Sundial

by C. F. Fruzzetti

  “Oh good, that’s when the Ink Well meets? Now I don’t have to pay as much attention to those after school announcements.” He gave me a sideways glance and a satisfied smile. The image of the cognac bottle my dad kept on top of his bar came to mind as I drank in the liquid brown color of his eyes in the sun.

  I immediately regretted giving him a cheat sheet. I had given that information away too easily. I looked over at him and said flirtatiously, “You are too much.”

  “Now, you can’t judge me before you try me,” he teased. He mirrored my flirting with ease and obvious pleasure. He shifted the car and his flirtation into higher gear. “Go ahead. I give you permission to kiss me if you want. Unless you are too scared I’ll knock you off your feet. It’s happened before—but who knows? Maybe you’ll be different.”

  What an interesting but infuriating strategy. He was trying to goad me into kissing him? Unbelievable!

  “What are you trying to say? That I shouldn’t decide to dismiss you without some kind of kiss assessment first?” The minute I heard the words floating in the air with my own ears I wished I could retract them. I cringed, knowing it was too late.

  “A test, huh? Sure, you can test me all you want. I’ll warn you that I expect to ace it. I’m not just a dumb jock, you know,” he responded with unconcealed delight. Reid’s playfulness pulsed with confidence. I felt cornered. I scrambled for a diversion as we pulled into the parking lot.

  I patted down my Umbros, pretending to feel for a pencil. “Too bad I don’t have any number two pencils. I can’t take a test without the required materials. Maybe another time. Thanks for the ride.” I smiled as I flew out of the car. For the first time in my life, not having one of the specified pencils required for standardized tests came in handy. I heard Reid exhale in frustration.

  Somehow, I kept my cool as I walked away. He was upping the ante and I could only stall for so long. I had to hurry up and make up my mind. I didn’t want a kiss to make my decision for me. That was why I had been dodging him for this long.

  Reid was not my first kiss or my first boyfriend. Reid was the first guy that made my instincts tingle and my intuition buzz with distraction. I counted on my perceptions of people to shortcut my ability to anticipate their actions, but with Reid I was only learning he was more complicated than he liked to appear—a strategy I employed myself. I wondered if I had to finally admit I had met my match.

  Later that night, I gave Blair a synopsis of our flirtatious car exchange to gain her insight. I valued her opinion because she was always objective and not an easy mark.

  Blair confirmed what I already knew. “At this point, you’ve got to give it a shot. The bottom line is that you won’t know if he’s been playing you until you put more of yourself into the game. I think you should stop being so hesitant—take the risk,” Blair said thoughtfully. Then she added, “I can’t believe I am saying that to you, of all people. I usually am giving you the opposite advice!”

  “I know. It sounds terrible, but with other guys it was almost too easy. Not only were they so easy to figure out, but once I did I was so unimpressed with what I found. They were either boring, shallow, materialistic, lazy, or controlling. You know, the list goes on and none of it was great. I could stay plenty of steps ahead of them without getting hurt. And I didn’t have to worry about their identities taking up so much space that they crushed my own. I am being cautious because I have a lot more to lose this time. I don’t want to give away my heart to have it trampled on,” I explained. I had been trying to reconcile this for weeks with no clear answer. “Do I sound like a head case?”

  “Look, if anyone can do it, you can. I understand what you are saying but I think Reid is as into you as you are into him. The entire school has noticed that he is pursuing you. You are too self-aware to make a fool of yourself. Don’t worry, though, I would also be there to tell you if you were,” she said with a laugh.

  “That’s not what I’m afraid of but I know I can count on you for that!” I chuckled.

  “Besides, I’m sure he will get you a great birthday present,” Blair added. “What’s wrong with a rich boyfriend?”

  “Thanks, ‘Material Girl.’ I want to know the value of his character, not the amount in his bank account,” I answered, laughing at her joke. “It would be easier if Reid weren’t so popular and wealthy. Those two things are an unwanted distraction. I want to know what he can do without a limitless ATM card.”

  “Are you sure your dad is a Republican?” Blair kidded again. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. You aren’t going to be able to see his character if you keep holding him at arm’s length. You’re going to have to get up close and personal. Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” she admonished in a singsong voice.

  “I know,” I said. “So if he asks me out—I say yes, right?”

  “That is dating 101 I believe,” Blair teased, pointing out the obvious. “There is a difference between flirting with an objective and just being a flirt because you are bored. Either go out with him or cut the cord.”

  “I can see you rolling your eyes through the phone,” I complained. It was nice to have the affirmation that I had sized up Reid as much as I could for as long as possible. I wasn’t risk adverse; I was trying to make an educated choice. My willpower and defenses were weakening.

  The next day I found four number two pencils firmly taped to the outside of my locker. I burst out laughing and took them off. As predicted, he was making sure I had no excuse not to go out with him—unless I was really not interested, which was not the case.

  I looked over and found him staring at me. I now felt excruciatingly self-conscious. He approached my locker with a satisfied smile on his face. He knew I was starting to cave. With nowhere to go and no way to backpedal, I lamely covered my face in my hands to hide.

  “You’re out of excuses, Professor Whitney Forbes. I’m taking you out for a boat ride at ten a.m. Saturday. I’ll take care of everything. Food, pencils, erasers, Scantron sheets, life vests…” he teased. “I don’t have a study guide so I am going to have to wing it. But I tend to perform well under pressure. Really, really well.”

  I leaned against my locker, turning bright red. I knew he said exactly what he was thinking—and it stunned me. I never did that. It was a different kind of courage. All the relevant numbers of my locker combination spilled out of my head like an overturned drink. I couldn’t remember them if my life depended on it. I would have liked to be able to pop open the flimsy piece of sheet metal and crawl inside the narrow tin box.

  “Fine,” I said as dispassionately as possible. All the people milling around us through the crowded locker banks seemed to fade into the background. Reid must have been pretty sure his pencil move would work. He was confident I wasn’t going to shoot him down in front of an audience.

  “I’ll go out with you on Saturday. But I am not promising you anything.” I tried to sound glib to reduce my level of discomfort. He leaned in closely toward me and the delight in his luxuriate brown eyes melted me on the spot.

  “Don’t worry,” he said in a hushed, dreamy voice. “I get my kisses the old-fashioned way. I earn them,” he mocked, repeating the tag line of the Smith Barney commercial I had lobbed at him weeks earlier. My throat felt dry as I tried to cough up a retort. No words would form, so I settled for crossing my arms defensively and glaring at him.

  “It’s just a date—not the end of world, you know,” he said with a satisfied smile. He gave me a gentle tap on the tip of my nose with one of the pencils I had been holding in my hands. I stared blankly at my locker. I couldn’t remember the combination.

  “Sixteen, twenty-three, seven, right?” Reid asked. He moved in front of me and set the black wheel of white numbers in motion. He gave the metal handle a quick jerk and the door swung open. I had not told him my combination.

  Chapter Three: Launch

  I sighed quietly to myself in frustration. The glimpse of water didn’t work its magic. Usually the river calmed me but the
glint of brightness I saw in between the luxury boats did nothing to soothe the tightness in my chest.

  I got out of the car, hoping the breeze might blow away my apprehension. The familiar scent grounded me. I recognized the fragrance of the ebbing tide: the rocky shore was spritzed in its perfume of moist decay and earthy mud. I fell under its spell of recognition. I knew the river like an old friend and I was grateful for the company. It helped when I didn’t feel so alone with him.

  “Don’t worry about me, I got it,” he called with lighthearted sarcasm behind me. I turned around and saw his point. He was hefting a cooler in one hand and a picnic basket in the other. A backpack was slung over his shoulder. He didn’t appear to be struggling but looked overloaded. I stifled a laugh and waited for him.

  “I thought you would have staff for that,” I joked as he approached. I reached for the handle of the picnic basket. The woven basket was all I had seen in the car. I almost needed two hands to carry it but I was too proud to actually do it. He had held the basket like it was empty or only held two sandwiches. That was not the case. It was another reminder that I had to stop making assumptions.

  “But then again, I don’t know which dinghy is yours. Am I going in the wrong direction?”

  “No, it’s that canoe over there. I hope you don’t mind paddling,” he said, even though he continued across the grass toward the luxurious boat. I saw the smile breaking onto his face.

  Sanctuary bobbed in a slow curtsy as she tugged on her ropes. The rumors were true, I thought, appraising the sleek boat. She was beautiful, poised and extravagant. The cursive script of her name was as ornate as some of the handles of my mother’s favorite silver serving spoons.

  “Oh! So that’s what you meant when you said you were taking me for lunch out on the river? No, I don’t mind paddling. Thanks for bringing me lunch. This is more than enough for me,” I bantered conversationally. “What a relief. I thought you were going to try to foolishly impress me with your yacht or something.”

  Reid gave me a sideways smile and bounded onto Sanctuary. The large boat rocked with his weight. “Try as you might, you are not getting out of this now, Whitney,” he said, holding out his hand so I could climb aboard.

  I didn’t want to short-circuit myself with the inevitable jolt from the physical connection. I handed him the basket instead and jumped on by myself. The shrill gulls cried their warning calls and my edginess returned. I felt like a bird was flapping in my ribcage. I cursed my overactive flight instinct. I needed to focus and not hyperventilate. Not everything had been decided. The future was always changing.

  “I guess it is a good thing we aren’t going out in the canoe. Obviously, you don’t know how to travel light—that cooler alone would sink us,” I said with a smile. Reid picked up the cooler to put it inside the cabin.

  “Should I take that to mean you aren’t hungry for lunch? Have you stuffed yourself on another breakfast full of hot air or did you remember to eat your Pop Tarts?” Reid teased. I arched an eyebrow. He paid attention to details.

  “I did have my Pop Tarts. I can’t imagine what it must be like for you, though. What’s it like to have a silver spoon in your mouth? Are you in a perpetual state of hunger?” I zinged back. I forgot I was anxious when I had to think fast. Mulling things over got me into trouble.

  “I can do the lines if you want,” I offered. My eyes took in the neat cleat hitch knot holding Sanctuary in her slip. I was proficient in knots and if Reid had tied the cleat hitch I could see he knew something about boating.

  “Sure, if you think you can handle it,” Reid agreed from inside the cabin. He pulled out the keys and started the motor. Sanctuary was in the last slip in front of the channel; it couldn’t be easier to get out of the marina. I coiled up the dock lines and pulled in the fenders, knowing that he probably thought I was trying to figure this stuff out for the first time. I climbed up to the fly deck.

  Once we were underway, I surreptitiously glanced at Reid. It was getting to be a hard habit to break. The breeze was blowing back his dark hair and his red shirt pressed against him. He had a jaunty smile on his face and he looked pleased with himself. The orange tinge of his sunglasses covered up his eyes. They also hid his long eyelashes that were an unexpected foil to his masculine features.

  I had conjured up his face in my mind more times than I cared to admit. I had decided his lashes were what made him the most endearingly handsome. His lips almost made it a tie—they were perfectly proportioned, rugged and sensual. I diverted my attention to a passing boat and waved.

  Reid looked surprised that I knew the unspoken boating etiquette. I hadn’t volunteered that I had grown up on the water. Being enigmatic was comfortable camouflage and I was used to keeping information to myself. Reid’s quick mind and sharp eye made me especially cautious. I was figuring out he was not as self-absorbed as he seemed. Maybe both of us liked camouflage, I thought.

  The boat rounded the wide turn and I looked left to see the proud white plantation with the red roof high on the grassy knoll. I never tired of the unobstructed view of Mount Vernon from the Potomac River. It looked regal and dignified in the bright sun. I thought about the tourists waiting in line for hours in the rising heat with no idea that the historic residence was accurate: inside there was no air conditioning. It made me glad to hear the increase in pitch of the motor. We were picking up speed and the wind cooled me off as I took in the view from the fly deck.

  I felt my heart rate returning to normal. The motor made it too loud to talk and I was content to rest my eyes on the tranquility of the protected parkland of the Maryland side. The trees blurred together in a swathe of green. I lulled myself into complacency as I thought about how effortlessly the boat’s hull cut through the water.

  Ahead, I saw Fort Washington. The old fort stood its ground across the river from Mount Vernon. George Washington had ordered the construction of the stalwart building to protect the city of Alexandria, and the fort’s thick walls remained imposing and intimidating. It was two hundred years later. Now, in 1988, the National Park Service owned it.

  Automatically, I smiled as I saw the rickety lighthouse in front of the fort. I admired the battered marker for its resilience and knew its location was where Swan and Piscataway creeks merged into the Potomac. It was another welcome and familiar sight.

  “That’s Fort Washington,” Reid announced as he slowed the boat a bit. He tilted his head toward the point and the lighthouse. “I would assume you recognize Mount Vernon?”

  “Oh, is that what it is called?” I asked, toying with him. “Yes, I do recognize it. Can’t be sure where exactly the name got drilled into me. Either from the countless field trips or all the times I saw it in history books. Somehow, it finally sunk in.”

  Reid grinned and we turned north. The Virginia shoreline of overdeveloped real estate reflected the gorged materialism and the binge of extravagance that embodied the decade of greed. These castle-like residences presided over manicured lawns and private pools. The houses and grounds always looked deserted, except for the landscaping crews in matching shirts and pants sometimes skirting through the shrubbery. I felt cold looking at them. I couldn’t tell which one was Reid’s from the water. I guessed that it was a sign of his good manners that he didn’t point it out as part of the tour.

  I knew his had to be one without a private pier, since his family kept Sanctuary at the yacht club. Most of the houses we were passing had multiple piers and jet skis. The expensive water toys rusting with disuse were not nearly as excessive as the hydraulic lifts that held the Miami Vice cigarette boats out of the water. It was silly to keep boats that powerful on a river; it was like buying a Ferrari and putting it on blocks in the garage.

  In a decade of posturing and decadence, the belief that life was short was the unspoken undercurrent. People were numbing themselves to the fact we were on the cusp of nuclear war with status, food, drugs, and luxury. A purchase fix did nothing for me. I craved experience. I wanted something
authentic that was worthy of my trust, reliance, and belief. Frankly, I doubted it existed.

  That was why I was not dazzled by a boat ride even though Sanctuary was definitely not any boat. I didn’t even know if Sanctuary could still be called a boat. That word didn’t seem big enough. Like Reid, she was powerful and striking. She had a presence that made others envious. All of that made it hard not to think of myself as a hypocrite. I had just been mildly revolted by the garish display of materialism while sitting on a gleaming boat next to the richest guy in school.

  Thankfully, my sunglasses cut the blinding glare of the polished metal, white deck, and white seats piped in silver. My sunglasses didn’t help me with the brilliance of his smile, and I couldn’t resist giving him one in return when he offered me the wheel.

  We were now in the widest stretch of the channel. I could see up river to the distant and hazy outline of the Woodrow Wilson Bridge. The George Washington Parkway ran parallel to the river and flashes of cars raced by in between trees and houses. It was before noon so the river was not too crowded. Reid was probably thinking there was little chance I would go aground or crash into someone else. It was a safe bet.

  I slid in front of him to take the stainless steel wheel. He stood up and lingered for a moment. It was a rush of power, adrenaline and excitement. I wasn’t sure if it was from taking the helm or our close proximity or both.

  “Just keep the wheel straight,” he gently directed, his hand resting on it. The wheel looked small in his grip.

  “Aye, aye, Captain,” I mocked. “The channel is deep now that we are beyond Piscataway Creek and the lighthouse. The prop and the hull should be fine as long as there are no logs.” I enjoyed saying it. I knew it would knock him off balance.

  He looked at the dark instrument screen of his depth finder, which electronically registered the distance to the bottom of the river. It was turned off. I could feel his eyes studying me for more details as it began to dawn on him that I already knew it was Fort Washington when he pointed it out. “Oh, come here often?” he joked.