Rising Tides

RISING TIDES

by

Rising Tides

Copyright ©2009

Maria Rachel Hooley

All rights reserved.  No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior written permission of the copyright holder.

Chapter One

Standing on an Oregon beach in early April, staring at the tide as it dragged in bits of driftwood, I wondered why I hadn't bothered to visit the ocean before.  The tide swept in, then swept out again, every now and again leaving tiny shells on smooth, wet sand that begged for someone to draw in it.

While gazing out at the endless rolls and swells of water, I thought of two things.  First, I had just turned thirty a month ago. Second, I wouldn't live to see another birthday.

Frowning, I eased off my shoes and stepped barefoot into the cold water.  A sudden breeze cut through my sweater, deepening the chill and reddening my skin.  I shivered and took in the empty beach, content in my solitude.  Glancing down, however, I saw fresh shoe prints, and I knew I wasn't alone.

I looked up.  Overhead, in a blue, watercolor sky empty of clouds, white gulls flitted overhead, circling and reeling together, darting this way and that, dipping their wings aimlessly to the eye but intent, somehow knowing.  I breathed deeply, savoring the tang of the water.  Shivering, I stepped away from the shore into the grooved tracks made by other feet.

Absently, I followed them, not knowing or caring why.  I  stretched so as to match the stride and place a foot in the center of each track.  My feet were smaller, like the shoes I carried in my arms.  The sand squished between my toes.  I quickened my pace, making a game of superimposing the impressions of my feet over those others, but the sand always shifted, making it hard to tell which, if either, had come first.   Sometimes I couldn’t tell where my foot had begun and the other ended.

A hundred or so yards down the beach, a black-and-white Siberian husky darted in front of me and jumped on my legs, knocking me to the ground.  My shoes dropped from my grip.  I’d been so intent on my steps that I hadn’t seen him coming.  The dog nuzzled my cheek, tickling me with his cold nose.  Trying to ward him off, I covered my face.

"Larkin, down!" a deep voice called.  The husky shied away, barked once, and sat back on his haunches, one ear cocked skyward.

I lowered my hands and saw sunlight burnish the face half-silhouetted before me, turning the man’s short, brown hair auburn.  He offered his hand, and I reluctantly took it—heeding if nothing else, the damp ground soaking my clothing.

"Quite a friend you've got there," I blurted—awkward yes, but all I could think of.  I stood and brushed the sand from my jeans and sweater.

"Sorry about that."  The man moved behind me and helped flick the grit from my back.  "He loves people.  There,” he said at length, “You're clean again."  He bent down, picked up my shoes, and handed them to me.

I took them.  “Thanks.”

He smiled and offered his hand for the second time.  "Tyler Adams."

I shook it.  "Kelly Jamisen."

“That’s Larkin.”  He pointed at the dog, which had lost interest in us and paddled into the water, chasing the waves.

I looked at Tyler’s fullbody wetsuit.  “Are you going for a swim?”

“No.  I’m going sailing.”  Tyler gestured down the beach to a catamaran.

“Isn’t it a bit cold?”  I folded my arms over my chest.     

"Yeah.  I won’t actually be in the water, but if I fly the hulls, I’ll get wet, anyway.  The suit keeps me warm enough." We strode toward the boat, and when we got there, he pulled on a rope that raised a rainbowstriped sail.  A long metal pole perpendicular to the mast held the sail taut.

"Ever been?" he asked, tying the rope around the mast.  He turned, waiting.

"No, I haven't."  I stared at him, mostly at his black wetsuit, which made his body look like a part of the boat.  His fingers travelled over the ropes and wires, tightening, straightening, doublechecking with such a routine calm I knew he did this often.

I looked at the sail and thought again of all the things I had always meant to do, now a useless list: hotair balloon rides, rappelling, skydiving.

Sailing.

"That's too bad," Tyler said.  The wind lifted strands of his dark hair.  He straightened from his bent position near the mast.  "I'd ask you to come, but,"  he gestured to my clothes.  "You're hardly dressed for getting wet, and I doubt you'd much like a swim if we turned over, at least not this time of year.”

My fingers curled around my shoes, and I felt my grip tightening as my heart hammered in my chest.  I was uncertain, cautious, but what difference did that make?  I had spent my much of my life that way, and it had come to this.  I had nothing to lose, really, one way or another, so I sucked in my hesitation and forced a weak smile.  "I'd like to.  Really."

He grinned and tapped his hand against the fiberglass hull.  "You can't be serious."

“Dead serious.”  I stepped toward him.  "I've never been," I repeated, "and I'd like to be able to say I at least tried it."

I felt his blue eyes resting on me, delving.  Shrugging, he pulled the lifejacket off the tarp stretched between the hulls.  "It's not exactly the best time of year for this; I mean, I'd be glad to take you later in the summer, when it's warm."

“I’m willing to take the risk,” I said, brushing a strand of hair from my eyes.

He looked back at the boat and then at the ocean.  “It’s really not a good idea.  It’s pretty cold.”

I dug my toes deep into the chilly sand and shook my head.  "I don’t mind,” I replied, smiling.  “I kind of like the cold.  It makes me feel alive."

He stared at me a moment longer before offering me the jacket.  "Well, if you're game, I am, too.  Put this on."

I walked toward him and accepted the jacket.  Sliding one arm inside, then the other, I realized I'd have to cinch it up. Otherwise, I’d come out of it in the water.  I secured the plastic latches and tried pulling the webbing more snugly around me.  The webbing slipped in my fingers; It wouldn’t budge.

"Here.  Let me do that.  It gets stuck sometimes."  He leaned toward me, and his fingers latched onto the webbing, yanking it to my size.  Standing so close to him, I realized I came only to about his chin.

Bright sunlight danced off the auburn strands hidden in the rest of his darker brown hair.   "Is that enough?" Tyler asked, his fingers lingering on the webbing, waiting for my response.

I nodded.  "Fine."  I pointed to the dog.  The husky darted up and down the shore, still chasing the waves.  "What about him?"

"My house is only about a mile from here.  He'll go back once we hit the water."  Tyler pointed to a spot farther up, to a large house in the distance.  "Ready?"

"Yes." I bent and rolled up my jeans, my fingers fumbling with the coarse fabric.  A few months ago, these jeans had been snug through the hips and calves.  Now, the fabric turned easily. Tyler turned back to the boat.

I glanced at the beach and saw a small pile of his things: shoes, sunglasses, clothing.  I set my shoes among his things and walked to the boat.  In the breeze that blew inland across the water, the waves rolled in, and the boat bobbed slightly, undulating in rhythm with the current.

Cold water lapped at my calves, wetting my jeans.  I clenched my jaw to keep from trembling.  Once, I would have at least thought about pneumonia.  Now, I didn't have time for that.  Illness was  a symptom, and fear was irrelevant.  "Where do I sit?" I asked, eyeing the boat.

Tyler touched one of the faded yellow hulls.  "Jump up here and then climb onto the left front corner of the tramp."  He pointed to the weatherbeaten fabric stretched between the hulls. 

I nodded and pulled myself onto the hull, lifting my legs  before climbing onto the tramp.

Tyler watched me sit.  "Settled?"

"Yeah."  I crossed my legs underneath me and held onto the tramp’s metal frame.

"Okay.  Here we go."  He placed both hands on the hull and pushed the boat farther out into the water.  When it came to his waist, he jumped onto the hull and seated himself at the back of the boat, where he grabbed the pole he used to steer.  With his free hand, he picked up the single line hanging from the sail and pulled it until the slack disappeared and the rope snapped taut.  I looked up at the sail as air filled it, curving it away from me.  The boat picked up speed, and I looked at the rippled wash the rudder left in our wake.

Tyler jerked the line through a metal cinch on the boat, and it caught, keeping the line tight without his constant grip. "So--what do you do when you're not walking the beach, Kelly?"  He looked up at the sail before glancing back at me.

"Paint," I replied, focusing on his eyes again and noting  how the light turned his irises a commanding shade of blue.  "And what do you do when you're not sailing?"

Tyler smiled.  "Not much."  He tugged on the line.  "I seem to spend a lot of time on boats, teaching people to sail and taking tourists on fishing trips."  The boat sped up and I could hear the wind humming along the hulls.  My side of the boat started to rise.

I clamped my hands around the edges of the tramp.  "This feels...uneven."

Tyler chuckled, squinting at my white knuckles.  "Actually,  it's normal.  The faster we go, the higher one side of the boat will rise because of the wind."

My grip slackened as he spoke.  At first, I thought it had been his words that had had the calming effect, but that wasn’t it; it was his voice, something in the way it echoed the serenity of the ocean and hummed with the wind.  I closed my eyes and listened as he talked about the mechanics of sailing, the degrees of the sail into the wind that maximized speed, about tacking and jibbing.  Except he wasn't talking about mechanics.  Those were just the words he used.  The rest was left to the hum of the hull skimming water.

"You all right?" he asked, touching my wrist.

I opened my eyes and saw my reflection in his.  I was small now, but I would shrink even more, every day until....  "Fine," I said, smiling a thin smile I was sure didn’t touch my eyes.  I looked away, out at the water.  "I guess this isn't the only boat you have, then, is it?"

Tyler leaned back, the wind rifling his hair.  "No, I own five others, each with a particular use.  For instance," he said, pointing to the tramp, "this one wouldn't be much good for a fishing expedition.  No place to store anything."

I kept looking at the grayblue water, brushstroking a canvas in my mind.  I watched the waves, the rolling motion forming swells and caps that rose, crested, and vanished.  Ebb and flow.  Much of that constant rolling was diminished as the hulls gracefully skimmed the water.  If only I could capture this smooth feeling in a painting.

"So--is it what you expected?" Tyler asked.

I raised my hand to shield my eyes against the sun and the azure sky.  "Better!"

"How long have you lived in Oregon?" Tyler asked.  His hand was anchored to the rudder stick, his fingers gently gripping the aluminum as though he expected no surprises.

"I don’t," I replied, brushing the hair from my face.  "I've just been here a few days.  I live in Colorado.  Boulder.  I hadn't ever seen the beach before."  I reached down and touched the water, skimming my fingers across the surface.

Tyler watched my fingers rippling in the water.  "When I came here, I thought I'd only stay a little while.  That was before I walked on the beach and saw my first sunset, and before I went sailing."  He shifted his legs.  "I felt the ocean tugging at me, and I knew I wouldn't be happy anywhere else."  He chuckled and looked up at the sky.  "And to think I went to college to become an accountant."

The sail began to flap, and Tyler shifted our direction slightly until the wind again smoothed the sail.