The Simple Truth

How is he?

Fiske shrugged. Sleeping, or at least trying to.

Does he want to come back with us? Fiske shook his head. Hes going to come over to my place tomorrow night. He glanced at his watch and realized that dawn was not very far away. I mean tonight. I need to stop by my apartment on the way back so I can pick up some clean clothes.

Sara looked down at her dress. Tell me about it. Whered you get those?

I left them down here from the last fishing trip.

She wiped her forehead. God, its so humid.

Fiske looked toward the woods. Well, theres a cooler breeze down by the water. He led her over to the golf cart. As they drove along the quiet dirt roads, Fiske handed her a beer. This one is cold.

She popped it open. It felt good going down, and managed to lift her spirits a little. She held the can next to her cheek. The narrow road took them through a mass of scrub pine, holly, oak and river birch with its bark unraveling like pencil shavings. Then the land opened up and Sara could see a wooden dock with several boats tied to it. She watched as the wooden structure moved up and down with the lap of the water.

Its a floating dock; rests on fifty-gallon drums, Fiske explained.

I gathered. Is that a boat ramp? she asked, pointing to a place where the road angled sharply into the water. Fiske nodded. The people bring their cars up another road to get here. Pop has a little motorboat. That one over there. He pointed to a white boat with red stripes that bobbed in the water. They usually pull them out at night. He must have forgotten. He got it cheap; we spent a year fixing it up. Its no yacht, but itll get you where you want to go.

What river is this?

Do you remember on the drive down 95 seeing signs for the Matta, the Po and the Ni Rivers? Sara nodded. Well, up near Fort A. P. Hill, southeast of Fredericksburg, they converge and its called the Mattaponi River. He looked out at the water. There were few things more relaxing than skimming along the water, and he could think out there. Theres a full moon, the boat has ru

They walked out to the boat and Fiske helped her in.

Do you know how to cast off? he asked.

I actually did some competitive racing when I was an undergrad at Stanford.

Fiske watched her expertly undo the knots and cast off the line. The old Mattaponi must seem pretty dull, then.

Its all in who youre doing it with.

She sat next to Fiske, who stuck his hand into a storage compartment next to the captains chair and pulled out a set of keys. He started the engine and they slowly pulled away from the dock. They got out into the middle of the river and he eased the throttle forward until they were moving at a fairly decent clip. The temperature was about twenty degrees cooler on the water. Fiske kept one hand on the wheel, his beer in the other. Sara folded her legs up under her and then raised herself up so that her upper torso was above the low-slung windshield. She held her arms out from her sides and let the wind grip her.

God, this feels wonderful.

Fiske looked out over the water. Mike and I would race each other across the river. It gets pretty wide at some points. Couple of times I thought one or the other of us was surely going to drown. But one thing kept us going.

What was that?

We couldnt bear the thought of the other wi

Sara sat back down and swung her chair around until she was facing him, smoothing out her hair as she did so.

Do you mind a really personal question?

Fiske stiffened slightly. Probably.

You wont take this the wrong way?

I will now.

Why werent you and Michael closer?

Theres no law that says siblings have to be close.

But you and Michael seemed to have so much in common. He spoke so highly of you, and you obviously were proud of him. I sense you had some differences. Im just confused as to what went wrong.

Fiske shut the engine down and allowed the boat to drift. He cut off the beacon and the moon became their only source of light. The river was very calm, and they were at one of the widest points. Fiske pulled his pants legs up, went to the side of the boat, sat on the edge and swung his feet into the water. Sara sat down next to him, hiked her skirt up a little and lowered her feet in. Fiske gazed out over the river, sipping his beer.

John, Im really not trying to pry.

Im not really in the mood to talk about it, okay?

But

Fiske sliced the air with his hand. Sara, its not the place to do it, and its damn sure not the time, okay?

Okay, Im sorry. I just care. About all of you.

They sat there as the boat drifted along, the noise of the cicadas barely reaching them from shore. Fiske finally stirred. You know, Virginias such a beautiful place. Youve got water, mountains, forest, beaches, history, culture, high-tech centers and old battlefields. People move a little slower, enjoy life a little more here. I cant imagine living anywhere else. Hell, Ive never been anywhere else.

And they have really nice trailer parks, Sara said. Fiske smiled. That too.

So does your segue into the travelogue mean the topic of you and your brother is officially closed? Sara bit her tongue when she finished. Stupid mouth, she berated herself.

Guess so. Fiske abruptly stood up. The boat rocked and Sara almost ended up in the river. Fiskes hand shot out and gripped her arm. He squeezed tightly and looked down at her. She looked up at him, her eyes as big as the moon over them, her legs splayed out and gently drifting in the water, her dress wet where the river had touched it.

How about a swim? she said. To cool off?

I dont have any swimsuits, he said.

My clothes are wet enough.

He pulled her up into the boat and then went over and started the engine, destroying the peace. Okay.

Why not swim here?

Currents a little too strong.

He swung the boat around and headed toward the dock. Three-quarters of the way there, he cut across and headed to the shoreline. Here the bank sloped gradually down to the water, and as they drew closer Sara could make out fifty-gallon drums floating about twenty feet apart. As they kept heading in, she could see that they were tied together by mesh rope forming a huge rectangular-shaped pool. Fiske cut the engine near one of the drums and let the boats momentum propel them along until he could reach out and touch the big container. Then he tied a line to a hook mounted on the drum and dropped a small anchor, actually a gallon paint bucket filled with concrete, over the side for added security.

Its about eight feet at its deepest point inside the ropes. Theres a fence of wire mesh that circles the whole area and goes all the way to the bottom. That way if the current catches you, you wont end up in the Atlantic.

When Sara started to slip out of her dress, Fiske quickly turned around. She smiled. John, dont be a prude. My bikini shows more than this. In her panties and bra, she dove over the side, coming up a moment later treading water. She called out, Ill turnmyback, if youre too embarrassed.

I think Ill sit this one out.

Oh, come on, I wont bite.

Im a little old for ski

Waters really great.

It looks it. He still made no move to join her. A disappointed look on her face, she finally turned and swam away from him, her arms cutting powerful strokes through the smooth surface. As Fiske watched her, he absently ran his finger the length of the wound, touching the two circular humps of burned flesh where the bullets had entered him. He abruptly removed his hand and sat down. The name Harms kept reverberating in his head. Anin forma pauperispetition probably would have come from a prisoner, if thats what the handwritten document amounted to. He shifted in his seat and once more looked in Saras direction. Under the moonlight he could barely make her out, in the shallow end, drifting. Whether she was looking at him or not, he couldnt tell. He looked out over the river, his mind taking him back. There was splashing in the water, the two young men swimming for all they were worth, one pulling ahead a bit and then the other. Sometimes Mike would win, other times John. Then they would race back. Day after day, growing more tan, leaner and stronger. So much fun. No real worries, no heartaches. Swim, explore the woods, devour bologna-and-mayo sandwiches for lunch; for di