Chapter 6

"I'm not..." I stammered.

"And I wouldn't be here If I thought you would, Stoney! Let's look!" She started through the companionway. I followed. We stood in the main cabin.

"Wow! This is roomy!" she said.

"Yeah, one of the things that sold me. She was at the top end of what I wanted to spend, but once I got in this cabin, I was sold. I like not worrying about bumping my head." I pointed to the port side, aft. "That's a berth. Really comfy for one. I suppose it'd be cozy for two."

She smiled. "I know how they kinda get ambitious describing the sleeping accommodations on boats. I didn't understand why I couldn't fit in between Mom and Dad when I was a kid. Their boat had a V-berth and one like this."

"Then you're familiar with marine toilets?" I asked, pushing the door open to the head.

"Uh-huh, but wasn't there a bath house onshore?" she asked.

"Yeah. That's what I use, but then I'm the guy who has to get the holding tank pumped out."

"I don't want to inconvenience you," I said.

"Stoney," she said, turning to me. "That kiss in the car ... D'ya think you can work up another one?"

"Uh..."

"I don't mean to be forward," she smiled, "but I thought that was a really good kiss."

"I didn't want to take a momentary lapse as some sort of sign," I said.

She stepped towards me. "Sign this," she said, putting her arms around my neck. "Stoney, I really like you. A little kissing is not a momentary lapse." And she kissed me. And I kissed her back. And wrapped my arms around her.

When our lips parted she was right there. Close. Blue eyes. Red lips. Smiling. Wisps and tendrils of a delicate perfume in my nostrils. My feet were firmly planted on the sole of the cabin but I felt like I was falling. Falling. A long, long way.

"Mister Stonewall Jackson, I'm right here. You just went far, far away, but I'm right here."

"I'm very happy you are, Jo."

"Where'd you go, Stoney? Was that kiss ... Am I replacing somebody? Memories?"

"Oh, Jo, nothing like that. Sit down."

"You sit down first." I sat. She sat, too, lounging back in my arms.

She laid her head back against my chest. "Okay, so we're very good friends now. You can talk to me. What's the deal with Stoney and girls?"

"There's no deal, sweet lady," I said. "I've had girlfriends. Don't have any right now, present company excepted. Haven't really had a girlfriend since - oh, in the last few years. Friends who happen to be female, yes. Official girlfriends, no. Nobody applied for the position."

"I did."

"Yes, you did. A very pleasant surprise. When you did it, I felt like we were kids on the schoolyard."

Giggle. "Kinda the way I meant it to feel," she said. "Didn't want you to think I was one of those wild college girls linin' up the night's hook-up."

"I never saw you like that. I would've been terribly shocked to find that out."

"Why?"

"I watched the way you carry yourself around others, especially males. You're friendly enough, but you seem to keep a certain distance. Like a little wall."

"You, sir, jumped my wall." She sighed. "Look, I dated. Even right up until we connected."

"We connected?"

"I'm connected. Are you connected?" She twisted to look into my eyes.

"Exactly how connected can I safely be?"

"Stoney, I can see something in your eyes. It's not about me and you. It's about you. But when I see me and you, I like what I see."

"You've known me a month and a half," I said. "We've been sort of hanging together now for a week."

"Yeah, but you're not the only one that looks, you know. I can see your face change. Like you're guarding against something and you let your guard down and it shows up."

I knew what she was describing and her assessment was accurate. "You're correct. Especially about the 'me and you' part."

"But the other part?"

"That too."

"Stoney, I'm your girlfriend. I care enough to listen to what ever you want to say, whenever you want to say it. That's part of being a friend."

"Don't take this wrong, Jo. You're precious, and I know you're my friend. Some day the time will come that I can try to explain some things."

She flopped over. Planted a kiss on my lips. "But not today. I'm not pushing. Really. I'm just being available." She tilted her head, eyes atwinkle, lips moist. Got another kiss. Several actually, some big, some small, heavily punctuated with sighs.

On a purely recreational level, it was wonderful. Sweet, relaxed, tender, like two people connecting together. Okay, I told myself, just go with it. It's just kissing. She's pretty. You LIKE her. It was my turn to sigh.

Her eyes fluttered open. "See," she said, punctuating with a little fluttery brush of a kiss. "That's one of those 'Stoney's thinking' moments."

"Yes, little one, it was indeed. Stoney was thinking about how absolutely wonderful this is."

"It is, isn't it," she said. "Just like this..."

Sweet. Desirable. A delightful cross between coquettish and demure. "Gosh, princess," I said. One more burning kiss and she sat back.

Tiny beads of perspiration flecked her forehead. "Stoney, I ... Whew!"

"I know, Jo. Exactly."

She giggled. "Mister Stoney! You're cute!"

I smiled. "It's been a long time since somebody called me cute."

"I get to say. So, are we gonna take this thing out today?"

"Sure, change the subject," I laughed.

"Change THIS," she said, pulling me in for another kiss. "That's not what I'm doing. But this thing is your pride and joy and I thought you'd like to show her off."

"Your wish is my command, princess," I said. "Lemme check the oil." I removed the hatch to uncover the little diesel engine and eyeballed the dipstick, then replaced the cover. "Okay, let's get 'er outta here."

I cranked the engine, letting it idle while we untied the mooring lines, then together in the cockpit, I eased the boat out of the slip and we idled out of the little marina. In the channel I increased speed. We worked our way easily past the dockside businesses.

"You're laughing," she said.

"Yeah. Those people staring at us, thinking 'There goes some rich asshole on his yacht.' And I'm not rich."

She laughed. "This is nice. I forgot how nice it is."

"I like it," I said. We cleared the channel and entered the bay, following the markers that told me where the water was deep enough to accommodate the draft of my keel. I explained that to her. She nodded.

"Just take the wheel and keep us between the markers and let me get the cover off the sail," I said.

"'Kay, cap'n," she replied.

I stowed the cover in a locker. "Another two markers and we'll be deep enough to leave the channel," I said. "Then we'll raise the sail."

A few minutes later, we were ready. "Okay, I'm going to raise the sail. You can expect it to pull us off course, so get ready to put some effort into the wheel."

"I think I can handle it," she said. She did a good job. I cleated the sheet securely and rejoined her in the cockpit. We chose an easy reach for a course and I fiddled with the sheet to optimize the sail's draft, then killed the engine.

Bereft of the mechanical noise, the world changed to wind and water and sun. And a smiling freckled face with blue eyes and an outrageous pony tail. Life, at least in the immediate future, was very good. "We'll get a few more days like this before winter," I said. "It's really perfect!"

And I looked at perfection sitting there beside me.

"So where is it you go when you anchor out?"

"South of here. Just get out of the way of the other traffic."

"We oughtta do that, then break out the sandwich stuff."

"Okay, then." I eased off the wind, let Jo take the helm while I made adjustment to the mainsheet, and we put a couple of miles into the open width of the bay, laughing and talking together. Finally, we rounded up into the wind. As the we came to a stop, I dropped the sail into the lazy jacks and tossed the day anchor over the bow. Drifting back, the boat's momentum set the hook and the world was silent except for the whistle of wind in the rigging and the slap of waves against the hull. Well, not completely silent. It never is in the bay. Ocean-going ships course the deep-water channel in the distance and powerboats are a constant aggravation, but we were as close to tranquility as you can get without putting miles between the boat and the shore of the Gulf.

"Sandwiches," she said. And sandwiches it was, and cold drinks and the location of our conversation on the boat directed its content. We talked of day trips and jaunts across the open waters of the Gulf of Mexico and motoring up the channels and canals.

"I wanna do an over-nighter," Jo blurted. I gazed at her, parsing the statement. "There are plenty of places to sleep, so it doesn't have to mean THAT, Stoney. I just have this magical thought about sitting here in the cockpit in the misty morning, sipping a hot cup of coffee and watching the sun on the water."

"I've had those magical moments, but they were always solo. When I bring friends, it's not to spend the night swinging at anchor. The quiet times..."

"You don't want to share?" she asked.

"Oh, certainly not what I mean at all. It's just it takes the right person to share. Somebody who can find the harmony and peace."

"I can play Greig's "Morning Mood" on my flute to wake you up," she smiled.

"Then let's decide on a weekend," I said. "Before it gets too cold. The cabin's heated, but I'm not." I didn't man for that statement to have a double meaning, but she got a wry smile on her face.

"We can just bundle up and motor out here. Drop the anchor, put soup on for dinner, something else for breakfast, and a pot of hot cocoa at night and coffee in the morning. You. Me. Music. You won't have your solitude, but maybe you can stand it for one night."

"You're giving this some thought," I said.

"Uh-huh," she said, nodding and smiling. "We have the same problem, you and I, Stoney. I don't get any 'alone' time either. And I know that being out here with you isn't exactly being alone, but I get the feeling that what it would be is equally good. Maybe better."

"Think so?"

"Yes, I think so. You seem to know how to leave some silence in a moment. And when the moment is over, you know how to break the silence gently, pleasantly."

"That's the best explanation of two people being together that I ever heard, Jo," I said.

"I'm not that way all the time, Stoney," she said. "Sometimes I want to talk and laugh and listen to people's drama and their happiness and things, but sometimes I want to retreat from it." But then I never had the right boyfriend, either..." She smiled at me, almost shyly. "Uh, in that locker I opened, did I see a banjo?"

"Yeah, I said. "it's an old one, but it works."

"Bring it out. You've heard me play. Now it's my turn."

"I'll do it, but seriously, Jo, I'm not nearly as good with it as you are with your flute."

"Wasn't always good, baby," she said. I caught 'baby'. I hadn't been 'baby' to anyone in a decade.

"Okay, then, sweet girl," I said. I went below and came back up with a cheap banjo and sat down beside her. I tuned it up and then played a few riffs to loosen up my fingers, then I started in a simple old folk tune, singing along as I played.

She listened, smile broadening. "You're not bad at all, Stoney. I know that song."

"Sing with me, then." I started back at the beginning and she sang with me, her voice exactly as clear and musical when she was singing as when she was speaking.

"Let me get my flute. I can play along, too. You're in the key of G, right?"

"Uh-huh," I answered. "makes it easy for me."

Shortly she was seated across the cockpit from me, her old high school flute in her hands. "I can watch your fingering so I can see the chord changes."

"Okay. Open is G, this is C, and this is D. Actually, it's D seventh, but close enough."