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some kind of outside manipulator, that might force them closer together. If nothing else, they could share a laugh at my expense.
    Unfortunately, Gunnar wasn’t laughing. “No,” he said. “Russel wouldn’t do that. Not after I told him not to.”
    I admit I felt a tad guilty when Gunnar said this. Just like I felt guilty eavesdropping on them like I was. But what could I do?
    “You told him not to set me up with you?” Em said to Gunnar, sounding understandably offended.
    “It’s not you,” Gunnar said. “It’s me!”
    Sweet Jesus, he was breaking up with her and they’d barely just met!
    “Oh,” Em said.
    “That didn’t come out right,” Gunnar said. “Look, I’ve just had bad luck with girls, okay? I told Russel I didn’t want to meet anyone right now.”
    “Oh. Well, I should get back to my kids, anyway.”
    I heard a pause, then some squeaking, like Em was walking for the door. But before she was gone completely, Gunnar said, “No. Wait.”
    I didn’t hear any more squeaking, so Em must have waited.
    “What do you like about bees?” Gunnar asked.
    “I dunno. They’re just cool. You know, it’s not true what they say about bumblebees being too heavy for their wings—that their being able to fly violates the laws of aerodynamics. Their wings twist sideways, so there’s less drag on the upstroke. That means they follow the laws of aerodynamics just fine.”
    “Yeah,” Gunnar said. “I know.”
    “I mean, obviously, right? Because they do fly.”
    Hmm, I thought to myself. This was an interesting development. Was Gunnar snatching victory from the jaws of defeat?
    The floor to the boathouse squeaked again, like someone was pacing nervously (Gunnar, no doubt).
    “You allergic?” he said to Em.
    “To bees?” she said. “Yeah. I don’t die or anything. I just swell up.”
    “Me too.”
    “Careful,“ Em said. “Don’t step on the seagull.”
    “Huh?” Gunnar said. “Oh!” I heard more squeaks—little ones, like someone was stumbling backward.
    Then I heard a squishy sound, followed by a word that struck terror deep into my heart.
    “Whoa!” was the word, and Gunnar was the one who said it.
    Even though I still couldn’t see, somehow I knew exactly what was happening out in that boathouse. Gunnar had lurched back from the dead seagull, then slipped on some of the fresh sparrow droppings.
    I thought to myself, Please don’t let him fall backward into one of the open boat slips!
    But even as I thought this, I heard the splash.
    “Oh, God!” Em said. “Are you okay?”
    Gunnar didn’t flail around or anything. Why would he? The water was barely waist-deep in those boat slips. But he had definitely fallen into that water. I could hear it lapping against him, and against the pilings underneath the boathouse.
    “It’s okay,” Gunnar said softly. “I’m okay.”
    “Here,” Em said. “Let me help you up.”
    “No, I’m fine. I’ll see you later, okay?”
    “What?”
    “I’d just kind of like to be alone right now, if you don’t mind.”
    “Oh,” Em said. “Are you sure you don’t need—?”
    “I’m sure.”
    Em paused a second. “That could’ve happened to anyone, you know. I could have slipped on that bird slit too.”
    “Em,” Gunnar said evenly “Please?”
    “Okay.”
    And with that, she left.
    After she was gone, poor Gunnar climbed his way back into the boathouse.
    Then I heard words that struck terror even deeper into my heart.
    “Russ,” he said, still speaking oh-so-gently, “1 know you’re in here.”
    How had he known? He must have just figured it out, because I was certain he hadn’t known I was there when he’d been talking with Em (or to himself).
    There was no point in trying to keep up the charade, so I crawled sheepishly out from under that canvas.
    “Gunnar,” I said, “I am so sorry.”
    Gunnar didn’t say anything, just stared at me. He had the strangest expression on his face—a cross between confusion and pain. Then he