Nothing is written about the utter isolation, either; hooting waterbirds rustling in the reeds break the stillness.And the bleak cawing of ravens in the pine thickets is just creepy.There is something wrong about the way the water clings to the muddy outcrop, turning the hill slopes into slime.
“Well.”My mom gives one of those coughs as if she’s clearing her throat.“They don’t bother rolling out the welcome wagon, do they?”
Monty ignores her, too busy judging the distance from the ferry to the jetty so as not to bump into it in the dark.Old tires tied to the jetty cushion the boat docking.The bumping and grinding scares the ravens out of the trees.The sound of their wings flapping away into the night is not a comforting one.
He doesn’t bother roping the boat.Keeping the outboard motor running, the ferryman heaves our luggage onto the jetty.“I won’t drop the gangplank for you ladies.There's a whole lotta mud on the banks.Best if you clamber out onto the jetty direct.”
Bewildered, my mom blethers.“B-but there’s no one here.We don’t know where to go.These cases are heavy, and we weren’t told to bring flashlights…”
After climbing out of the ferry onto the jetty, I extend my hand down to help my mom.Dithering, she squeaks and puffs as she scrambles onto the rough decking.“My pants!They got mud on them.Yuk!And my hands?—”
“Someone should be coming around any time now.”Monty flicks the boat into reverse as the ferry backs away from the jetty.“Happy holidays.”
He turns on the searchlight mounted on the cabin roof as the ferry putters into the night.The illumination turns the water a sickly yellow as the engine noise gets further away.
Mom and I look at each other, our eyes round orbs of frustration.
“For fuck’s sake,” I say it for the both of us.“This is a shit show.”
“It’s so spooky.”Mom looks around, hugging her arms for warmth.“I get why only men would want to live here now.This place gives me the yips.”
And yet…
Standing there with nothing but nature around us is oddly soothing.We can hear frogs plopping into the water; their mating calls sound like little clicks and pops.An invisible wind sweeps through the treetops, making them toss lazily from side to side.A constant backdrop of birdsong fills the peaceful void.
Mom takes my hand as the last hint of gray leaves the night sky.Her sunhat lies on the jetty like a fallen leaf.
“Should we start walking and see where it takes us?”
I can’t think of a better metaphor for life.But before I can bend to pick up my suitcase, a sound outside of the natural realm erupts.
Such a distinctive noise.A deep bass, rumbling roar.The steady syncopated rhythm of pistons pumping.
“I think someone’s coming.”
My mom’s hearing is shot from too much clubbing in the nineties, but she tilts her head towards the forest to listen.
Thundering towards the jetty, we see a Harley-Davidson motorcycle coming down the lane.Rolling to a stop with the headlamp facing us and the engine still running, I am blinded and deafened at the same time.
Wincing and holding up my hand to block out the glare, I see the rider’s distinctive shape.Tall, wind-whipped hair, his legs straddling a big machine; he doesn’t need to reintroduce himself for me to know who it is.
You bastard!You left Harry’s Saloon and never came back.And then you slipped into my fantasies like a dark nightmare…
I can hear him in my head.
So, are you coming?
Forgetting my case, my backpack, and my mom, I walk to the motorcycle slowly.The Rider extends his hand.The tips of our fingers touch briefly and, for the first time in my life, I hop onto the back of a motorbike.The leather seat is cold underneath my Lycra leggings, forcing me to shuffle closer to his body for warmth.
“And where do you think you are going, Aila?”Mom is so mad, she forgets that she doesn’t want anyone to know I’m her daughter.“That man could be a serial killer!”
I feel his hard torso shake with short laughter.“Heh.”
His dark sense of humor makes the motorbike feel like home.
My hands snake around his lean hips and I lean my cheek against his leather jacket.
“Ben Magoo is coming to fetch the baggage now, Miz O’Hara.Catch a lift up to the inn with him.”His voice penetrates the night, rising above the loudness of the engine.
