Page 81 of Wayfarers

“No.”

“You don’t want to swim? Water’s nice.”

“I very much want to but—” I hold up my cast.

Sylvie face-palms. “Right. Yes. Hi. Maybe let’s don’t wreck your brand-new cast.”

“I wouldn’t mind wading out a little ways with you, though.”

“Wading it is. Did you put on sunscreen?”

“No. Should I?”

“If you don’t want cancer when you’re fifty. Come on.” She motions for me to take off my shirt.

I do and extend my palm. “Hit me.”

Sylvie’s about to squirt some sunscreen in my hand but stops. “Here, it’ll be easier if I do it for you. It’s hard to put on sunscreen with one hand. You mind?”

“Not one bit.” I try to say it in a way that makes me sound jokey excited as a way to cover my real excitement. I don’t think it worked.

Sylvie squirts out a dollop and starts slowly and methodically rubbing it into my chest and arms. She seems to linger over my heart as though gauging for herself my level of stimulation over this whole affair. And I know my heart is betraying my attempts to play it cool. Am I imagining it, or is she taking her time with her hands on my stomach?

“Look at you with the six-pack,” Sylvie murmurs. “Who knew you were such a gym rat.”

“Never been in a gym. It’s that my family didn’t always eat a whole lot.”

Sylvie suddenly looks worried.

“No, I mean we weren’t starving or anything. But we definitely just scraped by sometimes. And hey, free six-pack. Wanna hear something funny though?”

“Has anyone told you you have a long torso? You do. You’re built like a cat.”

“Uh, no.”

“Turn around so I can get your back. Sorry, yes, I want to hear something funny.”

I turn around. “My family didn’t believe in using sunscreen. They thought that’s what caused skin cancer.”

“Stop.”

“Dead serious.”

“Wow. Was there, like, any science they could point to?” Sylvie says, warm hands on my back.

“None. Ever. There were even some members of my family who believed in sungazing.”

“Please tell me that’s not exactly what it sounds like, which is just staring into the sun, letting it burn your retinas.”

“Nailed it.”

Sylvie lets out a deep sigh. “Tell me they drew the line at repeatedly bonking their heads against a brick wall to, I don’t know, improve brain function.”

“Yeah, but if you tried hard, you could convince them.”

“God. Turn back around. Let’s get your face.”

I turn to Sylvie and close my eyes. Well, mostly. I peek at her through a 99 percent closed eye. Her breath caresses my eyelids as she massages cool sunscreen into my cheekbones and forehead. She takes her time and I’m glad.