When Murphy died ..... 2

Murphy  rarely spoke of her father after the night she came to me and cried her heart out. She threw herself, into a hectic social life. She became involved in a fairly serious relationship with a very nice guy. I remember his name was Graham and he was an A student. He was a track star and won trophies for the school. He was good looking, in a high school jock kind of way. There was ongoing speculation about how involved they were. Graham was interested in medical research and so he would be in school for a long time. The rest of us knew we were too immature for serious relationships. We just wanted to have fun and shyly, tentatively edge our way toward having sex or lying about it, at least.

Summer was the best time of all. Those glorious sun filled days when we were bursting with energy and hormones and endless possibilities. Many of those days were spent at our favorite beach, Port Elgin, a popular resort in Ontario.
Most of the kids in my immediate group of friends had European sports cars of varying vintages and in various stages of rehabilitation, according to their finacial situation. At that time in Canada, they were fairly easy to come by and not very expensive. I had an old red MGA (probably worth something now). A couple of friends had Triumphs and I remember Greg Forte had an Austin Healey (definitely worth something now). Greg was huge. I could never figure how he crammed his bulk into that car.
It was a contest to see how many bodies we could squeeze into those little two seaters. I could pile two people in my passenger seat and two more sat on the trunk with their legs dangling behind the seats. All the stragglers and less popular people climbed into the back of an old pickup belonging to a nice but geeky guy named Don Shuster who kind of followed us around but stayed on the fringe of the group. Off we would go, in a caravan down the highway and we didn't go slowly or cautiously.
Geez Louise, If I saw my kids taking chances like that I'd freak. Fortunately they have a lot more sense than I did.

One particular halcyon day we arrived at the beach shouting and singing at the top of our lungs and drove to our favorite spot where the sand was packed nice and hard and we could take the cars fairly close to the water. Murph and I liked to stroll along the water's edge and collect clam shells and fossils and bits of interesting driftwood. So, we wandered off while the others cavorted like retarded seals in the water. We spoke now and then. Our silences were comfortable. She told me she was very much in love with Graham. I wanted to know if she could see herself married to Graham but, just then, we spotted a tiny rowboat dragged up on the sand and the question went out of my head.
"Let's take it out,"she said with her bad-girl Murphy grin.
"Why not?"said I.
We shoved off and jumped aboard. We rowed enthusiastically and because Murphy was more muscular and pulled so hard on her oar we travelled in a big circle.
"Ease up a bit," I told her. Even so, we moved in lazy circles until I just gave up in disgust.
"We're going nowhere like this," although I noticed we had drifted out some.
Murphy thought it was rather funny. I smiled at her and we laid back in the boat and looked up at the hot blue sky. It was so peaceful being rocked by the waves and lulled by the lapping sounds, I was almost seduced into a doze.

Lake Huron is mercurial and can go from smooth as glass to rough and choppy in a moment. I noticed we were being buffeted by waves that had soothed us a short time ago. I sat up just as we were broadsided by a fair sized wave and tipped to portside. We hung on and I suggested we row like hell back to shore. Again we circled until I said, "You row, you're bigger and stronger."
I was overwhelmed with fear for Murphy; she couldn't swim too well. She worked those oars like Wonder Woman and got us about twenty feet from shore. Then the boat skewed sideways and was broadsided by a rogue wave. Murphy outweighed me and her weight, sliding to one side, tipped us over. Fortunately the lake is shallow for quite a distance from shore and we came up spluttering and laughing. We dragged the boat back up onto the beach minus an oar which I managed to retrieve from the water and then squished our way soggily back to the party of shrieking teens.

A couple of hibachis appeared and Greg grilled up a feast. He always did. He was magic. I don't know why his food always tasted so good. Maybe it had something to do with the day, the sunshine and the joy of being young and so alive. We drove home happy and replete. I learned an important lesson that day. I couldn't bear to lose Murphy.

To be continued