Wandering Bk. 05: Pattie

Original Editing by ErikThread with my thanks.

*****

It's been a while since we visited with Lee Stephenson, a wandering man looking for a new life after his divorce. He began his travels with the most remarkable luck, spending the first two weeks with five different women, all of whom helped restore his bruised ego. In fact, for a while, Lee began to think of himself as blessed, if not invincible. Trust me, he isn't, as he found out over the next weeks. However, he didn't exactly "go cold," and he's still on the road to recovery. So, why don't we join him once again?

Wandering

Book 5 - Pattie

"Don't move. Stay right where you are," I whispered.

She complied as I felt her muscles relax and her body slump against my chest. We were silent. There was no need for conversation. We had both exclaimed our enjoyment over the past half hour and swam in the pleasure of our shared passion. We had expressed our fulfillment at the completion of a blissful union.

We lay there in the dark, the gentle rocking of the boat adding to our peaceful recovery. I pulled the comforter over us to ward off the chill beginning to seep into the cabin as nightfall became complete. A purr of satisfaction was mumbled into my chest as the lovely young woman tried to worm her way even further into my body.

"I could stay here forever," she murmured.

"Uhmmm," I agreed.

My hands roamed over the naked body of my partner, touching gently with my fingertips as I stroked the back of her thighs, across her perfect, round ass, finishing lightly on her spinal column. I could sense her reactions in my chest and abdomen as she responded to my touches.

"I've never been fucked on a boat before," she mumbled.

"Likewise," I chuckled.

"I feel very good, very ... happy." Her muffled voice echoed the sentiment.

"What did you say your real name was?" She sounded half asleep.

"Leighton."

"Sir Leighton ... my white knight. Thanks for saving me." Her voice was fading as she slipped further down the path toward slumber.

"You're welcome. Now get some sleep." It wasn't an order, but she didn't take much convincing. She was out within seconds.

As the lovely, mysterious young woman snored lightly against my chest, my thoughts drifted back to how all this had come to pass.

Weary from driving and exploring back roads, I had stopped in Sicamous for lunch yesterday. As I got out of the Subaru and stretched my cramped limbs, I noticed a large, new houseboat being loaded on a railroad flatcar. I stood and watched for a while as I regained my equilibrium. I looked about at the little lakeside town and decided it would do for my next destination.

My survey detected a large sign for houseboat rentals in the next block. I had forgotten how popular they were on Shushwap Lake, and decided I would look into it after I had eaten.

The Lakeside Bistro satisfied my lust for a greasy burger and fries, topped off with a decent strawberry milkshake. This was clearly a new definition for bistro. It was a retro-lunch counter if there ever was one. I paid the aging waitress, left a two dollar tip and sauntered out onto the street. The lunch was sitting in a lump in the bottom of my stomach, warning me not to make any sudden moves.

I strolled slowly down the street toward the houseboat rental office, and was about to open the front door when I noticed the sign in the window. Closed for lunch. Back at 1. I looked at my watch and saw I had a half hour to kill. A few yards away a lane led to the water and access to a dock where a half-dozen houseboats were tied up. Might as well have a look, I thought.

Since it was just me, I wouldn't need a big boat. There were two craft that looked to be in the mid-twenties in length and that would be more than enough. I peeked into the windows to get a look at the layout and soon determined I was looking at a floating camper. The cabinets, kitchen, bathroom, and folding bed/lounges were the same as a dozen different campers I had seen.

The superstructure was mounted on a flat platform with two aluminum pontoons and an outboard motor nested in the center of the stern. A two-station mechanical steering system was linked to the motor. Simple, but effective. Easily handled by one person. A small command bridge and an inboard wheelhouse for poor weather made it suitable for my purposes. I was interested in doing a bit of exploration around the popular lake, and since it was pre-season I might even get a discount rate. The six boats tied to the dock indicated they weren't overwhelmed with customers.

"Hi ... can I help you?" It was a woman's voice. A young woman. I pushed myself back from my scan of the boat's interior and turned to the source of the question.

"Hi ... just looking. Thinking of renting one," I explained, squinting into the bright sun reflecting off the glassy lake.

I looked the woman over as my eyes began to adjust. She was attractive, possibly mid-twenties, dressed in a black tank top and black shorts with black sneakers. Her left shoulder sported a large, multicolored tattoo of indeterminate design. It was partly masked by her developing tan. It was still early in June.

She appeared to be of average height and build, but her hips and ass however, were something else. They looked very mature, very round, and very lush.

"You work here?"

"Yeah ... for now," she answered economically.

"OK then ... tell me about that one," I said, pointing at the second boat at the dock.

"Yeah, you can rent that. How long?"

"I dunno ... maybe a few days," I said, realizing I hadn't given much thought to what I wanted to do.

"Six fifty for four days, eight ninety-five for seven. Gas is extra." She didn't use a lot of unnecessary words.

"OK ... let's talk," I said, moving toward her.

She stood her ground, surveying me. "Ever been on one of these before?"

"Nope. But I do have some boat experience. Sail and power."

"OK, these are easy enough. Let's go in the office and wait for Chuck," she said, turning to lead me back to the front of the building.

"How many people?" she asked.

"Just me."

She turned and looked at me with a large question mark as an expression. "No shit?"

"No shit, just me," I grinned.

"You're not runnin' grass or anything stupid like that are you?" She was frowning and the question was serious.

"Nope. No funny business. Just getting away from things for a few days. Actually, for a few months," I said with a nod.

We stopped as she unlocked the door to the office and led me in. She walked behind the counter and pulled out large pad. It looked like a contract form. She lifted a credit card machine from below and plunked it down on the counter. All the while she had gone back to inspecting me. She was clearly suspicious. I guessed single rentals weren't that common.

"So ... what are you running from?" she asked out of the blue.

I was a bit startled. She was bold, and yet there was no hint of smart-ass. She was being careful with her curiosity. She genuinely did want to know, I thought.

"A bad marriage," I finally admitted.

"Oh, uhhhh ... sorry I asked," she looked away.

"No problem."

"How long?" she asked after a long silence, looking me right in the eyes.

"Ten years."

"Oh ... that sucks. That's a pain." She was sincere. She was unhappy that she had probed and touched a sore point.

"Now and then," I confessed. I sat down in the only available chair and waited for the arrival of Chuck, whoever he might be. I decided two could play at this quiz.

"Where are you from?"

"Somewhere else," she said after a brief pause.

"What are you running from?" I pressed.

She looked at me, deciding whether or not to answer my question. At some point, she made up her mind.

"A collection of assholes," she said with a straight face.

"The world's full of them."

"Yeah. My old man being the president of the club."

"You're from the east, aren't you?" It wasn't actually a question. Her slight accent was the giveaway.

"Not any more. Nothin' there for me, and I hate winter," she said succinctly.

"Can't blame you."

The door swung open and a fifty-something man with a full beard entered, nodding to me and smiling at the girl.

"This fella wants to rent 224, Chuck."

"OK ... you got some I.D., mister?" he asked, turning to me.

I pulled out my wallet and showed him my drivers license. He nodded.

"How long, Mr. Stephenson?" he asked.

"Four days ... to start with. Maybe seven if it's interesting," I said.

"OK ... we can do that. The season doesn't start for another two weeks, so you get the early rate. Did Pattie tell you about that?"

"Yes. Six-fifty for four days and eight ninety-five for seven, plus gas," I parroted.

"Yep. Credit card?"

I handed him my Visa and he ran it through. Within fifteen minutes I was back on the dock with Chuck and the girl and he was going over the controls as well as the mechanics of the kitchen, toilet, shower and bunks. It was all pretty straightforward, so I just needed to know where the anchor was stowed, the gas and water tanks located, and I would be set.

"Somewhere I can leave my car?" I asked.

"In back here," he answered. "No one will bother it."

I spent the next few minutes collecting the keys, and moving my stuff from the Outback to the houseboat.

"Where you plannin' on goin'?" Chuck asked.

"I'll just cruise the lakeshore and see what's what. Drop anchor when and where I like and chill out," I volunteered.

He nodded. I didn't need to explain anything more.

"You know where the grocery store is? I need some stuff," I said, looking at them both.

"Askew's is up the road a quarter-mile," Pattie volunteered, pointing.

"Great. I'll take her out for a shakedown and then come back for supplies."

An hour later I was satisfied the boat was in good condition and the controls were serviceable. I had checked the lighting system, the fuel and water supply and the little propane fridge and stove for operation. Everything looked okay. The Yamaha outboard started on the first turn, and the steering, throttle, and transmission were free and positive. I was satisfied.

I locked up after Pattie helped me dock and I drove to the local grocery store. It wasn't big, but it had what I needed. I had made a survey of the houseboat supplies and knew what was on board and what wasn't. I made a list on my shakedown cruise, and was in and out of Askew's in short order.

In less than an hour, I had purchased my supplies and stowed them aboard the boat. I was ready to go.

"Do cell phones work on this lake?" I asked Pattie.

"Yeah ... at least to Salmon Arm," she said pointing west. "Not so much up north, though."

"OK ... thanks. I'll see you in a few days, I guess."

"Hope so. Don't do anything foolish," she grinned.

She cast off the lines and I carefully backed out of the docking area and onto the lake. I waved to the young woman and turned the wheel full starboard and moved off into the lake. I didn't have a specific destination, but there were so many little towns dotted along the various shores of the two big arms of Shuswap Lake that I didn't worry about it. The boat featured a good marine chart of the area and it would guide me into safe anchorages.

I decided on heading west into Salmon Arm to begin with. There were plenty of locations to visit and plenty of mooring opportunities so I wouldn't have to worry about places to stop and relax. I tuned in a local FM station in Salmon Arm, and motored quietly up the south side of the lake. The scenery was spectacular, but I must have been jaded by my time in the Rockies. As beautiful as it was, I was becoming accustomed to it.

The sun wouldn't set until well after nine, but fatigue was beginning to overtake me and I decided that an hour of running would be enough. I began to look for a bay or cove to anchor overnight. It didn't take long and after rehearsing my anchor set-and-retrieval procedure from earlier boating experience, I found a likely spot and dropped the hook.

It was quiet. No wind and an almost cloudless sky. A good start I thought. I walked through the cabin and took the cover off the propane barbeque situated on the stern deck. Something easy ... steak, baked potato, salad and some red wine.

As I finished the meal, I began to appreciate how tired I was. There was still daylight at almost ten in the evening, but I was beginning to fade fast. The wine had no doubt hastened that along. I stripped off most of my clothes, pulled on a t-shirt and crawled into the main bunk. In seconds, I was asleep.

For the first time in weeks, I had a single dream. The characters were all familiar. My old boss, my ex-wife Jocelyn, my father and mother, Constance, the mature temptress who had initiated my rehabilitation, and Beth Jorgenson, my most recent lover. It was Beth who seemed to be the focal point of the dream. I couldn't make out what was going on, but they were all yelling at me. Encouraging me to do something ... but what? Beth was their leader, but for what?

I awoke in the middle of the pitch-black night and carefully shuffled to the small toilet. I emptied my bladder cautiously without turning on the light, and then made my way back to the bunk, only lightly stubbing my toe on a kick-board. I lay on my back, trying to understand what the dream was about. I looked at my sport watch, pushing the light bar. Three fifteen. The sky would begin to lighten in less than two hours. Fuck! I needed the rest. I rolled over and eventually fell into a restless sleep.

I seldom remember my dreams. They are usually vivid, but confused, and I can't very often remember the details. Normally, the dreams were multiple and my limited awareness of them the next morning was a jumble; mostly a mish-mash of all of them without any continuity or reason. When I awoke that morning, I could remember the first dream. I remembered all the people in it and I remembered Beth most of all. Freud would have had fun with this.

I dragged myself out of bed and headed for the shower. I had thought of a quick swim in the lake, but one test of the water temperature with my hand told me my heart wasn't strong enough to withstand the shock of the cold water. I opted for the tiny shower enclosure instead.

By nine o'clock, I had pretty much recovered from my restless night, and fortified with a couple of cups of coffee I was ready to resume my cruise. I toasted a bagel and gulped down a glass of orange juice, topping the whole thing off with a banana. I was fairly certain I would make it until noon.

Sometime after ten-thirty, I spotted a semi-submerged log just ahead and made a quick turn to starboard to avoid it. As I spun the wheel, I heard a bang and suddenly the steering was frozen. Try as I might, I could only move the wheel an inch or two. I killed the engine. I was a couple hundred yards from shore, so I wasn't in any immediate danger, but I needed to find out what the problem was pronto.

I walked back to the engine bay and checked the cable connections to the yoke on the motor. Nothing looked out of place, but there was no moving the cables and the engine was cocked at a thirty degree angle. The only place I was going was around in circles unless I could free up the steering.

I reckoned the cables were either underneath the floor or along the side of the platform. I began to look for access panels. I started in the front at the wheelhouse, intending to work backward to the motor systematically. I didn't need to. I found a hatch beneath the pilot's chair on the lower deck and opened it. I used my flashlight to survey what I could see and it only took a couple of minutes to determine the problem.

A die-cast pulley had broken and the cable it guided had slipped down to the inside of the mounting bracket, pinching itself between the hub of the broken pulley and the bracket. Naturally, the pulley was just out of my reach, but at least I knew where the problem was. I withdrew from the hatch and stood up, cursing loudly for anyone to hear.

I gave it some thought and then began a search of the boat to see what I could use as a tool to free up the cable and get the steering centered. As I walked around the upper deck, I noticed a long boat-hook clipped to the roof, and having a close look at it, I noticed it was a two-piece construction. Two screws held the aluminum shaft together and I set about looking for a Phillips-head screwdriver. No such luck!

I searched the kitchen utensils and found a stout knife that might just be strong enough to move the screws if they weren't corroded into place. I didn't hold out much hope, but I had to try.

Some days, the gods are with you, some days they aren't. Today was a good day. I carefully inserted the knife into the screw head, and holding the shaft steady, I began to apply counter-clockwise pressure on the screw. Wonder of wonders, it moved. Fifteen sweaty minutes later the two screws were out. I separated the eight-foot boat-hook and at last had a useable length of bar that I could fit into the small hatchway.

I had no way to reduce the tension on the cables, which made my task that much more difficult. It took a half-hour to pry the cable loose from its trapped position and snap it over the broken pulley. I was soaked in sweat and in a foul mood. This wasn't the cruise I had in mind.

I pulled myself out of the hatch and immediately went to the little fridge for a beer. Wiping my face and neck with a towel, I took a time-out to regain my composure and decide what came next. By the time I'd inhaled the beer, I was thinking a little more clearly. I walked back to the motor. This time, I was able to center it, but testing the steering in the wheelhouse, I had very little control over the direction the motor would be aimed.

I was at least three or four hours from the Sicamous dock I had started from yesterday, and it was nearing noon. I had to get myself back there somehow, so I took the only option I could think of. I would steer the motor by using the yoke. I wouldn't have a lot of left-right slack, but at least I could keep it straight, and by disconnecting the linkages to the shifter and power, I could control forward, reverse, neutral, and throttle.

I flipped open my cell phone and dialed the number on the dashboard noted under "In Case of Emergency." Someone actually answered and it was Pattie.

"Pattie, it's me, Lee Stephenson," I announced.

"Oh. Hi Lee. How's the cruise?" she asked cheerily.

"Not so hot," I said with a snarl.

"What's the problem?"

"I have a steering problem and I'm going to have to bring the boat back using my hands on the motor. There's a broken pulley and I'm going to need help docking when I get back." I was beginning to lighten up. Pattie wasn't the cause of this problem.

"Yeah, sure, I can do that. I'll get Chuck and you can tell him what the problem is. When do you figure you'll be back?" she asked, still sounding concerned.

"I dunno ... maybe four or five o'clock. I'll call on the cell when I get close."

"Okay ... I'll be here. If you run into trouble, call me. I'll bring a boat out to get you," she said.

"Thanks, Pattie. I think I'll be OK, but I'll call and let you know if anything else goes haywire."

I quickly explained what had happened to Chuck and then got ready to move. I turned up the FM radio station to provide some music and entertainment while I began the long slow trip back to Sicamous. This was not what I had in mind for the next four days. I was pissed and I didn't mind sharing my bad mood.

I got back to Sicamous just after four. I was tired and my shoulders were aching from keeping the houseboat on a reasonably straight course. The big problem was visibility. I had to keep standing up to make sure I was on the heading I wanted and then twisting to watch my wake to see that it was straight as well. When I could at last see the dock, I was beat - grateful that this little adventure would be over with in a few minutes.