One Moment at a Time

by Thomas, K. S.

  Takes another twenty minutes, I was stupid early, before someone finally rolls up in a Jeep and parks beside the building. Tall dude with long blond hair that looks like it hasn’t seen a brush in the last decade. He’s got a wide variety of tribal and ocean theme tats covering nearly every visible inch of his body, which is plenty given the guy’s wearing nothing but boardshorts. Basically, he’s the stereotypical surfer dude through and through, and while I’ve never been much for hanging around guys who have no ambition in life beyond catching the next great wave and a tan, I know just by looking at him, Ky would find herself pleased to be in his company. And that, irks me to no end.

  “Morning,” I call out as I walk up to meet him at the door. “I think we might have spoken on the phone the other day?”

  He turns to meet me full on, a glimmer of recognition not fully connecting yet.

  “About Ky?” I add, mumbling her name.

  He smirks. Definitely same dude. “Hoping to have better luck in person?” The lock on the door clicks and he pushes it open. “Well, come on in and have a shot at it.”

  He’s playing with me. Finds this whole damn thing amusing. That’s fine. I can roll with his games. As Ky would point out if she were here, I’m good at those. When I’m not playing against her, I always win.

  “Actually, after checking out your site and talking to you, I just suddenly felt the urge to go paddle boarding. In Florida.” I’m being blatantly ridiculous, but he doesn’t mind. Just chuckles and nods. Game on.

  “First guided tour starts in thirty minutes.” He reaches for a clipboard with several sheets of paper attached to it already. “Just fill this out and we’ll get you set up.”

  I take it and get to work. It’s mostly just promising I won’t sue should I find I wind up drowning, missing a limb via shark bite or getting eaten by an alligator. The irony always strikes me as particularly entertaining, how chill these beach bums are on their pursuit of imminent danger with the constant potential for death. What’s not to be chill about?

  “Anyone ever start filling this out and then change their mind about the whole thing?” I ask dryly, handing the signed form back to him.

  “Think you may be the first person who ever took the time to read it,” he counters, matching my tone.

  “Not reading what I put my name on can really screw me in my business,” I tell him, not that he cares, but my ego is forcing me to inform him, let him know, that I’m not just some loser running after Ky. Though, even as I’m rambling on, I know he doesn’t give two shits about my line of work.

  “Still working for your daddy then, I take it?” he asks, filing away my form, deliberately keeping his face down to hide his grin, which I can see anyway. “Commercial construction or something?”

  “First of all, I’m not working for my father. It’s a family business. My brother and I run it now. And second, how the fuck do you know any of this?”

  He shrugs. “Ky told me.” At last he looks up and faces me. “I figured it was you when you called, but I wasn’t sure ‘til I read the name. You’re the great Ben Prescott,” he says with a dramatic flair I can’t help but take offense to.

  “Somehow I’m thinking you don’t mean that to be a compliment,” I mutter, though I can’t deny I’m pleased he knows about me. Even if it’s not likely to be good stuff he’s heard, at least I was worth mentioning.

  Dude laughs. “I don’t mean it one way or another. Not my words. Just repeating what I’ve heard. Truth is, I was starting to think you’d never show.”

  “Wait. You were expecting me?” How?

  “Ky. Always said you’d turn up someday. But damn, dude. You took your sweet ass time. A woman like Ky? Most guys would be hot on her heels chasing her down, but you? Just sitting back, twiddling your thumbs or some shit.” He shakes his head, a blend of awe and pity in his eyes.

  “Fine. I’m an idiot. No argument there.” Might as well cut to the chase. “This mean you’re going to tell me where to find her?”

  He laughs, this time it has an air of incredulousness about it, like he can’t believe I’d even ask something so ridiculous. “No, dude. If it was meant to be that easy, I’d have told you over the phone.”

  I take a deep breath and hold it, counting to ten. A habit I picked up from my father and hate, but not as much as the alternative where I start being a hot-head dick, another fun hand-me-down I got from him. “Then what’s the plan here? What do I need to do?”

  He reaches up, placing the credit card reader onto the counter in front of me. “For starters, you need to swipe. Guided tours are thirty-nine ninety-nine.”

  I stare at him a second, waiting, trying to determine if he’s messing with me again. When I conclude he’s not, I pay up and mentally prep myself. Looks like I’m going paddle boarding for real.

  A second later, he’s handing me my receipt and acting as though this is all business as usual. “Life vests are along the wall there. You’re probably a large, but try ‘em on, see what’s comfortable. You won’t have to wear it, but it has to be on the board with you. Paddles are in the corner. Feel ‘em out, remember they’re going to be a foot or so in the water, so consider that when you’re checking out height.”

  I nod, half-listening, half-contemplating all the possible tests Ky cooked up for me to pass before I get any closer to finding her.

  “Also, name’s Tank.”

  I frown. He’s not a tank. He’s lean and lanky. In shape sure, but not tank status.

  He seems aware. “Short for fish tank, which I have about a hundred of at my house.”

  It all makes sense again. “Got it.”

  Then I do as instructed and get better acquainted with the paddles and life vests. Takes a few minutes but I find what I need and go have a seat on the bench across from Tank’s counter. And thus, the waiting begins again. I’m not even sure which I’d prefer. A full group on our guided tour, or just the two of us. Might be awkward as hell, but I’d have a better shot at making progress in my mission to find Ky if it’s just us.

  As luck would have it, no one else turns up, and so it’s just me and Tank walking up the water with our boards in tow.

  “Not much business on a weekday morning?” I ask, making small talk and hoping he’ll warm up to me enough to spill whatever he’s got on Ky.

  “Not much business on a weekday morning when we’ve got a hurricane coming,” he responds, chuckling.

  “Shit.” I take a second to scan the water ahead. All looks calm from where I’m standing. “Should we not be going out there?”

  “Weather’s still fine. Intracoastal’s calm. Just the news hyping things up, scaring people into buying jugs of water and bread in bulk. Plus, I think it’s the only way they can clear out their supply of spam before its expiration date.” He slides his board into the water and walks in beside it until the water reaches just below his knees. “Not that I think that stuff actually ever expires.” He makes a face.

  “I take it you’ve been through a few hurricanes?” I ask, following his lead and wading in up to my calves.

  “Born and raised here. A few would be an understatement.” He glances over his shoulder to check on me. “You good to go?”

  I nod, even though I have no real concept of what that question is asking, not knowing what comes next. I watch as he steps onto his board, making it look effortless, something I come to find particularly misleading as I step up onto my own, nearly falling off two seconds later. Then, once I find my balance at the center, things get easier.

  “Hey, this isn’t so bad,” I call out to him as we paddle our way out of the small inlet and out to the main part of the intracoastal waterway.

  “Not bad at all,” he says. “Feeling adventurous? I’ll take you on Ky’s favorite route.”

  Of course, it would require adventure. She couldn’t just like a leisurely paddle going straight and downstream. “Lead the way.”

  Takes a few long strides with my paddle, but I manage to come up beside Tank, wh
o carries on as though this requires zero effort from him. Maybe it doesn’t. Maybe it’s so second nature to him, it’s as easy as walking. Not me though. Between the act of balancing and the non-stop rowing, I’m getting a good workout.

  “So, you and Ky were close, I take it?” I don’t know if I actually want to hear how close.

  “Just because you don’t keep in touch, don’t expect the rest of us to have a past tense relationship with her,” he says, smirking again. “But yeah, we’re close. That chick is badass.”

  “Yeah.” Hell, now I do want to know. “How close exactly?”

  He laughs and I’m starting to think I should have charged him too for this outing, given the amount of entertainment I’m providing him. “Close like she lived with us. Us being me and my girl. Who I’ve been stupid crazy for since I was thirteen.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah, dude.” He swings his paddle left, digging it into the water repeatedly to make a sharp turn down a small water trail. “Even mid-puberty, I had my shit together more than you.”

  This explains his particular take on my position. “So, like, you’ve never wanted another woman? Never wondered if there was anything else out there? She was just...it?”

  He shakes his head. “Nah, man. There was no ‘just’ about it. She’s everything. I could have had other girlfriends. Could have had plenty of ‘just’ this or ‘just’ that. Never wanted it. Never saw the value in trying something else if it meant losing her.”

  “Fair point.” I clench my jaw, swallowing the bitter aftertaste of his argument.

  “What’s your deal then?” he asks, apparently not done making me feel stupid yet. “Why’d it take you damn near a decade to determine this girl is the girl?”

  “It didn’t.” Though admitting that will hardly help my case. Not that I care what Tank thinks. This conversation took a really deep turn I wasn’t planning on. I wanted to talk Ky, not me. And definitely not any of my feelings and shit. “I knew Ky was it for me a long time ago. But she never stayed put long enough for me to tell her.”

  He snorts. “Bullshit.”

  “Not bullshit. I don’t know how long she hung around here, but anytime she came popping into my life, it was a matter of months, sometimes weeks, before she popped back out. I know she likes to spin it like I’m the commitment-intolerant slut in our twosome, but she’s the one who can’t stick with anything for more than a second at a time. Kind of hard to work up the nerve to get serious about a girl who’s got the attention span of a fruit fly and will likely get distracted and forget you exist two seconds into the game.”

  Tank doesn’t respond this time. Just floats, resting the tip of his paddle on the front of his board. For the first time since we started this annoying conversation, I actually take note of my surroundings.

  “Holy shit.” It’s like we’ve dropped off the map and landed in some obscure jungle. Both sides of the shallow water are lined with green. Shrubs. Palms. All sorts of jungle-like growth I can’t fully define but I’m certain a multitude of wildlife found in The Jungle Book would be happy to call home. “This is incredible.”

  “Sure is,” Tank agrees gazing out across the water and all that lies beyond. “Ky saw scenery like this every day she was here. Dolphins on nearly every outing. Manatees. Crabs. Stingray. Sometimes even the occasional gator or shark passing through.

  “She saw the sun rise out on the water. Was out here nearly every sunset. Met people from all walks of life, heard more stories than you could hope to read in even the grandest of libraries, and you know who she thought of even in the most colorful moments of her life out here? You. She loves distractions. Loves to take in everything around her. Savors every moment. But she doesn’t forget. And she doesn’t flake. And you know that. So, I stand by what I said.” He turns back to face me over his shoulder. “Bullshit.”

  I have to replay the last of what he’s said to me several times before I get it. “She really talked about me?”

  “Yup.” Slowly, he begins to row again. “All. The. Damn. Time.” He gives me a look that tells me he’s not all that sure what the hype was about. “So far, I’m not nearly as impressed as she was.”

  “She said nice things about me.” This is a completely foreign concept for me. She certainly never said nice things about me to me.

  “Nice isn’t the word I’d choose,” he admits, chuckling to himself again. I really wish I was in on this joke he’s continuously amused by. “But she was real about you. And at the end of the day, you were always the person she thought of. Usually wishing you could have been part of whatever random thing that happened to her most recently.”

  I get it now. “That wasn’t because she missed me nearly as much as it was about the fact she thinks I’m boring and take no chances.”

  I fully expect Tank to laugh again, but he doesn’t. “Actually, it was because she wanted so much more for you than you wanted for yourself. And that ate away at her. Because she couldn’t give it to you. And that, I think, bothered her most of all.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He shrugs. “She loved you. All those feelings have to go somewhere, and Ky had nowhere to put ‘em.”

  “Wait. What?” His newest revelation has me so shook up, I damn near fall off the board a second time.

  But Tank’s not listening anymore. He’s pointing straight ahead. “Check it out.”

  I’m about to tell him that I’m checking out the placement of my feet right now, desperately trying to keep them stuck to this board because hearing the words ‘Ky loved you’ for the first time is the verbal equivalent to being knocked sideways, but sideways has no solid ground and walking on water’s not really my forte. Then, I see what he’s pointing at.

  “Dolphins.” Freaking Flipper is out here, playing with his buddy. It’s unreal. Who gets to see this stuff in real life?

  Somehow, the moment I quit worrying about falling, balance returns. By the time I can wrap my brain around everything that’s happened over the course of the last few minutes, I find I’m standing more solid than I ever feel on land. Something has shifted. Something inside me. I’ve got a new sense of balance I didn’t have before. And I can’t help but feel that the security of finally knowing for sure Ky loves me too, has something to do with it.

  chapter

  seven

  BEN

  By the time we get back to solid ground, the weather has taken a turn.

  “Think that storm is making an early appearance?” I ask Tank, staring out at the slate gray clouds moving in from over the ocean.

  “Nah, just usual afternoon showers rolling in.” He lifts his board, propping it onto his hip as he starts walking back to the shop. “Sun’ll be out again by dinner. You’ll see.”

  Dinner. Lunch. Food. I could definitely go for some. Between the physical workout and the emotional drain of talking to Tank about all things Ky for the past three hours, I’ve burned more calories than the gym has ever taken from me.

  “Speaking of dinner,” I start, following behind him with my own board and paddle in tow. “Any suggestions on where to eat around here?”

  He nods, placing his board on the rack outside and gesturing for me to do the same. “If you’ve got time to wait, I’ll close up and we can go grab some lunch together.”

  On the one hand, I’m not sure I can handle any more one on one time with Tank, but on the other, the dude has proven himself to know his stuff. If he can track down a meal the way he can maneuver the waters, sticking with him is bound to pay off.

  “I can wait.”

  “Cool.”

  Twenty minutes later and I’m sitting in Tank’s dilapidated Jeep. Once upon a time, I have no doubt it was quite the ride, but now, paintjob rusted and fried from sun and salt, doors missing and cushions ripped and faded from years of weather showing zero mercy on the topless vehicle, it’s a far cry from the car that drove off the lot way back when.

  Still, it suits Tank. And this place. And, I feel oddly at
home sitting in it. The sensation of the breeze sweeping my skin. The smell of salt in the air, and the warmth of the worn, soft leather under my legs. It’s not a bad life he’s got here. Not bad at all.

  “You like seafood?” he calls out over the noise of his roaring engine.

  “I like everything.” Never been particular about food as long as it’s real and not served from a drive through window. Growing up, you ate what was in front of you, no questions asked. In a way, it kept me from ever putting too much thought into food. It served a purpose. Still does. I eat for fuel and not much else.

  “No one likes everything.” Tank’s tone of doubt and disapproval is starting to be a familiar ringing in my ear. I go back and forth on whether the dude even likes me or not. He’s tolerating me at least, even if it’s only for Ky’s sake.

  “I like everything I’ve ever tasted then,” I counter, at least that much he’ll have to give me. Granted, my diet has been far from adventurous, but I’m not against changing that.

  He smirks. Probably assessing the basics of my food exposure. If he’s pegging me for straight meat and potatoes guy, he’s not far off. I do greens too. But overall, I’m easy to please and don’t tend to bother much with veering off course for no reason. Like I said, food serves a purpose. I’m not picky or fancy where taste is concerned.

  “Sounds to me like you’re not tasting enough then,” he mutters. If we hadn’t been stopped at a light, I might have missed it. Though, clearly, I was on point with my assumptions regarding his thought process.

  “I get the sense you’re about to broaden my horizons,” I tell him as the light turns and we take a sharp left down a residential street.

  “I’m certainly going to try.” He laughs, slowing down to pull into a long driveway leading up to a two-story house, tucked behind a jungle-like arrangement of trees and shrubbery.

  “Wait, whose house is this?” I’m starting to think I was stupid to expect an actual establishment.

  “Mine.” He kills the engine and climbs out. “Come on.”