Andi stands by the paddle rack, deciding on her stick, and as she furiously slices one through the air, I wonder how much of a mistake we, as a society, have made in allowing this woman a weapon. A seven-foot paddle might not seem too dangerous, but I don't doubt this is a matter of national security in the hands of a "passionately-moving" woman like her.
I decide to risk my own life for the greater good.
On her second backswing, I catch the paddle. "Andi."
"Hey!" She twists, still gripping the stick above her head. "I'm testing these."
"Testing them for what? They're all the same."
She squirms, weaseling the stick from my hand. "They're different heights and weights. I'm making sure they don't break." Widening her stance, she whacks the paddle on the grass.
I jerk back. "Jesus."
Ignoring me, Andi thumps the paddle again. When it doesn't crack, she smiles. "This one will work." She twists it upright, setting it beside her like a king's scepter. The black rubber pole stands eight inches over her head and concludes in a royal blue fin.
For my paddle selection, I pluck the closest off the rack without even looking.
"Alright guys." Our elderly renter reappears, stepping from the supply shed with bright blue life jackets. He hands me the large and Andi the small. "We've already gone over all the good stuff. Rules, safety procedures"—he glances at Andi—"questions." Andi shrinks under his eye, knowing damn well she pissed the man off with her list of wonderings, but Charles doesn't press. "So you guys are good to go. Boards on the sand, lockers to your right, and I'll be in the clubhouse completing my crossword." He plucks a book from his pocket, shifts his glasses onto his face, and shuffles to the low Waterdrop Rentals building on the edge of the lake.
This is the business Andi extensively researched, using their opening times, closing times, distance from Ralia, and traffic logistics to create the plan she sent me. The company is on the north end of town, away from the buzz of business districts. Nestled around a small forest of trees, it sits right along a sandy beach.
A father-daughter kayaking duo launched shortly after we arrived, but other than that, the place is vacant. Waves crash on the sand, the soft clap soothing but chopped by the squawk of an occasional seagull. A thick, earthy aroma drenches us, infused with the subtle scent of fish and dewy algae.
Andi glances at her watch. "Okay. We're good on time." She steps to the stacked lockers, looking back to me. "Are you ready? You feel good?"
I follow. "Me? Absolutely. I think the better question is if miss-what-do-we-do-if-a-tornado-hits is ready?"
She rolls her eyes, opening a small, square locker by the beach's rim. "I'm ready." She shrugs. "I also feel good."
I can tell she feels good. Yes, her goodbye hugs with Bart might have lasted ten times longer than usual, but she was antsy after. She whizzed through the small talk with Priya and almost plowed over an elderly couple on her bolt to the parking lot.
YOU ARE READING
Conflict Resolution
RomanceNew neighbors Andi and Hayden don't get off to the best start - and neither do their dogs. When the hostility between their pets, Bart and Rosie, leads to noisy barking, Andi and Hayden must solve their pet's tension or risk eviction from their apar...