Randy White - Seduced

Snewk , he pronounced the word, but with difficulty. Maybe I was right. It was an act.

“You claim to be a guide? You should buy a bus and stick to bridge fishing. I’ve never seen you or your boat in my life.”

“Starstruck, I guess some call it,” he replied. “Then I go and make a damn fool out of myself after you gave me the finger back there. Flirting-you knew what you was doing. How you expect a man to act?” He gave up on the drawer and opened a cabinet. “That dang magazine’s here someplace.”

I said, “You stay away from me, understand? I reported this to the Coast Guard. Next time, I’ll swear out a warrant.”

“Ain’t there some way to make this right? I’ll buy you dinner. Champagne, the whole works. Or do you like to dance? I’ve been taking lessons. Big as I am”-he did a waltzing two-step across the deck to illustrate-“tango is a specialty, but I prefer swing dancing.” He spun an invisible partner, then was done with it and peered over the side, seeing scuttling crabs and a mountain range of oysters. “I don’t suppose you have a shovel I can borrow?” After a beat, he added, “Or a bottle of Tabasco?”

No twang when he said this, which confirmed it was all a charade. Same with his slow, sinister smile, teeth bared, beneath a mustache the size of a boomerang. “Know what might be fun? Sit here with a case of beer and eat oysters, just the two of us, until we’re both so damn horny that, later, down the road, you won’t mind when I tell you to stay out of my goddamn snook spots.”

I said, “What?”

“You heard me. Chartering’s just like any other business, honey. Sex and marketing.” He glared for a moment, then slammed a hatch open, done with me, too.

Eerie, the feeling I got, the two of us out here alone, separated only by a few yards of water and walls no higher than the gunnel of my boat. What if he had a gun inside that hatch? What if he came after me on foot or bulled his boat off the bar faster than anticipated?

I started my engine, snuck a few photos of him, and the boat’s registration numbers, then sped away.

It was half past four. I was late.

Kermit’s daughter, Sarah, appeared on the dock as I was tying up. She had an orange in her hand. “Daddy said I’m supposed to give you this. He seems in a hurry to leave, but he’s always like that. And to thank you for letting us take samples from your trees.”

Through the mangroves, I could see a white pickup truck parked, or waiting at the side of the road, with a tarp tied over the bed. The mix of relief and disappointment I felt was blurred by the adrenaline still pumping through me.

“Sorry I’m late,” I said. “You can tell your daddy that for me. Did you have fun?” I was positioning bumpers so my skiff wouldn’t bang against the dock.

“Guess so. I like your hair. I wish Mama would let me cut mine like that. It’s hard enough just to talk her into letting me wear jeans. Short hair’s better, don’t you think?”

I smiled. “Not if I had braids as pretty as yours. How about a cold bottle of water? Or do your parents let you drink pop?”

The girl, a skinny little thing in coveralls and a T-shirt, showed her missing front tooth. “What’s that?”

“Soda drinks. Pop ’s the sound the bottle makes when you open it. That’s the way it was explained to me anyway.” I stepped down into my skiff and opened the cooler. “I might have some juice in here somewhere, too.”

“As long as it’s not orange juice. I’m sick of it. My whole life, everything’s smelled of oranges. Even my room, because we’ve always lived in citrus groves. Oh-and I’m supposed to call you Miss Smith or Captain.”

I told her that using my first name was perfectly okay, and traded her a bottle of water for the orange in her hand. “I like the tanginess,” I said, holding it to my nose. “But I understand. I didn’t grow up in the citrus business like you. Did you get this off one of the old trees out back?”

The girl shook her head no, but her attention was on my boat. “I’d love to go for a ride sometime. I bet it’s fast.”

To the south, distant islands shielded the black catamaran and its driver from view. I said, “Opinions about that might vary… but I guess it’s fast enough. I’ve always liked boats, too.” I pointed to the 37-foot Marlow that sat prettily, with its dark blue hull and white trim, moored on the opposite side of the dock. “I live on that one.”

“Really? I’ve never met anybody who lived on a boat before. I bet it’s nice. Can I see inside?”

“Not if your daddy’s in a rush. Come back, though, and I’ll take you for a ride. Maybe we could even fish a little-as long as it’s okay with your mother. Better yet, invite her along.”

The instant the words were out of my mouth, I regretted the offer. I had no right to intrude on another woman’s family, even in this mild way.

“Mama hates the water,” the girl said. “She hates Florida, too, because of the bugs. Not me. I love the water. I’d live in the water, if I could. Daddy says I swim like a fish.” She studied me a moment in the wise way some children possess. “Did I say something wrong?”

She had correctly gauged the wistful change in my expression. I forced a plastic smile. “A lot of people don’t like Florida. There’s nothing wrong with that. Your mama’s right. Sometimes the bugs and heat are hard to live with.”

“If you don’t like it,” the girl said, “why do you live here?”

“I wasn’t talking about myself.”

“I sure would love to go for a ride in your boat. Are you afraid of sharks? I’m not. Daddy took me to the beach once, and I swam way out past the waves. When I’m old enough, I’m going to learn to scuba dive. Do you scuba dive?”

“I’m like you,” I said. “I could live in the water.”

As we talked, I finished with the bumpers, then stepped up onto the dock. I had to stop myself from doing what seemed natural-offering the girl my hand. Instead, we walked single file to shore.

Kermit swung out of his Chevy Silverado when Sarah was safely inside, her seat belt buckled, and closed the door. We exchanged polite greetings and shook hands in a business-like way. “Talk to you for a moment?” he said. “I wanted to ask you about dock rentals.”

It was an excuse to move away from the truck, which was running, with its windows up. As we walked, he spoke in a low, confidential voice. “I know I should apologize for last night, but I can’t. I don’t regret a thing, Hannah. I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

“Not another word,” I said. My eyes were on the truck, where Sarah was fiddling with the radio. “It never happened. We both agreed, remember? That’s the way it’s going to stay.”

“Come on, Hannah. Talk to me. Please?”

“I am talking to you. You’re not listening.”

“Admit what happened and I will. You can’t pretend-”

“I’m not pretending. We’re done with this. I don’t blame you, I blame myself, and that’s all I have to say.”

I started toward my boat. He took a step and blocked my way. “Okay, okay. I keep telling myself it was just a one-night thing, but… why do you think I was in a rush to leave before you got here? I knew if I saw you, I would-”

I said, “Bring the subject up again, Kermit, we’re done even as friends. I mean it.”

“You’re serious.”

“Yes, I am.” With my chin, I indicated the truck. “That girl’s more important than any six of us, and I won’t play a role in hurting your child. I’m sorry about what went on between us, I truly am. Don’t make it any worse.”