“They just might. I saw some there last week.”
“I like muskrats.”
“So do I.”
They pass the marker buoys indicating the end of the no-wake zone for boats, and Al opens up the engine and heads away from the shore. The nose of the boat rises up out of the water with the force of the propeller in the rear and then settles back down to plane on the surface as they get up to speed and go scudding across the waves.
The larger scow sailboats are still out on the lake from the Sunday Regatta held earlier in the morning. Several have spinnaker sails out to catch an additional breeze as they sail for home. Marcie catches sight of a bright orange sail and has a jolt of recognition. I’ve seen that boat from the air, she thinks, but then remembers it was in her dream. It’s a little unsettling. She feels the way Michael described feeling about flying. Intellectually, she knows it was a dream and she didn’t actually fly, but it seems so real, even now in the light of day. Is it just a coincidence that she’s had the dream and imagined she was flying at the Fair? Marcie doesn’t know what to think.
The smaller sunfish boats are racing now. Sunfish have one stationary sail that is usually brightly colored with large bold stripes. The sailors sit on the side of the boat with their feet in a small hollow in the center. There isn’t much room; only one or two adults can fit, but you really get to experience the wind and the waves. Sunfish sailing is Marcie’s favorite of the water activities—more so than the speed boat. It’s like the difference between driving in a car and riding your bike. You’re an active participant instead of just a passenger, and it can be both peaceful and exciting at the same time. When you catch a breeze and really get going, it’s thrilling.
As they round Owen Point and the trees of James Woods come into view, Marcie has another feeling of déjà vu, and the urgency from her dream returns. This is really creepy! Maybe her subconscious is trying to tell her something, but she has no idea what. She must have jumped or look startled, because Al calls out, “Marcie, are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” She turns around and sees Al watching her intently.
“No, I’m fine. Just a little déjà vu when we entered the bay.”
When she turns forward again, the Swyndalls’ “cottage” is directly before them. The house definitely wasn’t in her dream, because she would have remembered seeing it. The face the house presents to the road is impressive, but the side facing the water is really enormous and surprisingly beautiful given its size. River rock forms the lower part of the house, rising up to red painted clapboard trimmed in white. A wrap-around porch extends across the entire back of the house, and there are multiple gables, windows, and even a round cupola with a weather vane at one end.
“Wow,” exclaims Eric.
“It’s something else, isn’t it?” says Al.
“It’s big, but I like it,” says Marcie. “It’s not like it’s the only big house on the lake.” As she says this, Marcie wonders why she is defending the Swyndalls.
“Not this big!” says Eric. “It’s a monster! I wonder how much time they will actually stay here. Those big summer homes are empty most of the time.”
They are passing by the piers in front of the house—three piers, no less—where they see a professional ski boat, two brand new wave runners on docking stations, a pontoon boat, and a racing class E scow.
“They have a lot of toys, too,” adds Eric, stating the obvious. “Those are top of the line Sea Doos!” referring to the wave runners.
“What’s wrong with that?” retorts Marcie. Lately she seems to want to argue with everything Eric says. He can be so irritating.
“Who was criticizing?”
Before she can respond, a figure rises up from one of the lounge chairs on the pier, and they see it’s Kaitlyn. Al honks the horn at her and they all wave. After blinking in the sunlight a few times, she recognizes them and waves her sunglasses in return as the boat passes by.
“Why do they have three docks?” asks Drew when they turn away.
“Because they can,” says Eric sarcastically. “Actually, I heard Mamaw and Poppy saying that the Swyndalls were trying to discourage people from anchoring their boats in the shallows in front of the house.”
“But that’s a tradition!” says Drew indignantly. “They can’t do that!” Drew is big on traditions and family rituals. Marcie has to agree that it doesn’t seem right to take away something that used to be available to everyone.
“You’re both right,” says Al. “The Swyndalls can put docks into the water from the shoreline that they own, but they don’t own the lake or the water in the lake, so they can’t tell people not to anchor in the shallows. If you noticed, the piers didn’t do much to stop people from anchoring there.” They look back and see that, indeed, half a dozen large boats are anchored just past and around the docks.
“Still, it’s kind of selfish of them not to share the shallows, even if they do want privacy,” concludes Drew. The others don’t say anything. Drew said what they all thought, too.
They negotiate the boats pulling kids on inner tubes and skis in the bay, and aim for the quieter marshy area by the shore. Once they agree on a good spot, Eric drops the anchor and Al kills the engine.
Even though Al’s tackle box is full of lures and flies he has tied by hand, the kids mostly use night crawler or red wiggler worms for bait. Marcie has been fishing since she was able to walk and baiting her own hook since she was Drew’s age, so putting a live, squirming worm on a hook doesn’t bother her. Her friends, on the other hand, are totally grossed out by the whole process. It’s bad enough to pick up the worm, but impaling it on the hook and having it ooze worm blood and squirm around is too much. Marcie usually baits the hooks when her friends visit the cottage.
They spend the next hour or so fishing and relaxing in the boat. As usual, Al and Drew catch the most fish. They each have four “keepers”—fish over six inches long—in the fish basket hanging over the side of the boat. Eric has two and Marcie doesn’t have any. It’s probably because she is too impatient. Fishing requires stillness and patience; two qualities she doesn’t always possess. Drew can sit quietly, which is unusual for a boy his age, waiting and watching for a nibble on his line. Marcie doesn’t really care about catching fish, though. She likes the peace and solitude of fishing and the companionship of Al and her brothers. At least Drew, and sometimes Eric. That peaceful feeling is interspersed today with the feeling you get that someone is looking at you and you turn around and there is someone looking at you—except that this time nobody is there. She keeps getting a prickly feeling on the back of her neck and turns around expecting someone in a nearby boat to be looking her way, but there aren’t any boats nearby. Just the breeze moving through the trees making whispering sounds in the leaves.
As they are eating their picnic lunch, the quiet is suddenly broken when a large wave runner comes roaring up to them, executing a sharp turn in front of the boat and splashing water on them before idling around to the side and stopping.
“Thanks a lot!” yells Eric, half angry, half jokingly, as Kaitlyn laughs at them. “You got our lunch all wet.”
“Well, you are in a boat, it’s to be expected. Anyway, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to splash so much. Marcie, do you want to come over to my house for a while this afternoon? I can take you over on the wave runner.”
“Are you old enough to drive the wave runner?” asks Drew. “Mamaw and Poppy say you have to be 16.”
“No, I’m not 16 yet, but my parents let me take it around the bay, and I’ll just be taking Marcie over to my house. What do you say, Marcie?”
Marcie looks at Al. She knows it is not only against her grandparents’ rules, but also against the law for Kaitlyn to drive the wave runner. But she really wants to go. She can’t tell what Al is thinking, but Eric is giving her the evil eye, which only makes her want to go that much more.
“Al, I think Mom and Dad would say it’s okay since we’d just be going over to Ka
itlyn’s.” He looks at her intently for a moment and then seems to come to a decision. He nods his head and says, “Yes, I think you should go with Kaitlyn. Just don’t be gone too long. We’ll be here about another hour.”
“You could stay over the rest of the afternoon until the cookout if you want. Then we won’t need to hurry back.”
“That sounds good. Is that okay, Al?” Marcie is already climbing out of the boat onto the back of the wave runner.
“Fine with me. I’ll let your parents know where you are.”
“But you’ll miss the rest of our fishing trip!” says Drew. “Don’t you want to fish some more?”
“Oh, there will be other times, Drew. I’ll see you tonight, too. Bye!” Kaitlyn starts the engine and Marcie has to raise her voice to be heard. They idle away from the boat, and then Kaitlyn takes off. Marcie looks back over her shoulder and waves. Eric is glaring at her. Drew waves back, and Al is looking thoughtful, as his hand moves slowly through the air.
Eight
THE GIRLS ZOOM across the water towards Owen Point and the Swyndall house. A slight outward bend of the shore obscures the house so it can’t be seen from where Al and her brothers are fishing. Kaitlyn calls over her shoulder, “Why do you hang out with that old guy? It’s so uncool! I bet you’re glad to be rescued.” Marcie feels her face flush with embarrassment and anger, and she’s glad Kaitlyn can’t see her. Even so, she replies, “No kidding!” enthusiastically, and then feels guilty for not defending Al. He’s her friend! Once again she has mixed feelings about Kaitlyn. On the one hand, it is exciting to be riding on the wave runner without an adult and going to Kaitlyn’s house, which can only be called a mansion, but she also feels guilty, like she’s not only betraying Al and her family, but somehow, herself.
Kaitlyn pulls the wave runner up next to the dock instead of putting it into the docking station and, after turning off the engine, clips a rope to the front to keep it from drifting. She turns to Marcie, her eyes shining with excitement. “Do you have a bathing suit on under your clothes? You could borrow one of mine—oh, good,” she continues when she sees Marcie nodding yes. “I’ve got a great idea. My mom’s not due back home for over an hour. Why don’t we go over to the sandbar for a while?”
“How will we get there?”
“The wave runner, of course.”
“But you said we were just going back to your house,” Marcie says uncertainly.
“What they don’t know won’t hurt them. Anyway, we’ll just go over and see what’s going on. We won’t stay too long, and I’ll be careful.” Seeing Marcie’s hesitation, she adds, “Come on! It’ll be fun. You’re not chicken are you?”
Actually, that’s exactly how Marcie feels: Chicken. The sandbar is where the older high school and college kids go to hang out on the weekends. You can throw out your anchor and walk on the sandy bottom from boat to boat. It’s like a big block party on busy weekends. She’s been to the sandbar before with her family to swim, usually during the week when it’s not so crowded, but never by herself. She’s not even sure if she’d be allowed to go. However, the risk of being seen as “uncool” outweighs her concern about going. What’s the harm anyway?
“No, I’m not chicken. You just took me by surprise. Let’s do it!”
“Great! Here, take off your life jacket for a minute so you can take off your shorts and t-shirt. We won’t look good at the sandbar unless we’re wearing our bathing suits.” She climbs onto the pier. “Hand me your stuff and I’ll put it under my towel on this chair. No one will notice if they happen to come out here.”
Kaitlyn climbs back onto the wave runner while Marcie refastens her life jacket. It’s just one of the bunch of jackets her grandparents have in varying sizes for use by all the family and visitors who come to their house over the summer. She grew so much last winter that she can fit into one of the medium adult jackets. In contrast, Kaitlyn’s jacket is a “Bodysheath,” a very expensive brand which is fitted just for her. Kaitlyn unhooks the wave runner from the pier, and Marcie pushes off before Kaitlyn starts the engine.
The water splashing on Marcie’s legs feels cool and refreshing as they speed along. She had gotten hot sitting at the dock in the sun in her life jacket. They can’t really talk with the wind and water in their faces, so Marcie leans back and grasps the handle behind the seat to hold on. A wave runner is a lot like a motorcycle for the water. It’s propelled by sucking up water and then expelling it forcefully out the back so there isn’t a propeller or “prop” like a motor boat. In some ways this makes a wave runner safer because there’s no risk of injury from the prop, but they can still be dangerous because they go so fast. Almost every summer they hear of a wave runner accident where someone, usually a teenager, was driving too fast and too close to another wave runner or a boat and someone is seriously injured. Marcie feels a little uneasy about riding with Kaitlyn, especially since she came at them so fast in the bay and splashed them. It’s Sunday afternoon, so the lake is crowded with weekenders, and they have to be careful to avoid other water craft. Since the wave runner can maneuver the most easily, they must give the right of way to speed boats and sailboats, which are the least maneuverable. Marcie is relieved that Kaitlyn is giving wide berth to other vehicles and not going too fast.
They reach the sandbar, and Kaitlyn slows to idle speed. “Let’s cruise around a bit and see who’s here,” she says over her shoulder. She steers them around the boats, careful to avoid anchor lines and people floating on rafts and noodles. It’s a clear, sunny day without too much wind, and there are at least 40 boats sitting at anchor, all pointing into the current as the anchors keep them from drifting away. Marcie suddenly realizes that she might see someone she knows, and then what’ll she do? Hide? Pretend not to see them? She’d be in for it then. It would not be pretty if someone mentioned seeing her at the sandbar to her parents or grandparents. She keeps close behind Kaitlyn, hoping that no one recognizes her. Quite a few families are here, but also a lot of teenagers, and Marcie notices that many of them are drinking beer.
Whispering over her shoulder, Kaitlyn says, “Look—over there on that red ski boat. That’s my brother, Kyle, and his friends. Let’s go over and say hi.” Not waiting for an answer, she steers toward the boat and calls out “Kyle!” A tall blond boy wearing blue bathing trunks covered in white stars looks up.
“Kaitlyn? What’re you doing here?” He shades his eyes from the sun with his hand.
“Marcie and I just came out to see what was going on.” Marcie smiles faintly and gives a little wave with her fingers that she hopes looks nonchalant. The other three boys on the boat are looking down on them, and somehow she feels like a little kid sitting behind Kaitlyn. She is glad to see that they are drinking sodas and not beer.
“Mom know you’re here and on the wave runner?”
“Of course not!”
“Well, you’d better head back. Now that I’m in on it, I’ll get blamed if anything happens.” Glancing at Marcie, he says, “Is this the friend who is going to race with us?”
“Yes, Marcie Horton. Her family’s coming for dinner tonight.”
“Hey,” he says, and then, motioning to a boy in red swim trunks with reflective sunglasses, he adds, “This is Conner Phelps. He’s our fourth. Conner—Kaitlyn and Marcie.”
Conner gives them a salute, “Nice to meet you ladies.”
Kaitlyn says hi, and Marcie smiles back. She’s mortified to realize that she is blushing. She can feel the heat rising up her neck out of her life jacket and knows it is not because she’s hot.
“Well, we better get back before Mom does. Maybe we can figure out what days to practice later tonight.”
The boys turn back to whatever they were doing. After they get out of earshot, Marcie asks, “How old is your brother?”
“Seventeen. He’ll be a senior in high school this year. Aren’t his friends cute? I’ve never met Conner before, but he’s a hottie!”
“Yeah!” replies Marcie, who had not
iced the boys’ tanned, muscled chests and attractive good looks, but it had made her feel more uncomfortable than actually interested. As far as she is concerned, they are way out of her league.
Nine
MARCIE IS RELIEVED when they get back to Kaitlyn’s house without incident. No one is visible on the docks or at the back of the house as they approach.
“Awesome!” Kaitlyn exclaims. “The coast is clear. We’ll tie up the Sea-Doo and go inside for a snack. I’m starving.”
“Sounds good to me!” Marcie unsnaps her life jacket and leaves it on a chair to dry. She follows Kaitlyn up to the house. “So Kyle won’t tell on you? I know Eric would probably rat on me.”
“No way—I have too much dirt on him. Anyway, he’s older and been through it all before, so I guess he doesn’t care as much. As long as he isn’t held responsible.”
They cross the patio, climb two steps onto the back porch and enter the kitchen through sliding glass doors. It’s an enormous room with gleaming stainless steel appliances and a huge center island. Six bar stools line one side of the island. It hardly looks used. Definitely not much cooking going on here, thinks Marcie. No food or plates are on the counter tops and nothing looks out of place. Almost like a picture in a magazine. Kaitlyn disappears through a door to what must be the pantry because she emerges carrying boxes of cookies and fruit snacks and a bag of chips. Behind her, Marcie can see shelves loaded with canned goods and food in boxes.
“The mother lode!” Kaitlyn says, smiling as she puts the food down on the island. “Help yourself. There’s also a bowl of fruit on the counter. Do you want a soda or lemonade?”
“Lemonade, please.”
She takes two tumblers from a cabinet, pours lemonade from a pitcher in the fridge and places them on the counter. They sit down at the island and start munching.
“So what kinds of stuff do you usually do when you’re up here?” Kaitlyn asks.
Indian Summer Page 5
