up squinting into the sun and saw a girl on the grass near a dock; long golden legs, light reddish blonde hair, thick as a horse’s tail, stacked on top of her head to allow the sun to get at her neck, leaning up on her elbows. She had been watching him, apparently, and was still watching him. And it was easy to understand why. While messing with the engine, staring at the tachometer, the engine mostly out of gear, the light wind had drifted him to within perhaps 30 yards of her dock. Instinctively, he looked at the lake house behind her, unconsciously checking to see if she was a “rich” girl or not, noting its modest appearance, and then back to her. She waved and mouthed the word “Hi”. His heart went up a few beats per minute. He cut the engine off.
“Hey!” he said, loudly enough to be heard, but not too loud as the sudden silence drew into focus the fact that he was really very close to trespassing. “What’s up?”
“Having engine trouble?” she said. She had a high “girly” voice. He loved voices like this. But it had a smart edge to it, too. Like “I’m sexy, but not a bimbo”.
“Yeah, I guess.” He responded, suddenly somewhat embarrassed at the condition of his boat. A girl like this would probably think he was some lake bum. “It’s running rough. I don’t know what the deal is. Sorry I came in so close. I wasn’t paying attention, and the wind blew me in.”
“I know. I was watching”.
She was watching. He liked the way that sounded. The door was open a crack, but not too far. But it was open. She added “Can I help?”
“Well, I wish you could, but I don’t know what’s wrong with it. You know anything about V-8s? I think the carb is fouled.” To his surprise she replied saying “Did you try carb cleaner?” “What?”, he thought? She wasn’t butch looking – not by a long ways – but he was a bit put back by her engine knowledge.
“No, I sure haven’t. Do you have a can?” he said, laughing, expecting her to laugh, too, as if a girl like her would have a spray can of carb cleaner handy.
“I’m sure my dad does. Let me go check. Be right back.” She said rising, swinging her long legs under her first, then her full weight to her arms, leaning forward, then to a crouch, then standing fully, quickly grabbing with her thumbs the back of her suit bottom to make sure they covered her cheeks. Tanner was gawking and didn’t care who knew it.
Two minutes went by and fleeting thoughts that he was the brunt of a rather clever practical joke – one in which she never came back out, at least until he’d taken his beat-up boat out of sight - went through his mind, when she appeared around the carport side of the house with a spray can in one hand, looking at the ground as she walked to make sure she didn’t step on anything barefoot, walking tiptoed a little, throwing the weight onto the balls of her feet, tightening up her calf muscles. Tanner was really nervous by now. She was hot.
“I don’t think I can throw it that far.” She shouted. “Can you come in a little closer?” He fired the engine, which, although still rough, took only about 15 seconds of power to glide the boat gently near the dock.
“Just throw me the rope.” Jen said, putting the can down and holding her hands out, ready to catch. God, she was cute, he thought. She held her arms out with the palms of her hands facing up and outwards slightly, almost childlike. He was close enough now to see the freckles and the eyes. Iridescent golden green in the sun. He’d been cruising the lake for almost two weeks checking out girls, trying not to look like he was checking out girls, and then this falls out of nowhere. He must be living right, he thought. He quickly, almost stumbling, reached under the console for a rope, tied one end off to a cleat on the side of the boat and coiled the other end to throw to her. He looked at her, making eye contact really for the first time, to see if she was ready. She smiled lightly. Oh, she was so pretty, he thought. The green irises of her eyes literally danced in the sun.
“You ready?”
“I think so…” she said, with just a twinge of “uncertain little girl” in her voice that echoed vulnerability, but not too much. Just enough to be cuter than hell.
“Ok. Here you go.” He threw the rope, and she easily caught it. As she pulled the boat gently up to the dock, he noted her athleticism. Strong, but still very feminine. Extremely. The boat gently bumped up to the dock. He extended his hand to shake hers, and said “Hi”. Misinterpreting this as him reaching for the can, she handed it to him. He quickly put it down, lifted his hand again and said “Hi. I’m Tanner.”
“Oh, Sorry! Hi. I’m Jen”. She gave a full, somewhat embarrassed smile. So did he. His blue eyes shown under his brown swept forward hair. He was profoundly tan, Jen thought. When his shirtless arm reached towards hers, she could almost count the muscles. Very, very nice, she thought. Thick, strong hands. Very nice. But those eyes. Bluer than the sky around them. She thought “Thank you, God!”
Jen bent down to get the can, handing it to him, but the boat had drifted up against the dock which meant they were virtually standing next to each other, although one was on a dock and the other in a boat. Awkwardly, they looked at each other, smiled, said “Hi!” again, and laughed embarrassedly. They were already friends.
Jen sat on the back of the passenger seat watching the muscles in Tanner’s back as he lifted the engine cover. The engine died the first two times he sprayed the cleaner in, but eventually began to level out, smoke less, and run smoothly. Not top form, but well enough for a ride.
“Wanna ride?” he asked, after rehearsing how he was going to say it in his head for about the last two attempts to restart the engine.
“Yeah! I mean, I’d love to, but I’ve got to check with my dad.”
This was a feat made easier by the fact that her suspicious dad had by now found some excuse to come down to the dock.
“You guys need any help?” he asked with a look in his eyes that really said “Why is that boat here and why are you in it?” to Jen.
Tanner jumped in before Jen had a chance to respond.
“Hi, sir. I’m Tanner Chastain. Sorry to use your dock, but my engine was giving me trouble.”
”He just needed some carb cleaner.” Jen said, hoping that both statements would serve to defuse the “This guy’s after my daughter” radar that was fully deployed in her father by now.
In fifteen minutes, however, Tanner’s natural grace and personality, combined with two guys working on an engine, had broken down all barriers. But, just to make sure, Jen had slipped into the house on the excuse to get some ice tea and slipped on a little cover-up wrap. She could feel her dad’s voice relax as he noticed his comparatively fully clothed daughter arriving with cold tea.
A good cleaning of plug contacts, some cleaning out of the distributor cap, and a couple of hastily put together ham sandwiches, and Tanner was almost a son. Asking if she could go for a ride with him was a slam dunk.
“Sure, just make sure you watch for the warden, and no beers, ok?” her Dad said.
“Oh, for sure, Mr. Jensen.” Tanner said, without a trace of forced sincerity in his voice. Jen was actually a little let down. She thought a cold one on a cruise for an hour with this new godsend sounded OK. But her mom would smell the hops on her breath when she got home anyway. Her mom could smell contraband on the breath of a teenager from across a parking lot.
The day was designed for a ride. The lake was glass smooth, few boats, as it was a weekday, and the sun was high with only a few small clouds floating around. The rumbling V-8 and some good tunes on the radio made small talk impossible, which left them to be near each other, having fun, getting to know each other without words. Pure physical presence. It worked just fine.
The boat cooperated largely, although about halfway across the backside of the lake, it started to chug a little bit. Tanner throttled back, let the wake catch up with them, and popped the lid again for the rest of the can of carb cleaner.
“Sorry. Thought we had it there. Maybe some more will work.”
“That’s cool, no hurry here.” Jen said. As the boat rocked gently, Tan
ner bent over the engine, she reclined the seat a little to get more sun and scanned the shoreline.
They were about 75 yards from shore. The lake was so still that waves didn’t even break there. Just the occasional wake wash from a passing boat leaving the ghost of its energy long after its passing. Despite her annual vacation boredom, she really did love the woods. She didn’t get to see this side of the lake hardly ever, in her little john boat with the outboard, so this was a treat. “The woods are lovely, dark and deep” she thought, thinking of the Frost poem every high school kid memorized at some point. These were truly lovely. And dark and deep. She could barely see 20 feet in under full, high, early afternoon sun. Just deep blue green and shadows. Here and there a single branch would sway just enough to put the scene in motion, pushed by a small wind off the lake. The lines of the trees were mostly regular, straight upwards, but not perfectly straight. Nothing in nature was ever perfectly anything. No perfect circles or straight lines she thought as she squinted lazily. Her skin was heating up as they sat there, and the glow felt good. She hoped she looked as good as she felt. He was way too cute to screw this up.
Deep in the trees she saw a deer leap. It startled her just a bit. She wondered why it fled. Perhaps it had been watching them, trying to determine whether