just took us to an umbrella cover museum.”

“Okay,” I concede. “Good point.” And then after a second, I add: “But yeah, that would be cool, if you’re up for taking over cookie sales sometime this week while I work on an award-winning book cover design.”

He nods. “For sure.”

And then we’re both quiet again for a bit. Silas pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket as he stands up. He wanders closer to the ferry landing to light up, taking a long drag which makes his cheeks hollow. Just beyond him, the ferry is approaching, its silhouette rippling in the early afternoon sunlight. When it’s almost here, I pack away the remnants of our lunch, then sling the backpack over one shoulder and walk over to where Silas is standing. He takes one last puff, then flicks the cigarette butt into the water.

---