Page 71 of Resistance Training
I hear her go down those three steps, settle into a chair, and I swear to God I can hear the breeze gently caressing her skin. I want to be the breeze. I want to be the late-winter sun planting a delicate kiss on her cheeks, with promises of spring and budding passion that is about to bloom. I want to be the surprise March snowstorm that encompasses and silences her with all of its weight and beauty, makes her feel warm and safe despite the cold and shocks her with its power. More specifically, I want to be the guy who wants those things without hesitation.
But I’m not.
And I can’t concentrate on her.
I concentrate on piloting this vessel.She’sa lot easier to handle. Completely under my control. She’s a good girl.
I should be able to cruise comfortably at fifteen knots through the Portland area for fifteen to twenty minutes, then pick up to twenty knots on the Columbia River. Should reach the channel in forty-five minutes to an hour. I love being out on the water this time of year, as long as it isn’t stormy, because it isn’t overcrowded with wakeboarding assholes.
And thanks to the good weather, the cock-taunting asshole onboard isn’t overcrowding me on this boat.
This might not be so bad after all.
Fuck.
Fucking unpredictable March weather patterns.
This could get bad.
Really bad.
An hour in, we’ve reached the Multnomah Channel. I’ve slowed to displacement speed so as not to disturb the waterfowl and the great blue herons. I watched eagles circling overhead and calmly enjoyed the pastoral scenery to either side of me, in total denial of the dark clouds rolling in.
Now it’s raining.
There’s a canvas Bimini top over the flybridge, so it offers protection from light rain. It’s not a hardtop, but it’s not pouring rain. Yet. I put her on autopilot since the waterway looks clear up ahead and lower the window panels nearby to keep the rain out. The wind is picking up a bit, but this narrow channel is buffered by the trees and vegetation of farmland on either side, so the water won’t get too choppy. It’s fine.
I am about to yell for Vivian to help me lower the panels that are farther away from the controls, but she’s already bounding up the steps.
“Hi. Let me help.”
I disengage the autopilot and take manual control again. “Can you put down the window panels and then cover up the upholstery with those seat covers?”
“You got it.”
She does got it. She was always really adept at sailing when we went out on the water on Mercer Island. I knew I could count on her. I glance over at her when her arm brushes my shoulder as she reaches down to get the upholstery cover that’s folded up on the floor by the companion seat, and fucking hell, she’s just wearing her tight little T-shirt and it’s white and it’s a little bit damp and I can see her bra and she’s the fucking devil.
“Never mind. I’ll do it.”
“What?!”
“Just go below deck—I’ll take care of everything up here.”
She totally disobeys me and continues to cover the seats. “Are you nuts? Find somewhere to drop anchor. It’s going to start pouring rain soon.”
“I’m sorry—are you telling the captain what to do right now?”
“I mean, yes. If your plans don’t include piloting us to that cove up ahead and dropping anchor until the weather changes, then I am telling you what to do.”
“You know what—why don’t you go down to the galley and make us some hot chocolate.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. They have an electric kettle. Do it now, please.”
“Do you want me to bring up your jacket or a sweater?”
“I didn’t bring one.”
