Page 3 of A Shore Fling

NINA

I t’s almost noon when the Uber drops me at Havenport’s harbor. According to the instructions I received from the rental agency, there’s a boat parked in a slip for me to take to the house. The keys are in the harbormaster’s office.

I sling the strap of one bag over one shoulder, my tote over the other, and roll my suitcase along the pavement as I head toward the small white building. Turning the knob, I push open the door, and find a bespectacled man seated behind a desk.

He smiles at me. “Hello. How can I help you?”

“Hi. I’m Nina Moreau. I’m renting a house for the rest of July and August.”

“I’m David. You must be looking for the boat keys.”

I nod. “Yes, please.”

He opens a book and scrolls his finger down the page. “Okay. You’re on the list.” He rises, moving from behind the desk, and crosses the room to open a metal cabinet. When he closes the doors, he jangles a ring of keys on his finger. “Here you go.” He delivers them to me.

“Thank you.”

“Let me walk you down to the slip.”

“That would be great,” I say, smiling.

I follow him outside, and we start toward the pier.

Once we hit the wooden planks, the wheels on my suitcase bump along with enough force to dislocate my shoulder, but he doesn’t offer to help me.

Oh well, I’ve got this. I may be out of the city and out of my element, but I’m the same independent woman who’s used to taking care of herself.

We continue to move across the pier, and when we’re almost to the end, he stops next to a sleek white and red motorboat that says Sea Ray on the side.

It looks expensive and bigger than I imagined.

For the first time since I left my apartment this morning, I feel a sense of anxiety.

Staring at the boat, I will it to shrink.

I was expecting a small fishing tin can with a couple of benches and a motor on the back—not an actual high-speed motorboat.

“How big is this?” I ask.

“Only twenty-one feet.”

Only?

David takes my suitcase from me, setting it down inside before he climbs in. “Hand me your duffel bag.”

I smirk at Moreau’s five-thousand-dollar Italian leather bag being referred to that way. My dad would have a breakdown if he were here.

“Take my hand and carefully step up.” David taps the swim deck.

I do as he says, making it safely aboard with the boat rocking beneath my feet. It takes a bit to adjust to the motion, but he doesn’t seem to be having the same problem. He opens up a bench seat and removes an orange life jacket that looks like it’s as old as me. “You need to wear this.”

Pulling it over my head, I snap the two clips on the front closed.

“Ever driven a boat before?” he asks.

“Never. I’m from New York City. I barely ever drive because I hate dealing with the traffic.”

“But you have your driver’s license?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

He shrugs. “Good enough.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. If you can handle a car in New York City, a boat should be easy in comparison.”

I sure hope he’s serious.

He points to the console. “Throttle’s here. There’s forward, neutral, and reverse.” His gaze flicks in my direction to make sure I’m paying attention. “You always start in neutral. This switch is the trim, but you don’t need to touch that.”

“What does that do?”

“It raises or lowers the bow to optimize performance, fuel efficiency, and comfort.”

“Well, I’ll just pretend that button doesn’t exist.”

“Here’s the ignition and the steering wheel,” he continues.

“I know what those two things are. Yay for me.” I pump my fist, but David doesn’t seem as impressed.

“Turning a boat isn’t the same as turning a car. The response time is slower, and there’s no brake to stop if you overdo it. You live in New York City. You’re familiar with winter driving and how a car slides on ice. There’s no way to stop the momentum once it starts.”

“So, basically, I’m driving an unresponsive vehicle in a new-to-me area. What could go wrong?”

David pats my arm. “You’ll be fine. I have confidence in you.”

I’m glad someone does. Fuck my doubts. I’m a grown woman and a CFO for a billion-dollar corporation. Driving a boat should be easy compared to working with my dad and Jonathon.

“Okay. I think I can do this.”

“Start her up. Let’s hear this baby purr.” He says “purr” like he’s gargling, making it difficult to take him seriously.

I lower onto the seat and turn the key. The engine comes alive with a roar and then immediately settles into a low hum. “What’s next?”

“Once I’m back on the dock, you’re going to ease the throttle forward, gently. Keep hold of the wheel and steer straight out. You’re still in a no-wake zone here, so keep it under five knots.”

“I don’t know what five knots feels like,” I quickly say.

“It’s uncomfortably slow.”

“That sounds perfect to me.” Maybe I’ll five-knots my way to the house.

“Keep in mind, if you’re leaving a trail of white water behind you, you’re going too fast, so ease off the throttle. Once you’re out of the harbor, you can take it up to ten or twelve knots. That’s probably a good speed for a new driver.” He steps onto the dock.

“You’re leaving me?” I ask, panicking.

He gives me a reassuring smile as he unties the ropes. “You’ve got this. Now, get going.” He makes a shooing motion with his hands.

My tote bag is still slung over my shoulder and is in my way, so I hang it over the throttle before I ease the lever forward. The boat responds, creeping from the slip. “I’m doing it,” I shout.

“You’re doing great. Watch out for the pilings as you pull away.”

I reflexively jerk the wheel, suddenly understanding what he meant about it being similar to a car sliding on ice. The boat angles sideways, and I turn the wheel in the opposite direction, trying to straighten out the bow.

“Avoid herky-jerky movements and you should be fine.”

I focus on guiding the boat safely away from the pier, and once I’m in the clear, I sigh with relief.

“See you later, Nina,” David calls out.

“Bye,” I shout back, not daring to take my hands from the throttle or the steering wheel.

Once I’m no longer in the vicinity of the harbor, I ease the throttle forward a bit, and the boat picks up a little more speed.

I laugh at the tiny thrill it evokes in me.

I’ve never been a daredevil, but this could be the day that changes.

The sun beats down on me, making me wish I had grabbed a hat or sunglasses from my bags. The smell of gasoline mingles with the crisp, salty tang of the sea as I navigate the boat along.

Oh shit . I never asked him for directions to the house.

The rental agency said it’s a quick ride by boat, but what does that mean?

Five minutes? Ten? I’ll have to pay attention to any markers I see.

Turning my head, I notice I’ve barely made any progress, the dock still in sight.

I push the throttle forward again, and the bow lifts slightly as the boat picks up speed, but then it settles into a smooth motion as it glides across the water.

“Whoohoo!” I shout as the wind whips my hair back.

Feeling freer than I have in years, I lose track of time and forget to pay attention to my whereabouts.

By the time I realize my error, there are no houses visible and no other boats around.

However, I do see a small island coming up.

If I can idle near that, I can grab my phone from my bag and make a phone call.

Even though I pulled back on the throttle, I didn’t count on the force of the boat’s momentum or the strength of the current, which are propelling the bow directly toward the island.

I hear the exact moment the bottom scrapes along the rocky shoreline, and it suddenly comes to an abrupt stop.

After a few clunky gasps, the motor makes a choking sound.

I quickly turn the key and pray it’s not ruined.

Oh my God. I’ve run the boat aground and fucked up the motor. Dollar signs flash in front of my eyes, followed by the thought of having to live this humiliation down. At least there are no witnesses. But that also means there’s no one to help me out of this situation.

I grab my tote bag, rifling through it for my phone. Once I turn it on, I search for a signal, and of course, I can’t find one. I pull up my sister’s number and try to call her, but it doesn’t go through.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

My head falls back, and I groan. What if no one finds me, or I’m burned to a crisp before they do? Sunscreen is on my list of items to buy here. I don’t use it at home. Who needs sunscreen when they work from sunrise until sunset?

Dammit. I’ll have to head ashore and find a shady spot to wait out this disastrous situation.

I tuck my phone inside my bra and then remove the life jacket.

I grab my sunglasses and beach hat, putting them both on.

Climbing onto the back of the boat, I lower myself to the swim deck and drop into the cold waist-high water.

“Eek!” I squeal, but after the brutal intensity of the sun, it’s refreshing. I make the trek to the island, marveling at how shallow the water is. Shouldn’t there be signs warning people who aren’t familiar with the area? Am I the only one who’s made this mistake?

My sandals make a squelching sound as I leave the water.

I glance down at the Italian leather and grimace.

They’re probably ruined, but that can’t be helped.

At least the bottom of my feet are protected from the sizzling-hot sand.

My tan linen shorts are stuck to my thighs like a second skin as I make my way inland.

There’s a part of the beach that’s shaded by a thick copse of trees, so I sit down there.

Wrapping my arms around my knees, I stare out at the beautiful blue-green tones of the water, and think about how my dad and my brother will react tomorrow morning when my scheduled email is sent.

I’d better remember to keep my phone off so they can’t guilt me into feeling bad.

Irene is the only one who knows where I am, and I know she won’t tell anyone else.

She made me share my location with her in case she doesn’t hear from me.

I guess I can take solace in knowing that eventually she’ll contact someone when she can’t reach me.

Oh well. For now, there’s nothing for me to do but relax and make the most of the situation.

Three hours later, I’m not feeling so optimistic. I’m hot and cranky, and I’m pretty sure my deodorant has quit working. I’ve waded into the sea numerous times. While it offers a brief respite from the heat, by the time I walk back to the shaded area, I’m hot all over again.

And, God, am I thirsty. I’m so parched, I’ve even contemplated drinking my urine. Briefly contemplated, that is. But I decided I’d rather take my chances and risk death.

I glance at my watch. There are only a few more hours of daylight remaining, and I don’t want to think about what wild animals might live in the woods behind me. Can bears swim well enough to make it over here?

I should sleep on the boat tonight. But what if it somehow loosens and I float out to sea? I’d rather face the possibility of bears.

I should nap now and stay awake when it’s dark.

As soon as I have the thought, I know it’s my best option.

I remove my uncomfortable sandals and sigh with relief.

The wet leather has rubbed my feet raw in several places.

Turning my head sideways, I rest my cheek on my knees and close my eyes.

The sound of the water lapping against the shore slowly lulls me to sleep.