Page 49 of Wildest Dreams

“Thank you, Kendall. This means a lot to me.”

“Well, it’ll have to wait,” she says, “because I’m ready to hit the water.” She walks to the back of her SUV and pulls out a small cooler and a bag. “Ready?”

“Absolutely.”

We walk down to the dock and get on the boat. Kendall drives since I don’t have a boating license, and she looks like she’s been doing this her entire life. Growing up here, she probably has. She’s relaxed and in her element, smiling ear to ear as the wind whips her ponytail around like a propeller.

We pull into a creek and drop the anchor. It’s narrow, but private and serene. There isn’t another boat in sight, nor are there any buildings nearby. It’s a thick forest of oak trees with masses of Spanish moss hanging from the branches. A few cranes dot the edge of the water, and nearby a family of turtles are sunbathing on a piece of driftwood.

As many movies as I’ve been in, I’ve never felt more like I’m in a fantasy world.

“I hope you’re hungry,” Kendall says as she digs into her bag and pulls out two sandwiches and some water. “I remembered your order from Bread Crumbs, so I got us some sandwiches.”

We sit on the bench in the rear of the boat. Kendall takes out a water bottle and mists herself to stay cool.

“Do you ever swim in the river?” I ask, noting her bathing suit.

“You’ve seen Bertha. Would you get in this water?”

“Good point. Geez, I hope she isn’t waiting for us when we get back. I didn’t think about bringing something to feed her.”

“Crap. I didn’t think about it either. We’ll hope for the best. Worst case scenario, we take the boat to Patsy’s house and have her drive us home.”

“Was Bertha there the entire time you lived in the house?”

“Yeah, pretty much. That whole area was wooded before they built the subdivision. She’d probably lived there for a while. Patsy’s husband offered to shoot her for me, but I couldn’t bear the thought of it. Besides, he’d just end up stuffing her and putting her in their living room. After a while, I got used to her.”

“You know, you’re right. I find myself assuming I’m going to need a chicken every time I walk outside like it’s no big deal.”

“Yep! She trains you to be her little human vending machine.”

After we eat, we relax on the back of boat. We talk about everything from favorite movies to travel plans to embarrassing childhood memories to how many kids we want (we both said three). Before we raise the anchor, we even make time for some kisses… and more.

KENDALL

The sky begins to fade from bright blue to a kaleidoscope of pink, cerulean, and orange, so we head back to the house. I don’t want this day to end. It was wonderful to be out with Pierre and show him my favorite spot on the river, have privacy, and let my guard down.

I like him, I really do. I decide to simply enjoy the next few weeks and not worry about him leaving, not worry about the entire town whispering about me, not worry about what I’m going to do in the aftermath of this whirlwind.

There are a lot of things I need to let go of, and my crippling fear of life is at the top of the list.

When we get home, Pierre helps me secure the boat to the dock and we start walking up the hill to the house. The grass is getting tall, and I make a mental note to have a landscaper come by.

I’m looking down, mindful of snakes, when Pierre squeezes my hand so hard my fingers pop. “Shit,” he says under his breath.

“What?” I look up and standing on the back porch—my back porch—is Marina. She’s in a tight white tank top and tan shorts. From downhill, she looks ten feet tall. “Shit,” I echo. There really isn’t anything else to say.

“Marina, what in God’s name?—”

“You cannot keep ignoring me like this, Pierre. It’s not fair to me.” She opens the gate of the deck and trots down the stairs towards us. I don’t know what to do, so I just stand there, clutching Pierre’s hand and trying to block out visions of Glenn Close and pet bunnies.

Pierre closes his eyes and rubs his temple in exasperation. “Marina, you’re insane. This has to stop. I don’t owe you anything.”

Marina approaches, standing two feet in front of me. I feel like a troll. She’s like Medusa, all sharp edges and glowing brown eyes.

“You’re really rejecting me for her?” She points at me, her finger close enough for me to bite, which I consider.

“I wouldn’t go out with you regardless of whether or not I’d met someone here. Never at any time have I been interested?—”

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