Making Waves (24 page)

He chuckled. “Just stand up. Remember, it’s shallow.”

“Right.” She shuddered.

“And don’t worry, I’ve got you.” Wrapping one hand around her waist, he drew her against him, her cold suit pressing against his own. Her breath caught beneath his grasp. With a mighty push, he sent the toboggan careening down the ramp.

16

Marguerite squealed at the stomach-lurching thrill of the descent down the toboggan slide. The trees on the shore blurred as they flew by. She and Trip collided with the water with a colossal splash, and instantly she sank under the water.

She jumped up sputtering and laughing. “That was amazing!”

Trip laughed, then dragged the toboggan up from the water and flipped his wet hair out of his face. “Better than sailing?”

“No, but pretty close. Can we go again? Please?”

“You going to haul the toboggan up those stairs?”

“Certainly, if you aren’t strong enough.” She grinned at him over her shoulder.

“For that, you’re going under.” Laughing, he flung the sled aside. His eyes twinkled mischievously.

She backed away. “Trip Andrews, I don’t like that look on your face.” Giggling, she bolted, water sloshing behind her.

He gave chase, launched forward, and caught her with ease. Swinging her by the waist, he tossed her into the air and she landed in the water with a splash.

She came up coughing. Her bun undone, she pushed damp curls from her face. “I can’t believe you did that!”

He roared with laughter. “Now, what were you saying about my strength?”

“I will get you back for this.”

“So you say, but we all know how good your word is.”

The smile slid from her face.

“Marguerite, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s okay. I guess I’d better get used to it. Apparently forgiveness isn’t your strong suit.”

He snagged the toboggan, took her elbow, and flashed an impish grin. “Let’s go for another ride, okay?”

Together they made their way to the dock. Trip suggested they sit for a minute to catch their breath before making the steep climb again. While Marguerite sat on the dock’s edge, dangling her feet in the water, Trip went inside to get them a soda.

After he’d departed, she spotted Mark taking a turn on the toboggan run and waved. She attempted to wind her hair into some semblance of a bun but found it hopeless. What would Roger think of her now? Dripping like a sponge. Hair let down. If she was a reflection of him, as he so often said, he wasn’t looking very good right now. She giggled. Not that he ever did.

How different Trip was from humdrum Roger. She tried to picture Roger’s stocky body in Trip’s Union-style suit with its horizontal lines, topped off by the caterpillar mustache and wire-rimmed glasses. A far cry from the way the suit accentuated Trip’s broad shoulders. If the two men stood side by side, it would be like comparing an earthworm and an eagle.

They were different in other ways too. When she’d panicked inside, Trip’s concern was genuine. Roger would have been aggravated by her inability to control her emotions. And then the toboggan ride. Roger wouldn’t dream of doing anything like that, but Trip knew how to have fun. Even Trip’s chase after the ride had been delightful despite her drenching.

She pressed her hand to her rib cage where he’d held her on the ride. His touch only compounded the strange mixture of excitement and terror. Her face warmed at the thought. She dipped her hand in the water and rubbed it on her cheeks. Never had Roger’s touch made the heat pool inside her like Trip’s had.

With a long sigh, she tipped her head back. She was no schoolgirl, and she didn’t need to give in to these mindless fantasies. Trip hadn’t meant to stir anything in her. This was a mercy excursion, not a romantic one.

Casting her gaze toward the slide, she watched other couples, even brothers and sisters, travel down the slide in the same fashion. The truth was right before her. Trip had held her because there was simply no other place to put his hands.

Drawing a circle in the water with her toes, she longed for something that would never be. She could dream all she wanted, but the facts remained. Roger wanted to marry her, and her parents expected her to comply. Worst of all, her father was wrapped in a vice that threatened to consume him. Her moment of escape wouldn’t make any of it go away.

“Hey, why the long face? I thought we were having fun.” Trip sat down beside her and passed her a bottle of Coca-Cola with a straw extending from its top.

“Thank you. Where’s yours?”

He held out a second straw. “I thought we’d share. One soda now. One later.”

Pushing her dark thoughts aside, Marguerite allowed a smile to crease her face. There would be time enough for worries later. She held the bottle between them and he dropped in his straw. Heads nearly touching, they sipped the soda.

He sat back. “Before we go inside, you want to tell me what got you as skittish as a new colt in there?”

“A new colt? What do you know about horses?”

“Okay, how about as skittish as a rookie on a skiff?”

She smiled and took a long drink. “That’s much more sailorly.”

He chuckled and waited until she looked up before speaking. “Fess up, Marguerite.”

“It’s nothing important.” She shrugged and climbed to her feet. “I just don’t like cold, dark, enclosed places.”

Scrambling up beside her, he picked up the toboggan. “Why?”

“It’s silly.”

“Not to me.”

“Laura Thompson locked me in an icehouse when I was in grade school.”

“The redhead at the dance the other day?”

Who was hanging all over you?
“Yes, one and the same. By the time my father found me and got me out, I had nearly frozen to death.”

“You must have been scared out of your wits. I’m glad your dad found you. Did he always come to your rescue?”

I thought he would
. She dropped her gaze, then lifted her face with a forced bright smile in place. “I promise that I won’t get as skittish as a rookie on a skiff this time.”

“If you do, I understand. Maybe we’ll get lucky and there won’t be much of a line.”

He touched her back, indicating they should go inside.

She stopped suddenly. “Wait! I owe you something.”

Without warning, she shoved Trip’s shoulders, sending him flailing backward into the lake. She wiped her hands together in glee. “I told you I’d get you back.”

Trip climbed back on the dock and shook his head, water droplets showering them both. “Life is never boring with you around, is it?”

“Not if I can help it.”

It was simply too good to be true. Following their afternoon of fun with no fewer than ten trips down the toboggan slide, Marguerite couldn’t believe Trip suggested the three of them change back into their day clothes and go for ice cream. The soda fountain, located in the middle of the pavilion, sported everything from phosphates at five cents a glass to expensive lemonades for fifteen. When she asked why the pint glass cost more, Trip explained that lemons came all the way from California but milk cows were local. With pride, he pointed out the exclusive Waterlogged ice cream and declared it to be the best on the lake. Then, to Marguerite’s delight, he asked her what kind of sundae she wanted.

Asked!

“Can I have one with crushed strawberries on top?” Marguerite licked her lips at the thought.

“Sure.” He turned to the clerk. “Make that two strawberry sundaes. What about you, Mark?”

“Can I have a butterscotch one?”

“Sure, sport.” Trip paid for the treats, and after the clerk presented them, they took them outside to eat in front of the bandstand. Mark joined a friend on a different park bench while Trip led Marguerite to one in the center.

A few minutes after their arrival, the Chicago Ladies Military Band began to warm up. Trip dove into his sundae and scooped up a syrupy spoonful.

Marguerite let hers melt slowly in her mouth. “This ice cream is delicious.”

“The best.”

“Did you know there was a concert this afternoon?”

He nodded but waited until he’d swallowed to answer.

“They do one every afternoon and evening. One of the ladies plays the cornet and piano at the same time. See, there is a lot more to do at the lake than sail.”

“What else?” She spoke loudly over the din of the tuning woodwinds.

“There’s swimming.” His dimples deepened with a grin. “Oh, wait. We know how good you are at that.”

She rolled her eyes at him.

“And, of course, you already know about the dances.” His eyes darkened.

For a moment Marguerite feared he would ask about Roger. She dipped her spoon into the ice cream. “And?”

“There are attractions to see. The Tyrolean Warblers will be here soon, according to Colonel Reed.”

“He manages Manhattan Beach, correct?”

Trip nodded. “There’s always croquet, horseshoes, yard tennis – ”

“Really? Where?” She twisted in her seat to find the courts, balancing her glass dish in her hand. “Do you play?”

He laughed. “Not much.”

“I could teach you.” The words escaped before she could suck them back in. Mortified, she covered her mouth with her hand. “I apologize. Please forgive me.”

“I’ll make you a deal. Tomorrow afternoon, you can teach me to play yard tennis if I can teach you to swim.”

The heat infusing her cheeks could melt the ice cream remaining in her dish. “Y-y-you want to teach me to swim? Is that proper?”

“Bring Mark along as a chaperone.”

“I guess that would work.” She slipped the last strawberry into her mouth, closing her eyes at its succulent sweetness. When she opened them, she found Trip staring at her. “What’s wrong? Do I have ice cream on my cheek?”

“No. You’re perfect.”

She only wished he meant it. Yesterday he never wanted to see her again, and today he was buying her ice cream, holding her on the toboggan run, and offering to teach her to swim.

He took the empty dish from her hand and set it aside on the park bench. When the band director stepped up to the podium, Trip chastely slipped his arm onto the back of the bench, careful not to let it brush her shoulders.

As strains of “The Band Played On” filled the air, Trip leaned over and crooned the words in her ear.

Casey would waltz with a strawberry blonde
As the band played on;
He’d glide ’cross the floor with the girl he adored
As the band played on;
Well, his head was so loaded
It nearly exploded.
The poor girl would shake with alarm;
He’d ne’er leave the girl with the strawberry curl
As the band played on.

He brushed the loose tendrils at the nape of her neck. A shiver rose from within her, prickling her flesh. Did he realize what he was doing to her? More importantly, why wasn’t she running the other direction? She didn’t dare hope he had feelings for her.

Even if he did, her mother would never condone a courtship with Trip Andrews – especially with Roger Gordon ready to whisk her away to a lackluster life.

Dear God, how can I live a vanilla life when I’m a strawberry
girl?

As if he could hear her thoughts, he suddenly stiffened and drew his arm away. “We’d better get going. Your parents will be wondering where you’ve been off to.”

17

“Dad! What do you think you’re doing?” Trip rushed to his father’s side and lifted the load of planks from his arms. “Didn’t you hear a word of what the doctor said? You have to take it easy. Do you want to have another heart attack?”

“Well, somebody has to work around here.”

Trip heaved an exasperated sigh. “We needed to let the varnish dry on the Simpson boat, so we couldn’t sand the new mast. You knew that.”

“You think you’re ready to take over this place, but you go off and play willy-nilly whenever you get the chance.”

“There’s nothing wrong with having fun.” Trip dropped the boards into the corner. He opened his mouth to argue more but clamped his lips shut, remembering the doctor’s warning not to upset his father.

His dad hadn’t always been like this. Before his mother deserted them, he could vaguely recall the sound of his father’s unencumbered laughter. When she left them, she’d stolen that as well.

“So, Dad, since you’re here, do you want to watch us practice for the regatta? It’s a great night. We might even let you ride along.”

Deuce harrumphed. “You’d think if you wanted to win that regatta, you’d have been out practicing this afternoon instead of gallivanting around with that girl.”

“I said we’re practicing this evening.” Trip tried to keep his voice calm. “Do you want to come with us or not?”

His father reached for the broom. “I’ll sweep up around here. Someone has to keep the place in order.”

Trip blocked his path and took the broom from his hands. “You can sail with us or go upstairs and read or something, but I’m the one who will be closing up the shop for the night. That’s my job, and it has been since I was ten years old.”

A hint of a smile creased Deuce’s wrinkled face. “I remember when I first gave you that task. You hated it because you didn’t like coming down here alone.”

“A lot of kids are scared of the dark.”

“But I didn’t let you stay that way.” He squeezed Trip’s shoulder. “I didn’t want you to be afraid of anything.”