I started the motor, listened for minute, and pulled the stick into reverse. The 20-foot boat moved easily, backing out of the boat slip. It had been almost three years since I'd had the boat on the water. The lake levels had fluctuated wildly during several years of drought and I hated to risk a lightly-used boat running in what might have been shallow water. So, the first year I bought it, I'd run it around some, then parked it. The following year, my wife had died suddenly and I'd thrown myself into my job, doing almost nothing but that until early this year, when I walked into my office one morning, filled out several forms on my computer, sent a short e-mail to my boss, gathered up a boxful of memorabilia, told my co-workers goodbye, and retired.
Since retirement I'd cleaned out my wife's closets (after hearing about it for over two years from my daughters, friends, co-workers, etc. etc.), taken loads of 'stuff' to Goodwill, returned the yard to some form of normalcy, and then tackled the boat. I'd given serious thought to selling the house—after all, it was ridiculously large for one man, it would sell easily being lakefront with a boat dock and located fairly close to downtown, it had been kept up well (thanks mostly to my late wife), and I'd never really liked the layout of it anyway. But, that thought left pretty quickly when I recalled all the memories associated with the place. Hell, I'd been there most of my life, and literally all my married life. So, I decided, what the heck—I'll leave the place when, and only when, I had to.
I said I'd 'tackled' the boat. Minor understatement. After sitting for several years, the boat was in pretty rough shape. First, I essentially rebuilt the engine—new plugs, belts, hoses, gaskets—then rebuilt the carburetor, checked out all the wiring, cleaned the outside and inside for days and days, drained the fuel tank and refilled it, replaced the very dead battery, then finally stuck the water hose to the foot and turned the key. After a few coughs and a bit of smoke, the 5.0 fired up. Ah, sweet! Now I couldn't wait to get it in the water and to my dock. I worked another day getting the trailer back up to speed, then late the previous evening, my buddy Dave and I took the rig to the county park ramp, I backed the boat in, started it up, and drove it slowly to my dock, tying it off just as the sun sank behind the pines.
Now it was just after lunch on a beautiful spring day and I HAD to get onto the water. So, as I backed out of the slip, I turned the boat around, slipped the transmission into forward, and pushed the throttle. The 5.0 came to life and the fiberglas hull moved easily through the calm water.
I settled back into my seat and mentally checked off everything needed in the boat—life vests, fire extinguisher, floodlight, registration, throw cushion, several ropes, tool kit, first aid kit. OK, I had everything. Now, I was going to check her out.
As I moved slowly out of the narrowest end of the cove, I noticed that my neighbor still had the ratty wooden postage-stamp sized dock that had been behind the house next door for years. This particular house had changed hands no less than seven times since I'd built mine, some forty years earlier. People bought the house speculating that it would make them rich, IF they kept it few years, modernized it a bit, and resold it. But various problems kept that from happening, and the house changed owners more often than I changed vehicles. As a result, my wife and I barely knew any of the tenants who at various times occupied the house. We learned early on to not get close to any of the families and kept just a casual acquaintance status. In reality, most of our entire neighborhood was that way—I knew nearly everybody, having been in the development the longest of anyone, but couldn't really call any of the people 'friends'—well, except for Dave and Jenn—but all the neighbors seemed OK with that, and we all kept pretty much to ourselves.
As I looked toward the dock, I noticed a figure sitting on the edge, feet dangling in the water. I didn't recognize the person, but as I got closer I saw a female form, shoulder length dark hair, wearing a large T-shirt and dark green shorts, slowly moving her feet in the water. As I neared, she looked up and smiled. I still didn't recognize her—I had had conversations with the couple next door, John and Meg, and it wasn't Meg. I worked my brain, searching for a clue. John's and Meg's daughter? Seems like they told me they had two boys and a girl, all grown and gone, but I really couldn't swear to it. By this time, I was nearly at the dock, so I pulled the throttle back and let the boat drift.
"Hi," I said, and she smiled again.
"Hey. Nice day to take your boat out."
"Yeah, well, she's been sitting for too long, and I needed to get her moving. So, yeah, it is a nice day for it."
She nodded in assent. "Just thought I'd come down and sit for a while."
"Nice day for that, too." As she smiled again, I saw a little of Meg in the shape of her face and in her smile. I guessed she was about thirty, maybe. She looked to be about my younger daughter's age, but I really couldn't tell since the baggy T-shirt covered most of her arms and torso.
"I'm Ray," I said as I eased the boat toward the dock. "I guess it's obvious, but I live next door." I thrust my thumb back toward my dock.
"I'm Suze—well, Susan, but all my friends call me Suze. And I'm guessing you've heard my parents discuss me—their 'wayward' daughter?"
I rolled my eyes upward. "No, no, don't think I've heard them say 'wayward.' Could you be known by anything else?"
She laughed gently. "Yeah, but I don't know you well enough to tell you those words." She pulled her legs up as I bumped the dock with the bow of my boat and she reached out a hand to grab the rail.
I laughed, nodding. "Well, Suze, how much have you been on the lake?"
"None," she answered. "Dad keeps saying he's getting a boat, but first he wants a new dock, and he sure needs that" (sweeping her hand behind her) "but with the economy like it is, he can't do that yet, so the boat is out, and I've not been up here much since they bought the place anyway, so...well, I've not been on the lake at all, I guess."
I made a face. "Now that's a shame. Look, I'm just going for a few minutes, just to shake the dust out of this thing, but if you'd like, you're welcome to ride along."
Suze brightened noticeably. "You...you really wouldn't mind?"
"God, no, I'd love the company. Come on, hop in."
I repositioned the boat alongside the ratty dock and Suze, still barefooted, stepped over the side and sat in the first mate's chair. I eased the boat away from the dock and moved toward the mouth of the cove. "I'll give you the ten-cent tour," I told her, and she laughed aloud.
"I don't have a cent on me," she retorted. "But I can borrow it from my dad when we get back." We both laughed as we reached the open water and I shoved the throttle forward. The boat nosed up, then planed off and we moved across the still water.
In mid-week, the lake was very quiet. An occasional bass boat sped by and we saw a couple of pontoons, but the lake was almost glassy, broken only by the bow of my own boat. I headed up lake, where some small streams fell over rocks into the backwaters, and Suze was impressed by the beauty of this end of the lake. We made a sweeping turn, then moved toward a shaded peninsula.
