9

We met at the café for breakfast the next morning, as planned. Ryan was in charge of the vending booth that day, so after breakfast, Ondine took me on the bus and we visited her school. The campus was very well tended to – all of the grassy areas were lush and mowed uniformly, and the walkways were lined with small flowers and short trees. A large fountain stood in front of the ornate mansion where Ondine resided and practiced on the weekdays. She led me up the steps and into the school.

               The interior of the building had an aged, musky scent to it. The ceiling in the foyer was tall, and an extravagant chandelier was suspended in the air, but the room still felt dark. A secretary looked up from her mahogany desk. The floor was wood-paneled, occasionally broken up by a fanciful rug, and the walls were plastered with a deep red, Victorian-pattern wallpaper. I noted the various marble busts and romantic-era paintings situated along the walls of the narrow corridors as Ondine led my tour around the building. She first took me to the housing area, to the left of the building. There were only about six rooms, each which housed two students. I realized how exclusive this school really must have been, and wondered why Ondine had felt so shameful about her dancing.

               She opened the door to her room without knocking, leading me to believe that she either didn’t have a roommate, or that she knew her roommate was out. The room was not large in area, but was spacious with high ceiling. Two queen-sized beds in zealous bedframes sat at opposite sides of the room with a fireplace between them on the wall. In fact, the room itself seemed to be symmetric; there were two wardrobes, two nightstands, two lamps, and two dressers. The only thing that was different was the door that we had entered through on one side, and the door to the washroom on the wall opposite of the beds.

               “You live here?” It was the only thing I could think of to say.

               Ondine laughed. “Yeah, it’s a bit over the top, but underneath all of the décor, it’s a prison camp.”

               I looked over to her. “What do you mean?”

               “Let’s just say my weekends are the only part of the week that I get to be myself.”

               I shrugged and we left her room and headed towards the other side of the building. As we passed the secretary, she looked up at us again with a grunt. Ondine ignored her, but I couldn’t help sneering back. Ondine first led me to the dining room, which was just behind the foyer. It too was frivolously decorated; a long, mahogany dining table and massive wooden chairs lined up along the sides and the end of the table. Another fanciful chandelier hung over the table, and similar paintings and statues were lined along the walls.

“This isn’t a castle, Adam,” Ondine said, sensing my awe. “We rarely eat red meat and never, ever are served dessert.”

I scoffed. “Then what’s the point of living?” I was obviously joking, but I did feel bad for her. She laughed, then led me out of the dining room and to the next stop.

               She showed me one of the rehearsal halls; they seemed like the typical setting in which most of ballet was documented. Everything was cliché; the floors, the wall mirror, and the huge window to let in natural light. I wasn’t as impressed with it as the living quarters, but she dismissed my disinterest at it and excitedly explained how well it was constructed and how fun it was to rehearse in. Her eagerness brought a smile to my face.

               Next, and final on my tour, was the theatre. Ondine instructed me to be extremely quiet, as there was a dress rehearsal going on. I nodded and followed her as she covertly opened one of the massive wooden doors and slid it shut as quietly as possible behind her. The theatre wasn’t massive, but it was impressive. The stage was large and well-lit, and crimson curtains were tied back at the sides. The detailing carved into marble just above the stage was incredible. We sat in the back row and watched the dancers on the stage rehearse in costume, listening to the music and the shouts of the director. Ondine told me they were putting on the Nutcracker for Christmas, and would be touring New York ballet theatres from the beginning of December until New Year’s. I was fascinated at the prestige of this school, and the more it proved its worth, the more puzzled I grew about Ondine’s lack of confidence.

               The dress rehearsal broke for water, so we slipped out while we had the chance. As we walked back to the entrance, it occurred to me that Ondine hadn’t led me up the huge staircase that was in the foyer. It wasn’t that I hadn’t noticed it. It was just so cliché that it didn’t even register to me that there was an upper level. I asked her about it, and she told me that the male dancers were restricted to the upper level at night, so that romances could not be entertained between students.

               “What if two girls…?” I began to ask the question, but the look on Ondine’s face made my voice trail off. It wasn’t a look of repulsion or anything like that, but the topic seemed sensitive, so I didn’t pursue it any further.

               “Well, that’s it,” Ondine sigh with a sigh, leading me out of the building.

               “In its entirety?” I asked. “It’s so big, it feels like it’ll never end.”

               “Well, there is one more thing,” she replied with a chuckle. “Follow me.”

                “I could spend an eternity following you,” I murmured to myself when she turned away and began to walk again. She didn’t hear a whisper of it. I followed her compliantly.

               Down a tree-covered, cobblestone path we walked to find ourselves in a small, secluded garden. At the end of the path was a white gazebo, and to the left of it was a small pond. A rosebush wrapped around the edges of the gazebo, and a bare cherry blossom tree stood on the other side of the pond. Ondine turned to me and gave me the sweetest, most enchanting smile to date. Maybe it was the trees, maybe it was the whole morning I’d spent with her, but in that moment I realized I had fallen past the point of being saved.

               But I still had a long, long way to fall.

8

We were back on the shore by three. I anchored and tied down the boat, then helped Ondine off. I locked the cabin, then climbed off the boat after her. She handed me my jacket with a thankful nod, and followed me back to our vendor’s booth. Ryan looked beyond indifferent as he fanned himself with dollar bills. I wished that I could have trusted another crew member with the money, but Ryan was the only one with enough seniority and enough on the line to not screw up.

               “Ryan, I told you that you shouldn’t leave the money out like that,” I chastised. “It attracts muggers.”

               “What else am I supposed to do?” he moaned, sitting up and putting the money back into its pouch. “I’m catering to ghosts.” I shook my head and took the pouch from him. I set it back on the table behind the crates of fish, then pulled out my wallet and handed him a twenty-dollar bill. He took it hastily and stood up to face me, glancing at Ondine and giving her a nod. “I’ll see you tomorrow captain,” he said in a fatigued voice, slapping my shoulder with a cupped hand. I winced, then waved him off.

               Ondine watched inquisitively from behind me and waved to Ryan as he left.  I turned to her. We stood still and held a mutually timorous gaze. “Thank you for letting me take you out,” I said dryly.

               “Thank you for taking me,” she replied, looking back out at the water. A sense of wonder engulfed her; I could see it. She folded her arms over her chest and hugged herself with a shiver. She pursed her lips and tucked the loose strands of hair behind her ear (as per usual). An outsider watching us would have thought we were performing some strange ritual, and it did feel that way. Our conversations were dry, with long pauses. But it made each word so much sweeter and so much heavier on my mind.

               “I should go.” She didn’t turn to me when she said it. I nodded and decided to look away. Although my spells of staring at her were often lengthy, I still felt uncomfortable about it once I realized what I was doing. I tucked my hands in my pockets and looked down at my feet.

               “Do you think you’d like to have breakfast with me in the morning?” I asked, my voice catching in my throat. My stomach dropped and I felt my palms sweating.

               “I wouldn’t mind at all.” I looked up at her. She had turned back to me, and a small smile graced her thin lips. A warmth welled up inside of me, starting in my belly, and rose up through my lungs to my cheeks. I grinned widely back at her.

               “Eight thirty?” I suggested. “At the café?”

               She tilted her head in a nod. “I’ll see you then.”

               The rest of the day was still slow. I sold maybe forty dollars’ worth of fish, and spent my downtime in my sketchbook. I etched in the faint crow’s feet and worry lines onto Ondine’s portrait, and added the inevitable flyaways from her loose ponytail. By eight, I’d done all I could. I took the pouch of money and tucked it into my jacket, the hurried over the convenience store to some more bags of ice. The clerk was indifferent, as usual, but she did give me a free bag of jerky. She said something about how her boyfriend had broken up with her for another woman. I offered my consolations, but she shook her head. “I didn’t need him,” she insisted. “I can do better.” But I still heard the painful emptiness of heartbreak in her voice. I thanked her for the jerky, then brought the ice back to the docks.

               I ate a few pieces of jerky before I began to tend to the fish, then began to carry crates to my boat and hose the fish off. I repacked the crates with ice and fish one by one, and put them away in the storage area of the boat. I collapsed the table and the tent and replaced them in storage as well, then locked up the boat. I wiped my hands off with an antibacterial wipe before finishing off the jerky the clerk had given me. I checked my watch and saw it was nearing nine. I grimaced and threw away my trash, then briskly made my way home.

               I entered my home greeted by the robust smell of rum and bananas. My mother had paid a ridiculous amount of money to attend bartending lessons. She didn’t even care to get a job, opting instead to live off of my father’s life insurance. Since she had taken her pointless, alcoholic-nursing classes, she’d grown to favor banana daiquiris, so our kitchen was rampant with half-empty bottles of rum, bunches of bananas, and other ingredients for a drunken state.

               My mother was reclined onto the couch, her drunken eyes locked on the television screen. A home and gardens show was playing at a low volume, and I knew she wasn’t listening. She always did this when someone denied her something. Everyone in town usually did her favors on a daily basis, because they had admired my father so much, and pitied my mother for losing him. So whenever something didn’t go her way, she overreacted and binged.

               “I’m home, mom,” I said loudly.

               She jerked from her trance and looked up at me, smacking her lips. “How was work, honey?” Her voice was dripping with artificial interest.

               “Fine,” I answered dryly. “How many drinks you had?”

               “Five?”

               I groaned, but went to the kitchen and put some coffee to brew, then got her a glass of water and some medicine for her head. I returned to the living room and took the empty glass in her hand and replaced it with the water and pills. She took them and downed the water in compliance, without me having to ask. This was a weekly ritual for us. I turned off the TV and lit a candle. “Your coffee is in the kitchen,” I told her. She nodded in understanding, and I retreated to my room.

               I hung my jacket on the back of my door and slipped out of my dirty jeans and sweater, tossing them into the laundry pile. I grabbed my towel, then hurried to the bathroom and drew a warm bath. I sunk into the water with a heavy sigh. I took care of the bathing obligations, then laid back to relax. The one time I had admitted to taking baths, Ryan had mocked me for the being effeminate. It bothered me primarily, and I’d limited myself to showers for a month after the incident, but I finally came to the realization that my comfort should not suffer because of Ryan’s meaningless remarks.

                I drained the cloudy water when it began to lose warmth. I dried quickly, then redressed in my bed clothes. I washed my face, brushed my teeth, all of the bedtime rituals, then returned to my room.

               My bed could not comfort my lonely heart that night.

7

               Normally I’d go out at least thirty miles before stopping, but I knew that I didn’t have the time for that. Instead I went out around fifteen and anchored the boat. Ondine and made small talk on the way there, talking about various shallow subjects. She asked me about my work (as usual), and I asked her about her school. She was in a ballet school in New York about an hour away. When she told me that, I wondered why she felt she could not live up to what her parents expected. I got the impression that ballet was an art form that took a lot of discipline, but I didn’t question her.

               By the time I’d stopped the boat, Ondine had begun to look a bit green in the face. I asked her if she was alright and offered her a bottle of water, but she brushed me off and left the control room out to the deck. I sighed. I figured it wasn’t a typical way to court a woman; taking her out to sea spontaneously and all. But she did say she had never been, and what harm was there in showing her something new? I forced myself out of my chair and grabbed a water bottle from the cooler, then walked out onto the deck to join her.

               She looked so perfect. She leaned against the edge of the boat even though waves rocked it back and forth. Her face wore a fearless, yet fascinated expression. The breeze gently lifted her hair, and the sunlight that managed to break through the clouds reflected in her eyes and shone on the contours of her face – high cheekbones, a narrow jawline, and a thin nose. Her white, loose-fitting blouse ruffled in the wind, and the ends of her wool scarf danced over her shoulders and chest. She turned to look at me, and her mouth lifted into a smile. I lost my balance and nearly fell over, and she hurried over to help me.

               “Are you okay?” she asked, throwing her arms around me to help me.

               “I’m fine, I’m fine,” I insisted, stepping away. “I just…I got you a water.”

               “Thank you,” she said hesitantly, cocking an eyebrow. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

               “I really am okay,” I told her, looking her straight in the eye. She grinned at me.

               “You’ve got like what, five years on me? You should be way more than okay.” She chuckled. I couldn’t help it. I smiled back at her, then handed her the water bottle. She twisted it open and drank a bit of it, then handed it back to me. She folded her arms over her chest and looked back out at the ocean. “So this is the Atlantic?” I nodded. “It’s cold.” I grinned.

               “What were you expecting?” I asked with a smug grin.

               “Shut up,” she laughed. “I don’t know. I told you I’ve never been to sea.”

               My small bout of laughter died down, and I sighed. I noticed her hands were trembling and her teeth were chattering. I could feel my face fall, and was grateful she was looking out at the water. I took off my heavy jacket and put it over her shoulders. She turned and looked up at me, and our eyes met. For a moment I think she understood, and I could see the vulnerability, then fear, in her eyes. She broke her gaze and looked down at her feet, then back out to ocean. I stepped back and sat down on the bench, which was more of a ledge built into the side of the boat. I had forgotten what it felt like to be out in the Atlantic without a jacket, and savored the cold sting.

               After what seemed like forever, but could only have been a matter of minutes, Ondine turned around and came to sit next to me. She didn’t say anything, but I noticed she’d put arms through the sleeves of my jacket and had her hands shoved into the pockets. It was so big on her; it made her figure that much more diminutive. Her eyes were locked on the ground in front of her. I checked multiple times to see what she was looking at. I don’t know why I did it. I knew she was lost in thought. I don’t know why I wanted to make her so much simpler than she was. Maybe I was afraid of who she might be. Perhaps I was trying to deny what conclusions I could have possibly drawn from what I knew about her. WhiIe did not believe that any single element of her could ruin the rest of her, I did not know that for a fact.

               “I’m not a very good dancer.” Her voice surprised me.

               “What makes you say that?”

               “I just know,” she said, shaking her head. “The other girls look so beautiful when they dance. They’re so effortless and perfect, and I wonder how I got into this school.”

               “You must be skillful if you got into a ballet school,” I told her. “Don’t say that you’re not good. What have others said?”

               “They don’t notice me.”

               Her words stung me. She was so beautiful and so kind. How could the world fail to make her feel unremarkable, when she was anything but?

               “I noticed you,” I said quietly.

               She looked up at me, perplexed. “What do you mean?”

               “You’re not like any other woman I see on a day-to-day basis,” I explained reluctantly, wringing my callused hands together. “You stand out. You’re beautiful, and charming, and kind. You intimidate me, actually.”

               Her laugh gave me shivers. “Well, thank you,” she said, breathing deeply. “But I guess not everyone sees me that way.” She looked up at me with a dry smile, and I put my arm around her and gave her a gentle squeeze. Her head rested on my shoulder, and I felt like I was holding the whole world with just one arm. It frightened me. But it was a good kind of fear –sharp, sweet, falling.

               We were adrift.

6

The same morning was the morning I realized that I could not question myself any longer. I admired Ondine. She was a beautiful secret. My life had not been so monotonous since I had met her. She was always on my mind; her dirty blonde hair and her amber eyes may have distracted me from everyday tasks, but it made them so much more bearable. I didn’t know where I was going but I knew what I wanted. I wanted the warm feeling of contentment inside, the sweetness of falling. I wanted Ondine.

               Unfortunately, the world does not cater to the lovestruck. I showered and ate my breakfast before going to work that day. I set up a tent and arranged the fish on a plastic table when I got to the docks, then sat in a lawn chair behind the table and flipped open my sketchbook to the sketch of Ondine. I furrowed my brow. In retrospect, I did not feel I had depicted her as accurately as I should have; it didn’t even resemble her. I erased her nose and reshaped it, added a bit more arch to her eyebrows, and refined her jaw. I chewed on the eraser of my pencil after all of that, still not satisfied. I was at a loss on how to improve it when a customer tapped the table in front of me impatiently. I checked my watch, caught off guard by the customer. It was already 10:00. I’d been drawing for an hour without looking up.

               “I’m sorry, ma’am,” I said quickly with a shake of my head. I closed my journal and tossed it in my chair, hurrying to assist her.

               She pursed her lips and shook her head bitterly. “Can I get two tuna and three mackerel?”

               “Right away,” I replied with a smile, thankful she hadn’t taken anything. She easily could have just grabbed what she wanted without paying; I hadn’t been paying any attention. I wrapped her fish in paper and handed them to her. “That will be ten dollars even.”

               “Thank you,” she muttered, handing me a crumpled ten dollar bill. I nodded with a forced smile, rolling my eyes as soon as she turned away. One of my men, Ryan, approached the stand with a lawn chair and set it up behind the table next to me.

               “That broad’s married to a fat man with a dead-end job and her kids are dumbasses,” he joked, Scottish lilt to his words. A wide, toothy smile shone from underneath his ginger moustache and beard, and rose up to laughing green eyes. His sun-spotted skin crinkled with his chuckles.

               “That’s not too nice of you to say, Ryan,” I chastised; I failed to stifle my own chortle, however.

               “I’m not lying!” he defended. “She’s a principal’s wife. Mr. Millard, who works at Watercreek High School, I think. I’ve seen her with her kids. They’re annoying little brats.”

               I lifted up my hands in defeat. “Hey, you’re not the nicest person,” I retorted. “I can’t believe everything you say.”

               He shrugged. “I suppose you’re right. How’s the morning going?”

               “Slow,” I replied dryly, twirling the end of a ball of twine between my fingers. “That was the first customer.”

               “Must have been an easy morning, then.” I just nodded and chuckled weakly. I could feel Ryan scrutinizing me from my right side. “What’s got you so out of your mind lately, Adam?” he prodded, crossing his arms.

               “Nothing,” I said, shaking my head. I looked up and met his inquisitive gaze. “It’s nothing important, anyway.”

               “Nonsense! We talk ‘bout everything, Adam. It doesn’t matter whether or not it’s important.”

               “But it’s really not a subject I could even make conversation about,” I insisted. “There’s no depth to it.”

               “It must have some depth if it’s got you in such a tizzy,” Ryan scoffed.

               I frowned at him. “I’m your boss, Ryan,” I snapped. “Not your friend.”

               “Oh? I see now,” he said, rolling his eyes. “We’ve worked on the same boat together almost five years. I’m your first mate. We go out for drinks every night we don’t have to work the next morning, you’re my wingman, and you laugh at my mocking customers. What are we? Co-workers with benefits?”

               I sighed, shaking my head. “Fine,” I retorted. “You have to promise not to laugh.”

               “I can’t promise it.”

               I grimaced. “It’s just a girl…well, a woman really. I know nothing about her and I’ve only talked to her a handful of times, but she’s got me out of my mind.”

               “You’ve got to talk to this girl, Adam,” Ryan said soberly. I was surprised that he hadn’t even cracked a grin. He usually made a joke of everything. My mother could have died, and he would still have joked about her. It wasn’t that he was insensitive; he just always tried to laugh, as if he was trying to escape something.

               “How? I don’t know hardly anything about her. I don’t know if she has a job or is going to school or anything of the sort,” I told him with a frown.

               “Next time you see her, man, just go after her,” he said, throwing his hands up. “Ask her out or whatever ‘gentlemen’ like yourself do.” He waved his hands around when he said gentlemen, and didn’t fail to get a chuckle out of me for that. He shook his head and smirked at me. “She has no reason to turn you down.”

               I shrugged. “I’m a stranger.”

               “Change that.”

               I stayed at the booth with Ryan until noon. We had on and off conversations, mostly keeping to ourselves or tending to customers when we weren’t talking. He’d troubled me with his suggestion. I wanted to make myself familiar with Ondine, but how? Every chance I had around her, I couldn’t stop thinking about how incredible she was; there was nothing else that I could think of to say. I hated myself for being so nervous about something so simple. I didn’t have any sort of relationship with her. What was I afraid of losing?

               I took my lunch at noon. I left the docks and made my way past the gas station and the convenience store. It had been sunny in the morning, but clouds were starting to intrude again. A chilly autumn breeze blew past me. I hugged my jacket tighter around my torso and walked a bit more briskly toward downtown Witchgum. The thought of a cup of hot soup and a sandwich warmed my stomach and brought a smile to my face.  

               I shuffled into town square greeted by the less-than-amiable lunch crowd. The “businessmen” (AKA the managers of factories and the men who owned their own plumbing businesses) were hurrying about with coffee in one hand and a briefcase in the other, minds elsewhere. Mothers struggled to keep their children under control and coddled crying infants. A handful of high school dropouts loitered around the public fountain, laughing raucously at some crude joke. I didn’t really know my place in all of this. Most of the men who worked on the docks brought their lunch. We didn’t get the best looks when we decided to wander into town smelling of salt and fish.

               But I didn’t really care. I ignored the strange looks and proceeded to the quaint café on the corner of Fifth and Saxon. I was greeted by the smell of freshly baked bread and the murmur of lunchtime conversation. I ordered a cup of broccoli cheese soup and a Panini, then took my ticket and seated myself in a small booth. I pulled my sketchbook out of my jacket and studied the drawing wishfully. For a moment, I had the thought that finishing the drawing might be more satisfying than actually becoming close to Ondine and that might end this ridiculous obsession. But the thought quickly diminished beneath an enumeration of other ponderings.

               “Adam?” My eyes widened at the voice. I shut my sketchbook quickly and pushed it aside, looking up. The waiter’s puzzled face greeted me. I nodded somberly and handed him my ticket as he set my food down, shaking my head bitterly. I could sense his confusion, but just waved him off, mumbling my thanks. I reached for my sandwich and took a reluctant bite from it. I wasn’t hungry anymore, and the food didn’t warm me as it had earlier. I worked my way through it despite my disposition, not wanting to feel faint later today.

               “Adam?” I didn’t look up as frantically this time, assuming it was just a waitress or something. I turned my head slowly, mouth full of sandwich. Ondine’s face was in front of mine, and I nearly choked on my food. I quickly swallowed the food in my mouth.

               “Ondine,” I said breathlessly, covering my mouth. I was so insecure around her and I hated it. “What are you doing here?”

               “I was just getting coffee,” she answered, taking a seat across from me. “I just woke up and I have an awful hangover.” She grimaced, clutching her coffee close to her. She smelled of smoke and her hands trembled.

               “Oh, of course,” I said, shaking my head and squeezing the bridge of my nose. “I’m sorry, I’ve had a long morning.”

               “I don’t envy you,” she said with a chuckle. “I’d hate to have to wake up earlier than eleven.”

               “I do have to make my living, you know,” I said, looking back up at her.

               “Of course.”  She shook her head. “I wouldn’t know what that’s like.”

               “No, no,” I stuttered frantically. “I didn’t mean it that way.” Oh, god. Have I already mucked this up?

               A puzzled look struck her doe eyes. “I’m not upset,” she responded, tilting her head. She smiled compassionately. “You’ve done nothing wrong, Adam.”

               I sighed and smiled weakly. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled. “I’m out of my wits since I… these past few days, I mean.”

               “Is your work stressful?” she asked so obliviously, tucking her hair behind her ear out of her face.

               “You could say that,” I lied. I looked down at my soup in a moment of contemplation, then back up at her. “Would you like to go to sea today?”

               Her eyes widened and she sat back with a gape. “I-I don’t know,” she stuttered. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

               The Adam I knew then would have listened to her and let her go on her day without me. But this ambitious stranger overwhelmed me. “You slept in my house and left in the morning untouched,” I told her. “And I’ve been going to sea since I was sixteen, sailing since I was eighteen. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

               Worry had taken a film over her eyes, but beneath I could see excitement. I stood up and held out my hand. She looked at my hand, then up at me, and then away. I watched her grind her jaw and her eyebrows change positions until at last she gave in and took my head. She picked up my sketchbook and held it out to me, and I quickly took it and put it in my jacket. I suppose my possessiveness frightened her, but what else was I supposed to do? I could not let her see that sketch. She would be so afraid of me.

               We walked to back to the docks in silence. I wished she would break it. I was too nervous; too preoccupied to say anything that would make any sense. Her complexion was washed out by the overcast but her amber eyes still shone like gold, and I wasn’t sure how she could be so beautiful. I wasn’t thinking anymore. I was just acting on the advice that Ryan had given me and hoping to the lord that it wouldn’t fail me.

               We reached the docks and the smell of fish and salt was like a slap in the face from reality. I turned to Ondine, a look of disbelief surely on my face. She shrugged and smiled unsurely. I shook my head and walked over to my booth, Ondine trailing behind me. Ryan was tying knots in a piece of twine, off in some distant world in his head. I waved to him, but didn’t get any reaction. “Ryan!”

               He suddenly perked up and fell out of his chair. “I didn’t notice you, dammit!” he grumbled, pushing himself off of the ground. “Don’t startle me like that, you ass.”

               I opened my mouth to protest, but bit my tongue. “Sorry. Anyway, I’m taking the boat out. I’ll let you off as soon as I get back and pay for your dinner if you’ll stay and work the stand.”

               He grimaced at me, obviously not keen on the idea. “I can do that,” he sighed. “I don’t want to, but I will.” It was then that he noticed Ondine. “Who’s the lassie?”

               “Ryan, this is Ondine. Ondine, this is Ryan. He’s my first mate.” The introduction was reluctant. Ondine waved shyly.

               “And that means I’m his only mate!” Ryan laughed, throwing back his head. “Nice to meet you, Ondine.” I sighed and turned to her. She laughed at me, and I turned away quickly and shuffled toward my boat.

               “Oh, Adam!” she called, running after me. “Don’t pout.” She brushed my arm and a currant shot through me. I stopped short and my breath caught in my throat, my eyes locked in front of me. I remained frozen for a moment, numb to my surroundings. Then suddenly my trance broke and I looked at her, troubled. She seemed fearful, but for me, not of me.

               I helped her onto the boat, then followed her and unstrapped it from the dock and pushed off. We entered the captain’s room and I shut the door behind us. Ondine looked around the small room, gazing at the controls, out the window ahead of us, and at the walls. I met her fascinated gaze and smiled at her. She blushed and looked away, quickly taking a seat next to the captain’s chair. I sat down as well and slid my key into the ignition. Before starting the boat, I turned to her. “Are you ready?” I asked. She nodded, but the way her arms were folded over her chest, I could tell she was afraid. I smirked, looking down at the wheel, then back over at her.

               “You can trust me.”