by Carolina Mac
“They’re lined up around the north side of the building.” He pointed and led the way out the side door. “We’ve got a few different models here, but this is the best double trailer we carry. Welded construction, folds up to take less space in your garage. Not too heavy. Good rubber on it. This is the one I’d buy,” Jackson said giving the stainless steel a hefty punch with his fist.
“Sold. Let’s hook it up.”
“Do you have a hitch on the Hummer?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” We walked around the front of the building and checked the back end of the Hummer.
“Fuck, yeah—one on there. You know it’s illegal to leave those mothers on if you’re not using them. Cops love giving tickets for dick-shit like that.”
“No. I didn’t even know it was there.”
“Well, now you don’t have to buy one. After you finish at the cash, I’ll get Billy to help me and we’ll hook you up.”
I settled up the invoice and went back to the Hummer while the boys brought the trailer around. They hooked it onto the truck, and I was ready to roll. Jackson walked around to the driver’s window. “Watch your corners, Portia. Don’t cut the wheel too short. You don’t want to be takin’ any curb shots when the bikes are loaded on . . . and don’t worry so much about the boss. He’s fuckin’ strong as George St. Pierre.”
Whoever that is.
“Thanks, for everything, Jackson.” I put the Hummer into gear and pulled out onto the street. When I drove down Hawthorne Lane, I passed the driveway and then tried to back the trailer in towards the garage. Five tries later, and lots of snickering from the neighbors, I was close enough to load the bike. When I stepped out of the Hummer and walked around the hood, I saw George sitting on the front steps grinning.
“Why didn’t you help me?” I punched him in the shoulder.
“Fuck. It was way more fun watching you.” He laughed. “Nice trailer, baby girl. Top o’ the line, no doubt.”
“The one Jackson said he would buy,” I said.
“Let’s load my bike,” George said swaggering towards the trailer. When he examined my new purchase, he grinned like a kid. “Oh, fuck. It tilts. I love you, Annie.” He had no trouble loading the Eagle and securing it in place with the ratchet straps.
My bike was a different story. It was at the paint shop. George had checked with Rusty and told him we’d be by on our way to the cabin.
I packed the last minute items from the fridge, water for Angel and George’s duffle bag from the front hall, and we were ready to rock and roll. I called Apex to let Vince know I would be out of town, and that I was having a garage door installation that would require his presence on Thursday. With the house locked up tight, we were off.
First stop was Coulter Colors, Rusty’s paint shop, to pick up my bike. George pulled around the back of the building and parked. He helped me down out of the Hummer and we went in the side door. Country music was blaring loud enough that Rusty could hear it over the sound of the sprayer. He looked up, saw us and turned off the machine and turned down Toby Keith.
“Hey, Portia, how are you doing?” he asked with a grin.
“Better, thanks.”
“I finished your bike, yesterday, and it’s ready for you. I was going to drop it off, but the boss said this was just as easy.”
“Let’s load it up,” George said.
Rusty had it covered with a tarp in the corner. When he opened the overhead door and pushed the bike out it gleamed in the sunlight.
I gasped and hugged Rusty. “It’s beautiful. Thank you so much.”
“I know it’s a shade lighter, but . . .” he shook his head.
The boys loaded it onto the trailer and while George was tightening the ratchet straps, I followed Rusty back inside.
“What?” he raised his eyebrows under his gorgeous mop of auburn hair.
I pressed a wad of cash into his hand. “This never happened, sweetie,” I whispered, as I turned and left.
He tried to protest, but then gave in. “Thanks, Portia. You’re the best.”
George drove while I rode shotgun, rested my leg and kept an eagle eye on the bikes. He slowly eased the Hummer out into the street. Angel wasn’t used to being relegated to the back seat, but she took it in stride and hung her head out the window all the same. I shoved a Springsteen CD into the slot, and we started our journey with Bruce belting out ‘Wrecking ball’. George said he loved it.
In Peterborough we stopped for fuel, snacks and bathroom breaks for one and all. When we reached the dam at Burleigh Falls, we stretched our legs and sat on the flat rocks in the sun and wind. While we watched the kayaks racing in the white water, Angel ran and splashed in the rapids.
George lit up a smoke. I noticed that he hadn’t smoked in the truck up to that point, but I was not going to jinx him by mentioning it.
Refreshed, we continued up highway twenty-eight. George had been quiet, staring out the window while I took a turn at the wheel.
“Do you think everything will run smoothly at the club while you’re gone?” I asked.
“Why are you asking me that, baby girl?”
“The doctor thought you possibly had added stress lately—I’m concerned because I love you.”
“I don’t want you to worry about that shit at all, Annie.”
“You can trust me, George.”
“That ain’t it, baby. Safer for you the less you know.”
“Okay.” I held his hand.
As we rolled into Bancroft, late in the afternoon, I pulled our rig into the Beer Store parking lot. George went in, bought a couple of cases and loaded them in the back.
“Not much farther,” I said. “Twenty minutes.”
“I like it up here,” George said. “Not so many fuckin’ people.”
“That’s true,” I smiled. “Not many jobs up here.”
George nodded.
North of Bird’s Creek, I slowed down, keeping a watchful eye for my side road. When I recognized it, I slowed the Hummer down and eased around the corner onto the dirt road. In my mind, the laneway had been giving me nightmares, thinking about navigating this awkward rig through the narrow opening. I eased into the turn at the old mailbox, stomped on the gas and breezed up to the top of the hill.
I put the Hummer in park and opened the back door for Angel. “We’re here. This is my piece of paradise.”
“This is the most beautiful fuckin’ sight I’ve ever seen,” said George, “next to you, Annie.” He encircled me with his massive arms and kissed me. “We’re in heaven.”
“I’ll show you something,” I said, grabbing a couple of cold Cokes. George took my hand and I led him through the trees and down the steep path to the edge of the lake. The scent of pine needles floated on the breeze. When he looked up and saw the huge expanse of sparkling water spread out in front of him he gasped.
“This calls for a toast,” he said. “To our life together, Annie.”
We clinked our Coke cans and sauntered down to the dock while Angel waded in at the shoreline and splashed around sending frogs scrambling off their lily pads.
“All my life I kept working for some fuckin’ thing, and didn't even know what it was,” George said. “Then you come along and I think I finally know what it is. It’s you. But you and this place, together? Over the top, Annie—over the top.” He hugged me and held me tight for a long moment.
“I’m happy you like it, George, because I love it.” I kissed him at the end of the dock, and we lingered for a long time just drinking in the simplicity of it all. “I’m going to unload the Hummer and put the meat in the fridge,” I said. “Why don’t you and Angel bum around down here until supper is ready?”
“I’ll be up soon, honey girl,” he said, his black eyes dancing in the sunlight.
After unloading the groceries and our luggage, I made some smoked meat sandwiches, and headed back down to the dock to watch the sunset with George. When I pushed back the branches at the bottom of the path, I could see him sitting on t
he dock, staring out over the water.
“Hey, I brought you some food.”
“You’re the best. Did I ever mention that, little girl?” he pulled me down beside him on the splintery old dock. “I lucked out with you, Annie,” he chuckled.
“The sunset over the lake is something to see,” I said, munching on my sandwich.
We sat on the end of the dock sipping our soda and anticipating the moment that the sun would drop behind the horizon. George sat with one arm wrapped around me and I dangled my bare feet in the water. “I never want to leave this place,” I whispered.
“I’m not going to,” he said.
I looked into his eyes and believed that he meant it.
After the sun had set and filled the evening sky with a myriad of reds, oranges, and tangerines, we ambled back up the hill to the cabin.
I opened the back door and swept my arm through the doorway. “Come in, George. Welcome home.”
He walked into the kitchen and didn’t get any farther than the table. He shook his head, pulled out a chair and sat down. “Ever since I was a kid, I always wanted to live in a log cabin,” he said. “I can’t believe I’m going to get the chance to do it.” His voice sounded like someone I didn’t even know. I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him gently.
“If you want to fish off the dock tomorrow, I saw some tackle in the barn last time I was here. Lots of interesting stuff out there to rummage through.”
“Do you know the first fuckin’ thing I thought of when I saw that lake, baby girl?”
“Jumping in?” I ventured.
“No,” he chuckled. “A boat. I’m going to buy a Bass boat.” He grinned from ear to ear.
“Great idea,” I agreed. “Fishing is restful and non-stressful. I wonder if they have any for sale in town. We can ask at the store. That guy Harry, he knows everything and everybody. I saw a sign for worms down there a couple weeks ago.”
“I’m pumped, Annie. Never thought I could be so fuckin’ happy. Let’s go to bed and celebrate.”
“A week isn’t up yet, big guy. Not even twenty-four hours.” I smiled.
“If I get a big pain, I’ll stop. Promise.”
“How big was the pain yesterday? You didn’t clue me in on the details.”
“Like a six foot load of dirt on my chest. I didn’t smoke much today, did you notice?”
“Sure did. My eyes are on you twenty-four seven.” I laughed and pointed at him with my two fingers. I took him by the hand and gave him the tour. “This is the living room,” I pointed. “Actually, half the kitchen. Here’s the guest room slash office, bathroom, and our bedroom. That’s all she wrote,” I giggled.
“More than we need, sweet cheeks. More than two people need.”
I stripped the quilts off the bed and left only the cotton sheets. The night was warm and there was no breeze coming through the screens. George took his time making love to me, and he was gentle and sweet. I reigned myself in, so I wouldn’t rev him up past a point of no return. Afterwards, we lay on the sheets uncovered and drifted off to sleep.
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
GRABBING a t-shirt from my bag, I tip-toed into the kitchen and opened the back door for Angel. She glimpsed the striped tail of a chipmunk hurdling over the woodpile, and the chase was on. I paused to press the button on the coffee maker then stepped onto the back porch to watch Angel’s crazy antics. As I stood there, shading my eyes from the morning sun, an indigo hummingbird buzzed over my head. “I need bird feeders,” I said aloud.
“Hell yeah,” a big voice boomed behind me. “You need lots of bird feeders, little girl.”
I laughed. “I didn’t hear you, George. I was watching Angel and ducking birds. How did you sleep?”
“Best sleep ever—must be the air.”
“Must be.” I filled two mugs with coffee and carried them out to the porch. George had settled in a chair and lit up his first smoke of the day. He coughed and hacked, broke out in a sweat and his face flushed. I set his coffee on the weathered butcher block next to him and rested my hand on his shoulder.
“I gotta’ get into better shape, Annie, for you and for me. I don’t want a young, gorgeous thing like you lookin’ after some fuckin’ old pervert that can’t wipe his own ass.”
I burst out laughing. “You’re a long way from that, sweetie pie.”
“I felt close the other day.”
I hugged him. “Well, a new day has dawned, and we’re not going back.”
George grabbed his phone from his belt when the rebel yell pierced the silence. “Hey, Jackson, what’s up?” he asked. “Yep, I’m fine. Annie’s treating me half decent and I had the best night’s sleep ever. Trailer was fuckin-A. Annie had no trouble, even getting’ up the hill with it.” George looked to me, and I nodded. “Had an idea last night—no, not that idea, Jackson, you pervert. I’m buying a boat today, for fishing. Yeah, a Bass boat. Goin’ into town to pick one out in an hour. Call ya’ later.”
“I’ll make some breakfast, and we’ll get moving,” I said.
George went into the bedroom to get dressed while I rummaged in the cupboard for the frying pan and got the bacon and eggs started. It crossed my mind that this couldn’t be the best breakfast for George, so I made a mental note to buy healthier choices when we went into town.
“Smells good,” he said, walking into the kitchen with his yellow bandana tied around his head.
“You’re chipper today,” I said, loading up his plate and setting it down in front of him. The toast popped up and I buttered it . . . lightly.
“Never felt this good in the morning, Annie. Usually hack and cough until about noon.”
“Your color’s better this morning, not so ashen.”
After George finished his breakfast, I refilled our mugs, spread raspberry jam on the last piece of toast and took a tray out to the back porch.
“I’ll unhook the bike trailer,” he said, as he drained his coffee mug and winked. “We might have to tow a boat home.”
I can’t swim.
I forced a smile and nodded. “That could happen.”
Angel jumped into the back of the Hummer and I rode shotgun as George navigated down the narrow dirt path through the trees we called a driveway. “I might chop some of these weeds down, Annie. Make it easier to get this wide mother through here. You mind?”
“I saw a chopping thing in the barn, hanging on the wall,” I said.
“Can’t wait to check out that old barn, when we get back.” George pulled into the gas station half a mile south of our side road. “Might as well get gas while we’re here.”
When the old fellow finally limped out to pump the gas, George said, “Fill ‘er up, Bud. Do you know if there’s a marina around here?”
“Yep, there’s a couple down Baptiste Lake Road. Just take a right at the ‘Y’ and keep going until you can’t go any farther.”
“Thanks.” George pulled a wad of bills out of his pocket, peeled off a couple and paid for the gas. “Okay, let’s see if we can find us a boat, Annie.” He followed the directions given by the old guy, turned at the ‘Y’ in the highway and headed down the lake road. The patchy asphalt meandered along the shoreline of the lake passing cottages and campgrounds for several miles.
It ended at South Shore Marine, a large property with boat launching, and storage facilities. In front of the storage building, still housing a few boats shrink-wrapped in blue plastic, a large glassed-in showroom held crafts on display for all sorts of recreation and fishing. Without hesitation, George passed by the smaller offerings and gravitated to the classiest looking boat in the showroom—a red and white, twenty foot Bass Cat Cougar perched on a trailer. He ran his hand along the sleek, smooth side of the craft and peered inside.
“Can I help you with something?” A blonde kid in ripped blue jeans swaggered towards us wearing a South Shore Marine t-shirt that said ‘Chuck’ on the pocket. Angel growled and I pulled back on her leash.
Not standing on cere
mony, George barked, “I need a good boat for fishing.”
The kid lit up a cigarette and blew smoke out at George. “You don't look much like a fisherman.”
“Where’s your dad, kid?” George grabbed the smoke out of Chuck’s mouth snuffed it out between his finger and thumb. “You’re too young to be smokin.”
“I’m here,” called out a man, hustling through the back door. “Sorry, had to take gas out to a stranded fisherman. I’m Charles Senior.” The small salt and pepper haired man pushed back his glasses and held out his hand to George. He frowned at his son. “Can I offer you something from the pop machine?”
“Sure, you got Coke?”
Charles Senior nodded and after a stern look at his boy, the kid sauntered off back toward the office. “So, tell me, you got something in mind?”
George, pointed at the bass boat. “Tell me about this little honey.”
“This is the Bass Cat Cougar SP. Special Package from the manufacturer—comes with trailer and trolling motor. Lots of extras. I’ll get you the brochure.”
Charles Senior returned with the literature, just as Chuck returned with the Cokes. He gave us each one, turned on his heel and left.
“Don’t know what I’m supposed to do with him all summer.” His father shrugged. “He works as good as most teenagers—hardly at all.” He turned and motioned to us. “Come on into my office. You must have a lot of questions if you’re a first time boat buyer.”
He saw me look at Angel sitting beside my leg.
“Don't worry about the dog, Miss. Bring her along.”
The office was a small eight by ten room with a metal desk, one filing cabinet and three chairs. The desk was covered in piles of shiny brochures held in place by elastic bands. The only decoration on the wall was an old clock that had stopped at three-twenty.
George and Charles Senior covered the intricacies of fishing and boating for the next half hour while Angel and I sat and listened. My knowledge of both those subjects was minimal, but I had the feeling that was about to change.
After all the preliminaries had been touched on more than once, Charles Senior said, “Best idea would be to take her out on the lake. Show you how she handles.”
