This Side of Salvation

CHAPTER 31

NOW

The vessel Sandy gives us is technically a boat, in that it floats and has the potential to contain a few people and their belongings.

“Where’s the motor?” I ask her, walking the length of the hull on the dock, which takes about two seconds.

“Here’s your motor.” She holds up an oar. “Put those biceps to good use.”

Due to a shortage of storage space, we load the boat with only the barest necessities: one tent, one sleeping bag, one blanket, a flashlight, matches, sunscreen, extra socks, a first aid kit, water purification tablets (since water itself is too heavy), and all the protein bars we can afford.

And a bag of hush puppies. I insisted.

Sandy draws us a rudimentary map of the lake, starring a few places along the way where the ground is level enough to camp. Then she circles our ultimate destination, Almost Heaven. Ezra was right:

No roads lead there.

“You got about four hours of daylight left,” Sandy says as we step carefully into the boat. “You should make it a little less than halfway.”

She unties the boat from the dock. “Good luck.”

We put on our life vests, and then, with some difficulty, we row out into the lake and face the right direction (with the pointy end leading the way—turns out, this is very important for efficiency). Sitting on the sternward seat, facing me, Mara pulls out a small purple paperback. “I can’t believe that worked.”

“What worked?” I ask her.

“Crying. I figured we’d tried reason, threats, even begging. The only option left was despair.”

I pause in my rowing. “You were faking those tears?” “I was exaggerating. I felt sad and angry, but I can usually control my feelings around strangers. Then I remembered the scene from

Wizard of Oz when Dorothy had gotten all the way to the palace and the guard wouldn’t let her through until she cried.” Mara flips through her book. “Maybe Sandy has a daughter my age, or maybe

someone ditched her once. Anyway, we got this boat, for what it’s worth. I hope it’s worth a lot, because I feel sorta dirty for that embarrassing display I put on.”

“But what made you—”

“You’d said, ‘Toto, we’re not in suburbia anymore,’ so I guess I had Wizard of Oz on the brain.”

I take a brief rest, letting us cruise through the water. The crickets are already starting to chirp, signaling the approach of twilight. Finally I ask her, “So am I the Scarecrow or the Tin Man? Don’t say Cowardly Lion.”

“You did try to row us backward,” she points out, “so you could probably use a brain.”

I contemplate this for a moment. “And yet, I’m probably the only one between us who’s noticed a major logistical problem with this setup.”

“What’s that?”

“This boat only holds three people.”

Mara looks down at her seat, which could squeeze one more person, tops; then at my seat, where the only member of our family who could fit beside me would be Juno. Maybe Tod if he went on a diet. “Well, the Scarecrow did turn out to be the smart one.”