The Girl On The Bike
Mary Winslow went for a bicycle ride. It had been almost a month since she had transferred to the small city of Londonderry, Maine, but with unpacking and setting up her new apartment and acclimating herself to her new workplace, there had been little time to get to know the town.
The weather forecast for Memorial Day weekend was perfect, sunny and warm. It would be a great opportunity for her to explore.
The bank had found her a cozy one bedroom flat on Main Street, above the hardware store. She thumped her bike down the back stairs and into the parking lot. Across the lot, a steep decline, sprinkled with pink and purple lupines, dropped to Front Street and the harbor. A cool breeze caressed her bare legs and she considered going back inside and swapping her shorts for jeans. But as she stepped into the sun, she decided the shorts would be fine.
Mary looked out over the bay. Sunlight sparkled on the water and she saw a line of kayaks, red and green and yellow, paddling out from the shore. She was a big city girl and adjusting to small town life was proving difficult, but she could not deny that she was enchanted by the beauty of her new home.
She walked her bike around the building to the sidewalk, then climbed on. The shops and restaurants along Main Street were just opening for the day. It delighted her that people waved and said hello as she rode by. Turning at the Post Office, she pedaled down Court Street, past the stately houses, once the homes of sea captains, now divided into apartments.
She rode by the elementary school and the Congregational Church.There was an antique charm to the town that was so different from what she had known in California. There was a sense of history. Mary wondered if she would ever fit in.
On she rode, and the houses grew further apart. Soon she was passing patches of woods and pastures where dairy cows grazed. Coming around a bend in the road, she slowed when she saw a bridge ahead and heard the sound of falling water. She parked her bike on the side of the road. The bridge crossed a rushing stream. There was a trail running alongside it, and she followed it into the trees. The land rose and she found herself on a small hill, looking down at a shady pool where the stream widened. She gazed around her and up into the canopy and felt like she had never seen so much green before. She carefully stepped down to the edge of the water. A pair of mallards glided across the pool. She sat down on a large rock and watched them for a while as they swam together on the far side.
It grew chilly in the shady woods, so she walked back out to the road to resume her ride. She wasn't sure how far she'd ridden, but felt afraid that if she went much further from town she might get lost, so she headed back the way she came. When a road veered off to her right, she turned on impulse. It took a long downward slope and her bike picked up speed. The wind whipped her shoulder length auburn hair.
There was a general store at a crossroads ahead. Mary glided into the parking lot of a small general store. An elderly man behind the counter nodded to her as she entered.
"Good morning," she said, "Where is the bathroom?"
"If your buying something, it's back that away", he said in a thick Maine accent as he gestured to the far corner, "If you ain't, it's down to the main highway."
"I'm going to get something to drink," she replied, feeling a bit chastised. He nodded and returned to reading his newspaper.
After Mary used the bathroom, she purchased a bottle of iced tea and stepped outside. A pair of horses were cavorting in a field behind the store, and she watched them as she drank her tea. When she finished, she headed back towards town.
Before long, the road merged into the highway and she rode along the shoulder as fields gave way to gas stations and fast food restaurants. Eventually she reached the place where Front Street veered from the highway and along the shore. Waterfront cottages, many of them summer homes, lined the bay, blue water flashing between them.
She came to City Park and rode down to the edge of the water. Leaning her bike against a tree, she sat down on a stone bench that overlooked the rocky beach. She had not ridden so long since the previous summer and her legs were starting to ache. She hated to end her day of exploration early, but did not think she could ride much more.
Out on the bay she saw a flash of color. Shading her eyes, she saw the kayakers she'd noticed earlier. She didn't know much about kayaks or boats of any kind. But it looked awfully easy to paddle the little craft, and it couldn't take much leg work. She decided she'd like to try it.
She got on her bike and continued down Front Street to the public landing. She stopped at the Harbor Master's office and asked where she could rent a kayak. The young man working the counter directed her further down Front Street to Faulkner's Wharf. As she rode there, she looked up the hill and saw the back of her building, realizing that her bedroom window looked right down at the wharf.
Along the roadside there was a carry out diner, painted a bright red. On the front there were a row of service windows, and above them, a sign listing all the usual items common to carry out joints along the coast; lobster rolls, fried clams, hot dogs, burgers. To the right of the building, a driveway sloped down, past a deck filled with picnic tables, into the boatyard. A boardwalk ran along the right side of the yard, and extended into a long L shaped dock. To the left there stood a large boathouse. Mary saw a rack alongside it, half filled with kayaks and canoes, and rode toward it.
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."
