Two
1333 Words
Two
Edith’s offer to walk me around the docks in the evening was invaluable. The sailors were out in the cooler temperatures, finishing their projects or cracking open a cold beer. We walked from boat to boat, and Edith knew everyone—not unsurprising, since Silver Lining had been in the marina for nearly a year. A handful of boats were looking for an additional crew member, but none of them fit my timetable.
As it was getting dark, and my stomach grumbled in hunger, Edith and I agreed to head back to Silver Lining. There was always tomorrow.
When we returned, Edith and I had our own sundowners—boat-speak for happy hour—in the cockpit while Peter cooked in the galley.
“You’d really be okay with me moving in?” I asked. “Even if it’s a week or longer?”
Edith patted my hand. “I am absolutely sure.”
“Did you talk to Peter about it?”
“PETE!” Edith shouted. “LILA IS GOING TO STAY WITH US!”
“Yes, dear,” came his voice from down below. And that was that.
The next morning, I moved in, checking out of the hotel with a very understanding Paula. When I showed up at Silver Lining with my bags, Edith led me downstairs and Peter set the coffeepot to brew.
She pointed to the back of the boat. “This is our cabin. The head—that’s the bathroom—is through here.” She waved to an open door. “Galley here on the port side, Peter’s desk and a seating area on the starboard side. You’ll be up here.”
I stood awkwardly for a few moments while she bustled around, moving things out of the way.
Through the doorway was a small bedroom. Wedged up into the bow of the boat, the bed had a V-shaped cushion with a gap at the wide end. A tiny amount of floor space at this side of the bed contained bins and piles of unidentifiable boat things.
“It’s not much; we usually use this room for storage. But it’s free, so it’s better than staying in the hotel, and you won’t be spending much time in the room itself. This is a head in here”— Edith put her hand on a closed door just outside my new room— “but it’s full of stuff, and being in a marina anyway, we use the bathrooms in the marina facilities. You can use the kitchen sink to brush your teeth on board. Everything else, go ashore.”
I put my backpacks on the bed, as there was no other place to put them down in the room. When I pressed on the mattress, I found it stiff and unyielding. Was this a better option than the hotel room? Free, free, free, I reminded myself.
“Thank you so much for letting me stay here.”
“You are welcome, dear. Now, make yourself at home, and don’t let us old farts slow you down!”
After I dumped my meager things in my new room, Peter and I drank coffee in the cockpit until the net. I got no leads on a position for the canal.
After breakfast, Edith rushed off to join the shuttle to the supermarket, which left me alone on the boat with Peter.
“What are your plans for the day?” he asked me.
I shrugged. “No plans. You?”
“Oh, I’ve got a pump I need to rebuild down in the bilge. It shouldn’t take too long, though. I don’t suppose you would want to help?”
I hesitated for a moment. It sounded like something completely outside of my expertise. But Peter and Edith were giving me a free place to stay; the least I could do was help out. “Sure.”
Two hours later I leaned headfirst into the bilge of the boat, an area under the floorboards that was full of water with a greasy sheen and a strong stale smell. Peter had me holding a hose up in the air, trying to keep it from leaking water into the boat.
My skin was covered with sweat and I had a big splotch of oil on my cotton tank top. When the end of my ponytail got soaked with bilge water, I almost cried.
Peter could tell I needed a break. “Here, take this outside and see if you can get the hose clamp undone.” He handed me a hose with some kind of connector on the end. When I took it, he piled more into my arms: a screwdriver, pliers, and a few other tools.
Staggering up the stairs, I started to set the parts down on the deck.
“Set up on the dock, please,” Peter called up.
I climbed off the boat, then kneeled to inspect and fiddle with the hose clamp. I knew how these things worked—theoretically. But even with the right tools, the screw wasn’t budging. I needed a vise.
By getting on all fours, I could hold the connector with one hand, pin the hose under my knee, and twist the screwdriver with my other hand. Sweat dripped down my chin, and my butt was sticking up in the air, jean shorts creeping up between my legs, while I strained as hard as I could against the screwdriver. I made a grunt worthy of a caveman.
A throat cleared.
I looked over my shoulder, and my upturned a*s, to see a man grinning wickedly behind me. The sun was directly behind him, so I shaded my eyes to see him better. He was fair-skinned and stocky, wearing a threadbare T-shirt that accentuated his bulky shoulders and muscular arms.
“Hallo,” he said, ticking up an eyebrow.
I froze, recognizing the accent. It was the man I’d seen that first day on the docks. My cheeks heated at the embarrassing—and overtly s****l—position I was in. What even was the etiquette for this situation? Shouldn’t he just politely step around me and then we could both pretend this had never happened?
I sat back on my heels and looked up at him, dusting my hands off and squinting into the afternoon sun. His grin went crooked, eyes roaming over me.
“Hmm, a beautiful woman in need of some help?” His accent was soft and lilting, and my brain skipped for a moment on his words.
I glanced down at myself, at my chest sticky with sweat and starting to turn pink from too much sun, at the grit sticking to my skin, at the big splotch of oil streaked onto one boob. I looked around, just to be sure.
“Me?”
He laughed, tossing his head back. “Yes, a beautiful woman in need of some help. I am most definitely here for it.” He dropped to his knees beside me and leaned in to inspect the hose clamp. “What have we here?”
I watched him, struggling with the desire to be the adventurous, independent Lila versus the Lila who wanted help, all while appreciating—in multiple ways—the bicep curled next to me.
He braced both ends against the dock and nodded at me. “Try it now.”
Self-doubt won over and I tried to hand him the screwdriver. “You should do it. You’re stronger.”
“I have faith in you. Come on. Show it who is the boss.” He winked.
I notched the screwdriver back into the head of the screw. While my assistant held the connector and hose with both hands, I bent over and twisted the tool with all of my strength.
“Almost,” he encouraged.
Finally it gave, rust crackling away from the clamp. “Yes!” I shouted, throwing my hands up in the air, and he laughed with me. We both sat back and I grabbed the hem of my tank top and wiped the sweat off my face. When I looked back up, his eyes snapped from my midsection to my face.
“Thank you so much for your help.”
“You are welcome.” He offered me his hand. “Eivind.”
“Lila.” We shook.
“Well, Lila, now that I have done my knightly duties, I must move on.” He mock saluted and winked. “I hope to see you again soon.”
As he departed, Eivind glanced over his shoulder and busted me watching him. I blushed and gathered up the parts. But not even the prospect of helping Peter rebuild the pump could wipe the grin off my face.
- Writer
