Chapter 4

So kayaking was fun. Finding out that Jen looked good in shorts was good. Finding out that she can laugh and look good when SOMEBODY deliberately (I'm certain it was deliberate) flips a kayak and dumps both occupants into a cool river with a sandy bottom and she emerges with her cotton shirt soaked and revealing tantalizing bits that aren't covered by that sport flotation vest, that's good, too.

"What was that?" I asked, gathering the little ice chest floating next to the overturned kayak.

"It started getting hot. The water looks so inviting. I haven't been swimming in so long I can't remember when." Titter. "The ice chest was latched. Didn't figure it'd go far." Open giggle. "You mad, bro?"

"Decidedly not. Lets drag this thing onto the bank for a while. And you can ditch that floatation vest while we're not in the boat." Okay, just maybe I had an ulterior motive. I'm not dead, and from the tease of seeing bits of flesh through the patches of visible wet cotton, she flipped the vest off and gave me a full view. Sports bra under her cotton shirt kept me from going insane on the spot.

I don't know if she intended the effect she had. Not at first. Then her eyes connected with mine and she crossed her arms over her chest for a second, bashful. Then, "Oh, what am I worried about? Those girls over there are showing more than this." The girls were probably college aged, with a couple of similarly aged guys, twenty yards away on this little isolated sandbar. With that statement, she raised her arms straight out from her shoulders and let herself fall backward into the water. She stood up. "Weeeeee!!!!"

What the heck. I splashed face first, letting the cool water envelope me. It felt good. Watching Jen, though, made me feel like a twelve year old kid again.

We splashed around, swam, played in the river until the sun started down behind the trees. A kayak on the river after dark is both illegal and quite possibly fatal with powerboats zipping around blind, so I sidled over near Jen. She turned towards me, stepping awfully close. Her face, bright, fresh, smiling ... I almost ... No, I had to be mistaken.

"I guess we need to paddle ourselves back," I said. Mistaken again? I almost convinced myself that ... no, I had to be wrong. I handed her a vest, then donned my own.

Jen climbed onto the kayak as I pushed us back into the river, and paddles flashing, we began our trip back.

She could've HIT me with the paddle and gotten less effect than her next words. Chuck, why'd you stop?"

I played stupid. Maybe I WAS stupid. "Stop what?"

"You almost kissed me. You stopped."

"Is that what happened?"

"You're not a bit transparent, you know..."

"Okay. Guilty. Sorry."

"So why'd you stop?"

"Because I met you yesterday. You were in distress. I am not taking advantage of your delicate state."

"Oh, boy, Chuck LeBert! You're soooo full of it! It was ... was ALMOST a kiss. It's not like you were tossing me onto the sand and screwing my brains out. A kiss. Not a marriage proposal. Just a kiss."

"Didn't feel right to do that. I thought I was mistaken. Misreading you."

"Maybe. But it's a beautiful day. I am enjoying myself. You're a pretty good-looking guy, you've made me happy. A kiss wouldn't've been so bad."

I remained silent.

"You're my friend, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Friends can kiss."

"Guys who rescue girls from the side of the road don't take advantage..."

Giggle. " ... of my delicate state."

"Oh, suuuure! Make fun of me."

"Not making fun of you. It's just cute, a guy actually trying to be decent. Not used to it."

"I'm sorry."

"What? You're sorry you try to be decent?"

"No. I'm sorry I missed the opportunity."

Paddle. Paddle. Paddle. Think. Think. Think.

"You're not talking," she said.

"Some of those nursing 'powers of observation', no doubt."

"Yep! I got 'em!"

"Jen, I should've kissed you. I wanted to, but I just don't want to push myself on you when you're in a bind. I didn't help you because I wanted something in return."

"I get that," she said.

Paddle. Paddle. "I didn't want to grab you right out of your previous relationship."

"Previous is an operative term," Jen snorted. "Was over weeks ago. He ... I told 'im to get the hell out. He did, mostly."

"Conjugal visits?"

"Kinda personal there, aren't we?"

"Sorry. It was. Not my business."

"Short answer – NO! Longer answer – HELL, NO!" She looked back over her shoulder. "Threw him out. For good. Got myself smeared and sampled and tested to make sure that I didn't have any sort of Bert cooties, and I kept my legs closed."

I'm parsing this and thinking 'She's telling me this. Why?' My mind ran through a list of possibilities. I couldn't think of a response that made sense, so I didn't say anything.

Noting my silence, she asked "TMI?"

"TMI?"

"Too much information. Sometimes I start talking. It's nice to have somebody who listens, but you, Chuck LeBert, have a trait of not giving any feedback."

"Oh, well, really, Jen! What am I supposed to say to that last little soliloquy? You're discussing that you've been celibate for a few weeks during which time you've had yourself tested for cooties? Am I supposed to be like 'Wow! That's great!' or 'Yes, that's quite sensible.' Or 'And everything came back negative?' Or what?"

"Soliloquy? Wow! A man with a vocabulary."

"And..."

"I dunno, Chuck. Sometimes I start talking and words just come out in a river." She sighed. I watched her shoulders heave with the sigh. "I actually talk to you and you listen and let me talk and don't get off telling me how I'm wrong and then twisting the conversation around to yourself." She paused. "I'm doing it again, aren't I?"

"No, Jen. You're talking. I'm listening. People do that sometimes."

"Well, I like it, Chuck. I like today. I like that you took me to get my stuff and then we had this perfectly crazy delightful afternoon and you didn't get crazy when I flipped us into the river."

"I knew you did it on purpose," I laughed. "I wasn't sure you wanted to swim, but it was a great idea."

"Felt like I was twelve again," Jen said.

Okay, Chuck, go ahead: "You must've been a cute twelve year old. You smiled a lot."

"You just don't know, Chuck. Dad used to take Mom and me to the river in the summer. This reminded me of that. And ever since I made Bert leave, I've been living by myself, trying to get things together so I could get out of there. Today sort of makes me feel like I succeeded."

"My karma thanks you," I said as we rounded the bend to the landing.

The kayak was tossed into the back of the truck and tied down and Jen slid in on the passenger side of the truck. We're heading home.

"Dinner?" I queried.

'"On the way? We're hardly dressed. Unless you're thinking about a drive-through."

"How about home for a quick shower, and then find someplace nice?"

"Chuck, you spent too much on me last night."

"I'm not running a tally," I said. "What might tickle your palate?"

"You know a good Chinese buffet?"

"I know a couple."

"Bert didn't like Chinese. Called it 'gook food'. I'd like some Chinese."

"Then that's what we'll do. The place I have in mind has a Mongolian grill and a sushi bar, too."

"You're turnin' a girl's head, Chuck."

"Purely unintentional, Jen," I replied.

"You sure, Chuck? Not even a little teeny tiny bit of motive?"

"Other than liking your face with a smile on it? I mean, if I'm gonna be around you, I'd much rather you be smiling."

"It doesn't take you spending a lot of money on me."

"Oh, don't get weird on me, Jen. We go home, make do with what's in the house, start cooking something fast, or we clean ourselves up and pay a little to let somebody else do the cooking and the cleanup. Not a hard choice in my mind. Not hard at all." And I catch what I just said and I'm thinking that if I saw too much more of Jen in a wet shirt, something would be hard (again).

"Well, since you put it THAT way," she acquiesced. "I'll let you feed me again." With that, she turned the truck's stereo on. Saturday, the public radio station's programming was spotty, and this time it was one of those 'world music' programs. She listened in silence.

Finally, she said, "I'm just not wired for that."

'That' was something that was supposedly all the rage in Africa, the sounds grating, discordant and alien to my ear.

"Not my bag either. This is where I usually turn that thing off or punch up something on the iPod."

"No, let's listen to this and bitch about it." She was picking up the iPod as she said it.

"You're trying to aggravate me," I laughed.

"Watching the way your face changes. Analyzing." She was scrolling though the menus. "Here. It's on YOUR iPod so you must like it." With a click, a Bach flute partita emerged from the speakers.

"You lucked out. That's a favorite."

"Sometimes Bach just speaks to me. You can tell that he's a master, and that so much of his music is written so that others could master their instruments."

"I hear it that way myself. Beautiful, though."

"These are so measured, structured," she sighed. "Take the same building blocks, the same techniques, even the same instruments, and you can build a common wall or a cathedral."

I glanced sideways. It's been a long time since I had a thoughtful conversation about the music I love.

"That's a truth," I said. "Very well put."

She smiled as I glanced at her again. "Thank you. You're supposed to grunt and demand another beer and 'get that shit off and put some GOOD music on', which means something marketed out of Nashville."

"Not the current stuff," I said. "At least not the mainstream stuff. Some artists still hold to the old forms. There's some good old stuff."

"I know," she said. She sat silent for a few moments, then spoke. "Life is like that, too, you know."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yes. It is. Same building blocks. Same instruments. Sewage plant or a cathedral or a park."

"Yep! Just depends on the engineering."

"Architect," Jen said. "Start with the architect. Then you pass it on to the engineers. Engineers build what architects imagine." I think she KNEW she'd jabbed me because she was smirking hugely when I turned to look at her.

"Gotcha!"

"You have an evil streak."

"You're too nice, Chuck. And easy to get! Just teed that one up, waiting for me to swing."

"I voluntarily rendered myself defenseless. I never figured you for a mean streak."

We both laughed, then, listening to the selection she chose, got quiet. When the piece ended, she paused the iPod before the next track started. "Did you notice that?"