Mary and Alvin

A Day At The Shore

Alvin Faulkner had been at work since six o'clock. As expected, it had been busy all morning. He had worked on the wharf every Memorial Day weekend since he was thirteen. So far today, he had already helped guide four boats into the water, rented out a half dozen kayaks, gave two people directions to the Harbor Master's office and rescued a little girl from a flock of gulls determined to steal her doughnut. If this Saturday went like they usually did, there would be a lull now, as lunchtime approached. The diner would get busy, but he'd get a little down time in the yard. He took the opportunity to wash up in the boathouse rest room, then cracked open a can of soda and stepped back out into the sun.

He look up the driveway and saw the girl on the bike. He thought he was looking at the nicest pair of legs he had ever seen. He watched her as she stopped and dismounted. You're too old to be checking out the young girls like this, he thought, but he could not help himself. She had a beautiful bottom as well, and as she turned to face him, he saw she had a slim waist and small but shapely breast. When she smiled at him, however, he forgot all that. All he could see was her shining brown eyes. There was something about them that almost made him catch his breath.

Mary smiled at the man as he approached her. The sun was behind him and she saw his silhouetted shape before she could make out his features. He was tall, broad in the shoulders. As she caught a better look at him, she saw that he was quite handsome. He had probably sported a boyish look in his youth, but years of working around the water had added some grit to his features. There were a few flecks of gray in his dark hair.

"Hi," she said, stammering a little, "I was thinking about renting a kayak."

"Alright," he said, with just a touch of Down East in his voice. "Have you ever been in a kayak, miss?"

He stood next to her and she couldn't help looking him up and down. His waist was a bit thicker than it had probably been in his youth, but his arms looked taut and strong.

"No, but...is it hard to do?"

He looked down at her and scratched his chin. He kept looking at her eyes, wondering what it was that made them so mesmerizing.

"Well, it's not hard but it takes a while to get used to. A bit difficult to handle at first. Were you thinking about going out by yourself?
 "Yes, I'm new in town and just getting to know my way around. I thought, well, if you are going to live where you can see the water, you ought to take advantage of being so close."

"You say you live right by?"

"Yes, right up there," she gestured up the hill, "over the hardware store."

He nodded. "You must work up to the bank."

"Yes, I just transferred here a few weeks ago. From California."

"Well, opening that data center, call center, whatever you call it, was damn good for the town. We are glad to have you."

Mary blushed, as if the compliment was directed towards her personally.

Alvin placed his hands on his hips, looking around in thought. How old was this girl? Mid twenties, he figured. He would look like a fool if he asked her out. A lot of good looking women passed through the yard, and over the years, he'd had more than his share of encounters, but there was something about Mary that drew him in a way he had not felt in years.

He shook his head at her. "I'm sorry, miss, I didn't get your name."

"Mary. Mary Winslow." She held out her hand, and he shook it, holding it just a few seconds longer than she expected.

"Alvin Faulkner," he responded. "As in Faulkner's Wharf. Been the family business now for three generations."

"That's impressive."

"Yep, my grandfather won it in a poker game."

"Really?"

He scowled. "No, not really, but that's what we tell the tourists. They like the local color, don't ya know."

Mary laughed.

"You see those lobster traps?" he asked, gesturing to a stack of what looked to Mary like wooden crates, "There ain't been a lobster man work from this wharf in twenty years. They all use the town landing. And none of them use wooden traps anymore anyway."

"I'm not a tourist," Mary said, "I live here now."

"Well, dearie, I got to tell you, to these old time Mainers, you can be brought here when you're a week old, and eighty years later at your funeral, they'll say you were a nice girl, considering you were from away."

Mary realized that she'd been swaying from side to side while she listened to him. It felt girlish and she hoped he hadn't noticed.

Alvin looked down at his feet and kicked at the dirt.

"Well, Miss Mary, I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to say no to you."

"Say no?" She was puzzled. She had forgotten all about renting a kayak.

"I'm not going to let an inexperienced person take a kayak out alone. Wouldn't be safe."

"Oh. I guess that makes sense."

"But. I'll tell you what. You can't see much from a kayak. Low to the water, don't ya know. No, what you want is to get out there in a sailboat."

She laughed. "Well, I certainly don't know anything about sailing."

"No, didn't think so. But I do, been sailing these waters since I was a wee thing. And, if you are free tomorrow, I'd be pleased to take you out for a sail."

Mary hesitated, and instinctively checked his hand for a ring. He saw her do it, and laughed. He held up his hand. "The ring's at home, in a case, along with the wife's. Been there since she passed, almost ten years now."

"Oh," Mary blushed, "I'm sorry."

Alvin shook his head. "Thank you, you're kind. But you haven't answered me."

"Well, this would be, like a date?"

"I suppose it would be," he nodded.

"You won't have to work?"

"Not on Sunday, I take it off and my cousin covers the yard."

"I'm not sure I feel right about going out with someone, no offense, but someone twenty years older than me."

"How old are you?" he asked.

"Twenty seven."

"Well, I'm only forty six."

Mary laughed. "You lucky bastard," she said.

Alvin threw his head back in a hearty laugh.

"I suppose I am that," he said. "but I'm chatting away with you through my lunch break. Have you had lunch?"

"No, I haven't."

"Well, we make a great lobster roll."

"I've been wanting to try one, I hear so much about them."

"Oh, yeah, Faulkner's lobster rolls been written up in all the gourmet magazines."

"I meant, generally."

"You haven't had any lobster rolls? You been in Maine for weeks! I suppose you haven't had a whoopee pie or taken to Moxie, either."

"I did try a Moxie," she said with feigned indignity, "it was awful."

He leaned close to her and said in a stage whisper, "Don't tell anyone, but I agree." He took hold of her bike and began rolling it towards the diner. "Well, come along, Miss Mary, lunch is on me."