You Are Not a Stranger Here - Adam Haslett [51]
PETER TOOK TREVOR and Samuel out in the canoe the next morning. He was a year younger than Trevor, co-captain of his rugby team. He had a helmet of thick blond hair, a wide neck, and he didn’t wear any socks with his trainers.
“Faster!” he called over his shoulder as Trevor and Samuel paddled furiously on the right side of the canoe, their two strokes trying to balance the force of Peter’s one to keep the boat on course for the beach out where the strait opened onto the sea. The three of them were racing ahead of Penelope and the adults, who followed behind in a rowboat and a little Sunfish, laden with provisions for lunch and umbrellas for the sun.
Each time Trevor leaned forward to pull his paddle through the water, Samuel could see the muscles in his brother’s neck straining. He was thin and had never been particularly strong.
“Move it along, you two,” Peter yelled, and Trevor’s face went red with exertion.
When the others arrived, towels were handed out and the volleyball net set up. Penelope lay in the sun reading a book. She was two years older than her brother and quieter. The only sport she ever spoke of was sailing, which she did with her father. While the rest of them played volleyball, Trevor and Samuel sat next to her, under the shade of a nearby umbrella, Trevor in his long sleeves.
“What are you reading?” he asked.
“Camus,” she said. Her hair was very short and seemed unnaturally pale, a nameless shade between blond and white. There was something very adult about her hair.
“What’s the book about?”
“A plague.”
“Cool,” Trevor said, nodding.
Samuel dug a large hole in the sand in front of him. He felt certain their conversation had something to do with sex.
“You still live in Devon, right?” his brother asked.
“Yeah, it’s awful. The point of life in a place so small escapes me.”
Trevor seemed to have no reply to this but started talking instead about a software application he had in development that charted people’s moods over time. For a year you entered data on your mental state along with thirty variables of diet, weather, geographical location, et cetera, and then the program used the data to predict your mood on future days. When it was done he would try to get the Weather Channel’s Web site to offer a link to the download.
“Right,” Penelope said, returning to her book.
“Do you ever go to parties?” Trevor asked.
Samuel imagined disappearing into the hole he’d dug in front of him.
“Sometimes,” she replied, not looking up from the page. Then Mr. West came by and said it was time for lunch.
That evening a band played at the pub in the village. You had to be fifteen to go, so Samuel stayed behind while the others went. They didn’t get back until late, and Peter and Trevor woke him, turning on the light and making noise. They smelled of smoke and beer. Peter got straight into bed and rolled onto his side. Trevor just sat there for a long time on the edge of his bed, staring about.
“Turn the light out, would you?” Peter said. “And while you’re at it, stop gawking at my sister.”
Trevor made no motion for the lamp. He sat with his elbows on his knees, his chin resting in his hands. With a disgusted huff, Peter got out of bed and switched off the light, leaving Trevor sitting in the dark. Samuel tried to close his eyes and go back to sleep but he couldn’t. He lay on his side looking at his brother’s outline against the barely visible square of the room’s only window. He couldn’t think of anything to say. Eventually, Trevor climbed under the sheets, and Samuel kept listening until his breathing went quiet.
IN THE MIDDLE of their second week, the two families took a long hike up Mount Snowdon. The day was hot, the air thin