Two Weeks

by Andrea Wolfe

  Her eyes open mechanically. "Oh, hey. Back already, huh?"

  I nod. "Yeah. I'm going to make some coffee now, okay?"

  The amount of happiness on her face reaches critical mass and I'm worried she'll explode with joy any minute now. "Thank you."

  I go right to work.

  Today we'll go out on the jet skis and goof around. My plan is to fuel them up after breakfast and then lug them out to the water.

  As I start digging in the cupboard for coffee, I realize I'm totally out. Shit. I'll have to pick some up in town along with other supplies if we're actually planning on doing any cooking.

  I run back up the stairs and knock on the half opened door to the bedroom. Ally's still in bed, but she's awake. "Bad news," I say. "I'm all out of coffee."

  "Really?" she whines. "What do we do now?"

  "Get yourself dressed and we'll go out to breakfast."

  She sits up. "That'll work."

  I throw on a t-shirt and change into different shorts, and surprisingly, she's ready at the same time I am because she just puts on the same clothes from yesterday. It's her quirky floral-pattern dress that's both cute and sexy.

  We go to the best breakfast joint in town, a diner-type place. She gets blueberry pancakes, and I get chocolate chip ones. And when the food arrives at the table, we each trade one pancake for the other.

  "They should have a pancake combo," Ally says, excitedly sipping her coffee. I've already downed one cup myself, so I'm feeling pretty good too. "You know; one blueberry, one chocolate chip, and one... some other fruit."

  "Maybe you should try them first before you start re-working the menu," I remind her.

  "Oh, yeah." She takes a big bite of the chocolate chip one she stole from me. "Yep, just as I suspected—perfect. Too addictive. Let's complain to management."

  The rest of breakfast goes smoothly, and despite her intent to complain, Ally doesn't say anything. I can only assume she forgot.

  We leave the restaurant and stop by the only supermarket in town. The wine selection is fairly limited, but there’s some decent stuff. With Ally's help, I grab two bottles and some coffee and we make our way toward the front.

  "Should I get any food?" I ask. "Do you think we'll actually cook while we're here?"

  Ally shrugs. She's standing next to a huge, towering display of cheap beer and it makes her look so tiny. "I mean, I would definitely be okay with eating at that breakfast place again."

  "That's only one meal out of a possible three per day. And that doesn't count snacks."

  An intense look of concentration breaks out on her face. If I didn't know better, I'd assume she was trying to do some upper level calculus. "Uh, let's grab some snacks. Yeah. Hummus and chips or something. We've got like six more meals before we leave, and we might want something late at night."

  "All right."

  We stroll over to the refrigerated section and find some hummus, and then grab some pita bread on the way to the front. It's nothing fancy, but it'll do.

  After we're home and the food is put away, I tell her to suit up.

  "What are we doing?" she asks.

  "Today is jet ski day," I remind her enthusiastically. "It's gorgeous out there. You're gonna love it."

  She gives me a tentative look. "Do you really think I can handle that?"

  "It's less manly than you think. They're stupidly easy to run. Kids figure them out in seconds."

  "What if it storms or something? While we're out there?"

  As usual, she's vacillating. "Go put on your suit and some sunscreen. You gotta trust me on this."

  She shrugs and takes a deep breath and rolls her eyes all at once. "Okay, fine. But if I hate it, I'm coming right back."

  "Fair enough," I say. "I only said try, not spend ten hours roaming the coastline."

  I throw on my bathing suit and some sunscreen and head out to the shed. It's right next to the water, so I don't have to drag the jet skis far. I fuel them up and make sure everything looks in order. I'm not sure when they were last used, so it's important for me to do a quick maintenance check.

  The life vests are hanging on the wall. I grab two of them, one pink, one blue. By the time I come out of the shed, Ally is standing there, impatient look on her face, clad in that same dark blue bikini that drove me wild yesterday. Her eyes are hidden behind big sunglasses.

  "I can't believe I'm agreeing to this."

  I let out a hearty laugh. "Oh, you'll love it. Believe me. Probably never thought you'd enjoy an MMA fight either, right?"

  It's obvious that she hates that I'm bringing this up. "Okay, okay. You're so right. You clearly know me better than I do."

  "That's what I thought." I toss her the pink life vest.

  "What's this for?" she asks. "I can swim."

  "If you get knocked unconscious, you might not be able to swim."

  She stares back, and then finally shrugs. "All right. I guess I'll stop complaining," she says proudly. I breathe a sigh of relief. She puts on the life vest and tightens the straps.

  I pull her jet ski toward the water, just enough that it's still resting on the sand. "Okay, hop on and put your feet into those wells."

  She takes my hand and climbs on, getting into position. When she's situated, I continue with my instructions.

  "The throttle is right there." I point to her right hand. "Wrap the engine stop key around your wrist."

  "Like a treadmill?"

  "Right." This comparison seems to excite her. "Turn by rotating the handles. It's pretty intuitive."

  "Where's the brake?" she asks.

  I give her a wry smile. "There isn't one."

  "Hey!" she whines. "I thought you said—"

  "The force of the water against the front is enough to stop you when you want to. You just go, and then you ease up. That's how it works. Press that start button when you're ready."

  "I'm not ready yet," she says matter-of-factly.

  "No problem. So press it when you are." I shove her forward and she squeals as she floats out into the water.

  I grab my jet ski and slowly push it forward until it's floating. I keep it level and climb on. Ally is still waiting for me, and she doesn't look too thrilled.

  "Oh, one more thing," I say. "If you're worried about crashing into something, don't let off the throttle entirely. The steering stops working if you do that. Just keep some throttle as you turn."

  "Anything else, Captain?" she asks sarcastically.

  "Uh, if you fall off, flip the jet ski over so it's not submerged for too long."

  "This is so complicated." She's staring down at the very basic controls like she's trying to read Latin.

  "And how many zillions of rules are there when you drive a car?"

  "Okay. I'm gonna shut up now and press the start button."

  "Go for it." We both press the buttons at the same time and the engines roar to life. I hear her giggling almost immediately.

  "Give it some throttle," I shout.

  Ally squeezes the trigger way too hard and zips off into the water, her hair flying behind her back. I hear screams, but I'm not sure if they're of ecstasy or fear.

  I hit the throttle and trail behind her, passing her almost immediately. She's like a beginner driving a car in a parking lot, constantly starting and stopping as she gets a feel for it.

  "Smooth!" I shout. I'm not sure if she can even hear me.

  I ride out toward some deeper water and she follows. There's a rock wall and a boundary line that we can follow along the shore for a while. The air is full of seagulls that cast tiny shadows on the water.

  I always love soaking up the smells and sights of the open water and I'm hoping that she's deriving some enjoyment from this.

  My pace is steady, not too slow or fast. We cruise along together and when we reach the rock wall, I slow down and allow her to catch up. I kill the throttle and just float. "Are you doing okay?" I shout.

  "I think so," she says weakly. "I'm not so jerky anymore."


  "Good. Let's go along the rocks. Keep some distance from them."

  I kick on the throttle again and she follows, staying right beside me this time. We cruise along the rocks for several miles, going at a fairly brisk pace. The skies are totally clear—and the jet skis are full of gas—so I'm not too concerned about how far we travel.

  It's a great view of all of the fancy beachside mansions, some that are barely visible from the road due to the dense woods surrounding them. Rich folks love their privacy, but they also want direct access to the beach.

  I keep my eyes trained on Ally as we go. She seems to be staring off into space like I am, enjoying the gorgeous, sprawling views of uncluttered land and water. It's proving to be a great time, at least from what I can tell.

  We bounce along the surface of the water, and I swear I see a big smile break out on her face. She speeds up and starts to pass me. I give her the middle finger and let her get in front.

  The land takes a sharp turn and we keep going. Ally is leading now, but it's only because I want to keep an eye on her. She's no longer a neophyte, handling the water like a semi-pro. I'm impressed.

  I start to lose myself in the familiar, comforting hum of the engine. I used to love bringing friends up here to ride on the water with me when I was younger, and most of the time, Jeff was my guest.

  Well, only after we were old enough for my dad to trust us.

  I don't focus on Jeff for long, however, because it doesn't matter anymore. I'd much rather think about Ally.

  When I finally come back to my senses, I wonder how long I've been on autopilot. Ally leads the way as we fly along a chunk of forest that touches the water directly. Huge trees dangle near the water, depositing big branches in the water that sometimes turtles use as tanning beds.

  After we're past the forest, it's a straightaway and Ally starts going faster and faster until I start to feel a bit unnerved.

  It's not like I can send her a text to tell her to slow down. I don't know what the hell she's smoking, but I'm a bit concerned.

  We hit another sharp turn and pass some jagged rocks. I bite my tongue the whole time as I watch her handle it, but she makes it out okay. And then she flips right over. Hard.

  Upright one second, gone the next.

  Panic hits me like a drug, every blood vessel, artery, vein, capillary, whatever, flushing my body full of red hot fear. It's like a fire poker in my guts.

  "Fuck!" I scream. I slam the throttle and head toward her crash site, trying to keep enough distance so that I don't accidentally hit her. My heart is in my throat—and it's pounding.

  Once I've reached a safe distance, I hit the stop button and dive off the jet ski and into the waves. I still don't see her. I can't stop thinking about how sharp the rocks look.

  Everything happens in slow motion. I don't know how long she's been submerged. Seconds? Minutes? I flip over her jet ski, righting it so she can grab on to the back when I find her. At the very least, the engine is off, so at least something has gone right.

  And then I notice her pink life vest floating there on the surface—without her in it. I continue freaking out.

  I battle the waves as hard as I can, the water fighting me, pushing me to and fro. My hands chop right through it, but it's much stronger than I am, even with all my training.

  I've finally met a superior foe.

  The doctor's orders no longer matter to me. I dive under the water, searching, reaching, grabbing for Ally. Nothing. I can't find her.

  I'm terrified. Maybe she hit a rock when she fell off and she's lying at the bottom of the lake, bleeding to death and drowning simultaneously. If I can't find her soon, she's going to die there.

  My arms furiously beat the water. I let out a howl of frustration as I come to the surface again.

  "What the hell are you yelling about?"

  The words startle me as much as her crash did.

  "Huh?"

  There she is, holding the jet ski, smiling like nothing happened at all. "Holy shit, that was great! I haven't had that much fun in years. You were so right. High five!"

  "Ally!" I shout in frustration. "I was worried you were dead!" I'm still riled up, but seeing her alive instantly brings me some much needed respite. "I was certain you were."

  "I'm okay. That damn strap on the life vest didn't hold though. Luckily I can swim, as I told you before." She stops to catch her breath, still rising and falling as she swims. "I'm not ready to expire just yet. Now you know how I felt the other night."

  "God, I'm insane," I say. I keep my feet kicking, holding me above the water. "Yeah, I guess I get it now." Reality hits me like a ton of bricks.

  People fall off jet skis all the time and it's no big deal. In fact, it's never been a big deal until now. I'm clearly losing my mind.

  "Let's go again!" she says.

  I can't match her excitement right now, but I don't think I have a choice.

  "Make sure the vest is secure this time." I laugh to myself and swim back to my own jet ski. We both climb back onto our rides. The life vest is in her hand and she puts in back into place and tightens it properly.

  Relief comes quickly.

  It's clear that she figured out what to do with her key because the next time I try to speak, I'm interrupted by the roar of the engine—and the image of Ally disappearing into the horizon.

  All I think about the rest of the time we're flying around the lake is how much Ally has changed in such a short amount of time. When I think about her pessimism and whining less than an hour ago, it feels like an old, worn out memory. Like a movie on a VHS tape that's been reused a thousand times.

  And while I don't quite know who this emerging person is, I really like her.

  I quickly remember that she's leaving at the end of the week, going home to Boston where regular life awaits her. She'll just forget about all of this and re-acclimate to that other existence, to that other world.

  She'll forget about us in no time.

  Well, I hope that's not the case. I hope with every cell of my body that it's not the case.

  I don't know what I'm gonna do when she's gone.

  ***

  Ally

  "Please! Oh, God!"

  No, we're not having sex, but I'm sure we will later—well if Jackson isn't scarred forever from the pain. Every time I dab rubbing alcohol on his cut, he whines like a baby. He didn't have hydrogen peroxide on hand, so we had to use what was available.

  "You're the one that said to go ahead with the rubbing alcohol!" I complain.

  "Fuck," he says, staring down at the floor. "Well, you're the one that was riding like a maniac and made me jump in to save you."

  The cotton ball is soaked, and I've just barely touched him. I've got at least another inch to go. "I didn't actually need saving, thank you."

  "Whatever," he grumbles. "I'm still not sure if this is better than an infection or not."

  "Oh, it's definitely better than an infection," I say. "Plus, this is really close to your brain, and you wouldn't want all that nasty stuff to start eating away at your—"

  "Okay, okay," he says, cutting me off. "No more. Just do it no matter what I say. Do it all at once. Cover the whole length of the cut."

  "Are you sure about that?" I ask.

  He stares back, unfazed. "Yes. Do it." The muscles tighten in his neck as he swallows.

  I discard the used cotton ball in the trash and grab a fresh one. I press it up to the bottle and let it soak until it's dripping into the sink. The situation calls for drastic measures and I'm ready to take them.

  I'm fully aware that he's going to hate this. He's going to despise it. "I'm so sorry," I say as I lean in and gently kiss his cheek...

  ...and then I do it.

  "Aww, fuck! Mother of God! Holy shit! Fuck, fuck, fuck!" His string of obscenities sprawls toward infinity. It's like the Mount Everest of profanity.

  Jackson jolts and knocks the cotton ball out of my hand onto the floor. He grips the chair like he's going to
die if he lets go and I'm worried he's going to totally destroy it by the time the pain subsides.

  But somehow, it holds together, that good old, reliable wooden kitchen chair. Thankfully, I got the whole cut at once, stitches and all. My work is done.

  "Just breathe," I say weakly. It's the only advice I've got.

  "I'm definitely breathing," he says with a huff. "Oww!" He stamps his foot on the ground like an angry stallion—or an arachnophobe crushing a huge tarantula beneath their boot.

  "You're doing great," I say, but it's only a platitude. His expression is flushed with anger, yet so pallid. I watch his muscles clench as he copes with the pain.

  Finally, after what seems like an eternity, he lets out a gigantic breath and leans back in the chair. "Oh my God," he says, wincing. "That was the worst pain I've ever felt in my life, and I've definitely felt my share of pain."

  I kiss his cheek again. "You'll be just fine, champ. Walk it off. I can handle you."

  Jackson slowly rises to his feet and rests his hands on my shoulders. "I don't know where all this gusto came from all the sudden, but I'm really liking it." He grips my butt and pulls me toward him—and he's rock hard already.

  I smirk at him. "God, Jackson," I say wryly, "you really like pain, huh? Maybe you were meant to be the submissive one all along. Do you need a spanking now?"

  He's not amused. His eyes are firm, swallowing me like a shot of whiskey. "No, I don't think that's what I had in mind."

  "So what did you have in mind?" I ask.

  He breaks our embrace and tilts his head toward the mirror, trying to survey the work I've done. It's an awkward angle, but he still tries. "Well," he says matter-of-factly, continuing his examination, "I was going to carry you into the living room, drop you on the couch, rip off your clothes, and make you come until you pass out."

  "I don't know," I say. "I'm not sure about all of that." I still feel playful and I want to toy with him.

  Defeat crawls across his face like a miserable shroud. "You don't wanna do all that? Really?"

  "Well, it's just part of it," I say, "that I have a problem with." Jackson turns his attention back to me, away from his image in the mirror.