Indian Summer (6 page)

“Finally!” says Eric. “At least one of you is ready. Get your life jacket, and I’ll go over and get the tackle box from Al. Maybe he’ll take the hint.”

“What’s the big hurry?”

“No hurry, really, we just want to get going before lunch! Between you and Al, we might never get out.”

Al, who has finished his conversation and is walking towards them, overhears Eric’s remark. “I can see you haven’t converted to ‘Lake Time’ yet. We try never to rush at the lake.” He hands Eric the tackle box and climbs into the boat. “Come on girl.” He gives Pansy’s leash a little
tug, and she jumps in too. “Well, let’s go!” he says with a laugh at the surprised look on Eric’s face.

Chagrined, Eric hangs his head self-mockingly. “You’re right. I shouldn’t be rushing. The fish will wait.” He and Marcie climb in and get settled. Al’s fishing boat is a low-sided metal boat with an outboard motor on the back. It’s pretty much low tech and no frills, with three bench seats, and one raised fisherman’s seat towards the front. Not like the powerful speedboat her grandparents own, with its comfortable seats and drink holders. Al sits in the stern to control the engine and steer. Eric and Drew are on the middle bench with the cooler snug beneath the seat, and Marcie is in the bow with Pansy. Al starts the engine and they idle out of the cove to the main lake. As they pass by the seawall of the neighboring cottages, Drew cries out “Look, Al, the turtles!” About twenty water turtles varying in size from babies as small as saucers in a child’s tea set to huge granddaddies as big around as serving platters are basking in the sun on the warm concrete. The boat isn’t passing close enough to startle them into the water, so they can see them clearly. From the front of the boat Marcie sees several turtles floating submerged in the water with only their tube-like noses sticking out on the surface.

“Quick, Drew, there are some in the water over here.” She points to her right and even as she speaks they start
diving down into the murky depths to avoid the approaching boat.

“This has been a good spring for turtles,” Al observes. “All the lake animals are flourishing. I’ll bet we see some muskrats in James Bay.”

“Will they have babies, too?” asks Drew.

“They just might. I saw some there last week.”

“I like muskrats.”

“So do I.”

They pass the marker buoys indicating the end of the no-wake zone for boats, and Al opens up the engine and heads away from the shore. The nose of the boat rises up out of the water with the force of the propeller in the rear and then settles back down to plane on the surface as they get up to speed and go scudding across the waves.

The larger scow sailboats are still out on the lake from the Sunday Regatta held earlier in the morning. Several have spinnaker sails out to catch an additional breeze as they sail for home. Marcie catches sight of a bright orange sail and has a jolt of recognition.
I’ve seen that boat from the air
, she thinks, but then remembers it was in her dream. It’s a little unsettling. She feels the way Michael described feeling about flying. Intellectually, she knows it was a dream and she didn’t actually fly, but it seems so real, even now in the light of day. Is it just a coincidence that she’s
had the dream and imagined she was flying at the Fair? Marcie doesn’t know what to think.

The smaller sunfish boats are racing now. Sunfish have one stationary sail that is usually brightly colored with large bold stripes. The sailors sit on the side of the boat with their feet in a small hollow in the center. There isn’t much room; only one or two adults can fit, but you really get to experience the wind and the waves. Sunfish sailing is Marcie’s favorite of the water activities—more so than the speed boat. It’s like the difference between driving in a car and riding your bike. You’re an active participant instead of just a passenger, and it can be both peaceful and exciting at the same time. When you catch a breeze and really get going, it’s thrilling.

As they round Owen Point and the trees of James Woods come into view, Marcie has another feeling of
déjà vu
, and the urgency from her dream returns. This is really creepy! Maybe her subconscious is trying to tell her something, but she has no idea what. She must have jumped or look startled, because Al calls out, “Marcie, are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” She turns around and sees Al watching her intently.

“No, I’m fine. Just a little
déjà vu
when we entered the bay.”

When she turns forward again, the Swyndalls’ “cottage” is directly before them. The house definitely wasn’t in her
dream, because she would have remembered seeing it. The face the house presents to the road is impressive, but the side facing the water is really enormous and surprisingly beautiful given its size. River rock forms the lower part of the house, rising up to red painted clapboard trimmed in white. A wrap-around porch extends across the entire back of the house, and there are multiple gables, windows, and even a round cupola with a weather vane at one end.

“Wow,” exclaims Eric.

“It’s something else, isn’t it?” says Al.

“It’s big, but I like it,” says Marcie. “It’s not like it’s the only big house on the lake.” As she says this, Marcie wonders why she is defending the Swyndalls.

“Not this big!” says Eric. “It’s a monster! I wonder how much time they will actually stay here. Those big summer homes are empty most of the time.”

They are passing by the piers in front of the house—three piers, no less—where they see a professional ski boat, two brand new wave runners on docking stations, a pontoon boat, and a racing class E scow.

“They have a lot of toys, too,” adds Eric, stating the obvious. “Those are top of the line Sea Doos!” referring to the wave runners.

“What’s wrong with that?” retorts Marcie. Lately she seems to want to argue with everything Eric says. He can be so irritating.

“Who was criticizing?”

Before she can respond, a figure rises up from one of the lounge chairs on the pier, and they see it’s Kaitlyn. Al honks the horn at her and they all wave. After blinking in the sunlight a few times, she recognizes them and waves her sunglasses in return as the boat passes by.

“Why do they have three docks?” asks Drew when they turn away.

“Because they can,” says Eric sarcastically. “Actually, I heard Mamaw and Poppy saying that the Swyndalls were trying to discourage people from anchoring their boats in the shallows in front of the house.”

“But that’s a tradition!” says Drew indignantly. “They can’t do that!” Drew is big on traditions and family rituals. Marcie has to agree that it doesn’t seem right to take away something that used to be available to everyone.

“You’re both right,” says Al. “The Swyndalls can put docks into the water from the shoreline that they own, but they don’t own the lake or the water in the lake, so they can’t tell people not to anchor in the shallows. If you noticed, the piers didn’t do much to stop people from anchoring there.” They look back and see that, indeed, half a dozen large boats are anchored just past and around the docks.

“Still, it’s kind of selfish of them not to share the shallows, even if they do want privacy,” concludes Drew. The
others don’t say anything. Drew said what they all thought, too.

They negotiate the boats pulling kids on inner tubes and skis in the bay, and aim for the quieter marshy area by the shore. Once they agree on a good spot, Eric drops the anchor and Al kills the engine.

Even though Al’s tackle box is full of lures and flies he has tied by hand, the kids mostly use night crawler or red wiggler worms for bait. Marcie has been fishing since she was able to walk and baiting her own hook since she was Drew’s age, so putting a live, squirming worm on a hook doesn’t bother her. Her friends, on the other hand, are totally grossed out by the whole process. It’s bad enough to pick up the worm, but impaling it on the hook and having it ooze worm blood and squirm around is too much. Marcie usually baits the hooks when her friends visit the cottage.

They spend the next hour or so fishing and relaxing in the boat. As usual, Al and Drew catch the most fish. They each have four “keepers”—fish over six inches long—in the fish basket hanging over the side of the boat. Eric has two and Marcie doesn’t have any. It’s probably because she is too impatient. Fishing requires stillness and patience; two qualities she doesn’t always possess. Drew can sit quietly, which is unusual for a boy his age, waiting and watching for a nibble on his line. Marcie doesn’t really care
about catching fish, though. She likes the peace and solitude of fishing and the companionship of Al and her brothers. At least Drew, and sometimes Eric. That peaceful feeling is interspersed today with the feeling you get that someone is looking at you and you turn around and there
is
someone looking at you—except that this time nobody is there. She keeps getting a prickly feeling on the back of her neck and turns around expecting someone in a nearby boat to be looking her way, but there aren’t any boats nearby. Just the breeze moving through the trees making whispering sounds in the leaves.

As they are eating their picnic lunch, the quiet is suddenly broken when a large wave runner comes roaring up to them, executing a sharp turn in front of the boat and splashing water on them before idling around to the side and stopping.

“Thanks a lot!” yells Eric, half angry, half jokingly, as Kaitlyn laughs at them. “You got our lunch all wet.”

“Well, you
are
in a boat, it’s to be expected. Anyway, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to splash so much. Marcie, do you want to come over to my house for a while this afternoon? I can take you over on the wave runner.”

“Are you old enough to drive the wave runner?” asks Drew. “Mamaw and Poppy say you have to be 16.”

“No, I’m not 16 yet, but my parents let me take it around the bay, and I’ll just be taking Marcie over to my house. What do you say, Marcie?”

Marcie looks at Al. She knows it is not only against her grandparents’ rules, but also against the law for Kaitlyn to drive the wave runner. But she really wants to go. She can’t tell what Al is thinking, but Eric is giving her the evil eye, which only makes her want to go that much more.

“Al, I think Mom and Dad would say it’s okay since we’d just be going over to Kaitlyn’s.” He looks at her intently for a moment and then seems to come to a decision. He nods his head and says, “Yes, I think you should go with Kaitlyn. Just don’t be gone too long. We’ll be here about another hour.”

“You could stay over the rest of the afternoon until the cookout if you want. Then we won’t need to hurry back.”

“That sounds good. Is that okay, Al?” Marcie is already climbing out of the boat onto the back of the wave runner.

“Fine with me. I’ll let your parents know where you are.”

“But you’ll miss the rest of our fishing trip!” says Drew. “Don’t you want to fish some more?”

“Oh, there will be other times, Drew. I’ll see you tonight, too. Bye!” Kaitlyn starts the engine and Marcie has to raise her voice to be heard. They idle away from the
boat, and then Kaitlyn takes off. Marcie looks back over her shoulder and waves. Eric is glaring at her. Drew waves back, and Al is looking thoughtful, as his hand moves slowly through the air.

T
HE GIRLS ZOOM
across the water towards Owen Point and the Swyndall house. A slight outward bend of the shore obscures the house so it can’t be seen from where Al and her brothers are fishing. Kaitlyn calls over her shoulder, “Why do you hang out with that old guy? It’s so uncool! I bet you’re glad to be rescued.” Marcie feels her face flush with embarrassment and anger, and she’s glad Kaitlyn can’t see her. Even so, she replies, “No kidding!” enthusiastically, and then feels guilty for not defending Al. He’s her friend! Once again she has mixed feelings about Kaitlyn. On the one hand, it is exciting to be riding on the wave runner without an adult and going to Kaitlyn’s house, which can only be called a mansion, but she also feels guilty, like she’s not only betraying Al and her family, but somehow, herself.

Kaitlyn pulls the wave runner up next to the dock instead of putting it into the docking station and, after turning off the engine, clips a rope to the front to keep it from drifting. She turns to Marcie, her eyes shining with excitement. “Do you have a bathing suit on under your clothes? You could borrow one of mine—oh, good,” she continues
when she sees Marcie nodding yes. “I’ve got a great idea. My mom’s not due back home for over an hour. Why don’t we go over to the sandbar for a while?”

“How will we get there?”

“The wave runner, of course.”

“But you said we were just going back to your house,” Marcie says uncertainly.

“What they don’t know won’t hurt them. Anyway, we’ll just go over and see what’s going on. We won’t stay too long, and I’ll be careful.” Seeing Marcie’s hesitation, she adds, “Come on! It’ll be fun. You’re not chicken are you?”

Actually, that’s exactly how Marcie feels: Chicken. The sandbar is where the older high school and college kids go to hang out on the weekends. You can throw out your anchor and walk on the sandy bottom from boat to boat. It’s like a big block party on busy weekends. She’s been to the sandbar before with her family to swim, usually during the week when it’s not so crowded, but never by herself. She’s not even sure if she’d be allowed to go. However, the risk of being seen as “uncool” outweighs her concern about going. What’s the harm anyway?

“No, I’m not chicken. You just took me by surprise. Let’s do it!”

“Great! Here, take off your life jacket for a minute so you can take off your shorts and t-shirt. We won’t look good at the sandbar unless we’re wearing our bathing
suits.” She climbs onto the pier. “Hand me your stuff and I’ll put it under my towel on this chair. No one will notice if they happen to come out here.”

Kaitlyn climbs back onto the wave runner while Marcie refastens her life jacket. It’s just one of the bunch of jackets her grandparents have in varying sizes for use by all the family and visitors who come to their house over the summer. She grew so much last winter that she can fit into one of the medium adult jackets. In contrast, Kaitlyn’s jacket is a “Bodysheath,” a very expensive brand which is fitted just for her. Kaitlyn unhooks the wave runner from the pier, and Marcie pushes off before Kaitlyn starts the engine.