Page 94 of Wayfarers

“Why does that happen?”

“It’s like they’re bars of soap and they get all lathery and slippery as you handle them.”

We pass a couple of RVs. Sylvie pulls up to a numbered campsite. “I think this is us.” She cuts off the ignition, and we sit for a moment without moving while the van ticks and cools.

I open my door and step down into the summer night. The air smells clean and foggy, maybe from early dew, maybe from the proximity to the Great Lake. I set to work pitching my tent by the light of the van’s headlights. It’s hard with only one hand working very well.

“Thanks for driving,” I call to Sylvie. She’s in the van, busying herself with something.

“No worries. I mean, I was planning on flying solo this whole time. Not like I was gonna split driving duties with Winslow.”

“Because like me, he doesn’t have a driver’s license.”

“Exactly. How would we explain if we got pulled over? Except for that, no problem. Hey.”

“Hey you.”

Sylvie jumps out of the van and strides over. “Dude. What’s my actual deal? I didn’t even offer to help you set up camp.”

“Here, if you’ll just grab this end of the pole—”

“This one?”

“My pole. There you go. Stick it in that little slot there.”

“I really hope no one is overhearing this conversation.”

“I know, right? How embarrassing not to know how to pitch a tent.”

“Yeah, that’s why, Knox.”

We finish quickly. I kneel on the nylon floor and unroll my sleeping bag, wincing and sucking in breath as I accidentally put weight on my broken arm. I sit cross-legged and Sylvie kneels beside me. She smells like clean laundry.

“You okay?” Her hand rests on my good arm. I enjoy it being there even as I fight back a wave of nausea from the pain.

I swallow hard and nod. “I’ll be okay in a sec.”

“Can I do anything for you?”

“Like?”

“Like I don’t know. Distract you with magic tricks?”

“You know magic tricks?”

“No, I don’t know why I said that.”

“Do you know the trick where it looks like you’re pulling your finger off?”

“I’m not good at it, but I’ll try if that would distract you.”

“Will you just keep your hand where it is? Touch takes my mind off it.”

“Then why did you suggest the pulling-off-my-finger trick?”

“I don’t know. It’s been a long day and I’m tired and we’re both saying things we don’t know why we said . . . them.”

We both laugh. Sylvie edges closer and my heartbeat accelerates. “Here. If human contact helps, maybe more will help.” She puts her arm around me. Her hair whispers on my face.