Nathan and Cara

Cara watched them as she floated by, and felt the usual surge of curious jealousy, instantly repressed with affected disdain. Her clothes were old, and the boat lacked half of its paint, but she would not be shamed or discontented with herself. So she grinned in defiance, and—

Her heart dropped. He was grinning back. And the face she had hardly dared to dream about looked better than she remembered.

Nathan sat, eating at a fine, cream-draped table in the Buonsantis’ garden, heartrendingly perfect in white shirt and tie, surrounded by all the calm, assured college-goers two or three years her senior. This was the group that she had watched with awe as long as she had lived here.

He was waving his arms. She laughed, dizzy, and pretended not to be watching. Then a few others turned and smiled at her and did the same. Cara could feel her own smile fading, as she tried to understand what he was trying to say. Why this enthusiastic greeting? She was nearly past the house when she realized they were asking her to pull the boat over and come up.

Her head went round. Already, the Buonsanti family dock was thirty feet behind. She wanted to die. And there was no where left to tie the boat up. Vaguely, she remembered the paddles she was sitting on, at the same moment her hands were lifting of their own accord to some unknown gesture as she drifted past in her confusion. Then the group was out of sight behind the trumpet vines, and suddenly her heart was burning terribly. Andy Buonsanti kicked his chair back for one last mocking wave as she stared at the house.

“Is this love or indigestion?” she wanted to scream as, back at the dock, she grabbed hold of the post and yanked up the rope behind her. Her eyes were tickling in threat, and she couldn’t see the rope to tie it. Sandwiched in between two large, family (boats), she finally slammed her hands down on the old gray wood and laughed until the tension in her stomach left. Why, oh, why, oh, why? How had her mind so completely flown away?

The rope was willed into submission, her chest now only mildly fluttering. Nathan Elder. He had been home from his mission for only two weeks. It was almost certain she was the only one in possibly the whole ward who hadn’t talked to him. And he had been offering to talk to her. Sweatpants and all. A blanket was brought from under the seat, and she wrapped it around her head and shoulders, dropping back to lie in the bottom of the boat and relive what happened ten or twenty times.

The sun was warm, and half an hour drifted by; Cara had to force herself to think of the only subject that would allow her to sit comfortably: nothing. She was getting sleepy. The blanket was stifling, and she needed to be home again. Oh, how wide the air felt as she sat up! The physical pain of embarrassment was beginning to return, and held her still for another moment, staring up at the sky. The long afternoon quiet was clinging stickily to its last hold on the day. Two or three men passed by, intent, it seemed, on spending the rest of it fishing. There more footsteps were coming down the dock, and she didn’t want to stay to meet them.
Letting her mind drift off again, she sat and folded the blanket, smiling, sick. What a deliciously dismal day. The last part she did with slow, deliberate care, as someone passed behind her, but they were going so slowly…

This time, her heartbeat might have registered on the Richter scale. He was very close, and she had forgotten what a darling voice he had. Cara jumped; the blanket landed in the water. He was standing no more than three feet away, and…he was talking to her.


Cara couldn’t for her life have afterward related fluidly what happened at the dock. He had pulled the blanket from the river out across the other side, and held it, dripping, there in front of her before she quite had realized what had happened. She had a vague idea of a brief hello, and discussion of the usual particulars of a newly returned missionary. Yes, he was glad to be home, and no, he could hardly believe he was back. It was an incredible experience, but he was glad to see his family again. Why did she want to cry? He had the faintest hint of a wonderful Scottish accent. Meanwhile, Cara from down in the boat was noticing how beautifully bony his feet were. When he asked her a question she had to tell him to repeat it. She’d grown up quite a lot since he had gone. Was she in high school yet? And here Cara’s heart sank.

“We were there together for a whole year,” she said, laughed, even.

“Holy cow, were we really? I thought you looked older than that, but I was sure… It must have been your sister. So you’ve already graduated, then?” Cara knew what was coming next, and tried not to visibly cringe.

“So what are you up to now?”

That sense of confusion swept in again. All she could do was submit to it sensibly.

"I haven't decided yet." She then explained about