Read Online Seeing Stars by Vanessa Grant - Free Book Online
Authors: Vanessa Grant
Tags: Fiction, Short Stories
Ads: Link
Jake sooner. He'd tried every other thing, but it had been so long since he'd taken the bike for a spin, he hadn't even thought of it.
At the second light on Water Street, the kid behind him, Mac said, "I could use some air. Mind if we take a spin out on the highway first?"
"I don't mind," said the kid, doing a pretty good job of keeping his voice disinterested.
Mac punched the accelerator as the light turned green, and set about hooking the kid on the pleasures of eating up the highway with a Harley between your legs.
He wouldn't push it. He'd let the kid lead, but if Jake showed signs of motorcycle fever, there was Mac's old Honda taking up space in his garage. It needed major work. At the rate Jake would earn money working part-time after school, it could take more than a year to get the bike in shape.
Good timing, thought Mac, because the kid wouldn't turn sixteen for about fourteen months, and there was nothing like motorcycle lust and a set of box wrenches to keep a kid out of trouble.
Someone had injected a ball of fire under Claire's right shoulder blade. If she concentrated hard on the rhythmic motion of the sandpaper, the fire abated slightly.
Just a little more, she thought, just this one piece of teak trim and she'd be finished. But somehow, between the push and the pull of the sandpaper's motion, the ball of fire exploded and she gasped.
She had to straighten out now or she'd be crippled for life.
She slithered out of the space she'd learned was called a pilot berth. Presumably it was designed for pilots to sleep in—or, more likely, according to Tim, the owner's two children.
Her back protested as she straightened. On the other side of the salon, Tim had finished sanding the second pilot berth and was sanding the flat expanse of wall he called a bulkhead with an electric sander.
They hadn't spoken more than three sentences to each other since Mac left, but the silence felt oddly companionable. If she'd encountered Tim on the street, she might have crossed to the other side, but here she hadn't felt even a twinge of danger in his presence.
"You done?" asked Tim.
"Taking a break."
He put down the sander and ducked behind her to test the surfaces. "Not bad," he pronounced, and she felt ridiculously pleased.
"I'm not done at the other end."
He grinned, a motion that had an amazing softening effect on his tattooed visage. "Big Macs OK?"
"Perfect. I could eat a horse. This is hard work."
"Hits you right in the shoulders. I'll get the food when I finish this wall."
She wanted to offer him money for the lunch, but she'd won the bet and he was paying up.
When Blake returned half an hour later, Claire and Tim were eating big Macs. He stepped into the boathouse, followed by a painfully thin boy who mumbled something when Blake introduced Claire.
The boy didn't meet her eyes and she wondered what Blake thought she could accomplish here.
"It's nice to meet you, Jake," she said.
Blake said, "I want to start painting preservative on the underwater hull of Lady Orion this afternoon. We should have time to get a coat on by midafternoon, then we'll knock off."
"Shit," said Tim, "that stuff stinks."
"Yeah, but it keeps the rot out. Tim, show Jake the brushes we use. And put coveralls on, guys."
"I'll help," said Claire, and Jake snorted.
Blake said, "You've done enough. I'll get the guys started, then I'll drive you back to Discovery Bay."
"I have my own vehicle."
From the other side of the boat, Tim called out, "The chick is up for it. She's a good worker. I lost the bet and had to buy her lunch."
Claire said, "I don't mind a mess, if you've got extra coveralls."
She's thought working with Blake and the boys might give her an opening to talk to Jake, but it didn't work.
After two hours slopping the greenish preservative onto the boat, she felt painfully sore by the time Blake shouted that it was a wrap, but they'd succeeded in covering the boat from keel to deck.
"It'll soak in," he told
At the second light on Water Street, the kid behind him, Mac said, "I could use some air. Mind if we take a spin out on the highway first?"
"I don't mind," said the kid, doing a pretty good job of keeping his voice disinterested.
Mac punched the accelerator as the light turned green, and set about hooking the kid on the pleasures of eating up the highway with a Harley between your legs.
He wouldn't push it. He'd let the kid lead, but if Jake showed signs of motorcycle fever, there was Mac's old Honda taking up space in his garage. It needed major work. At the rate Jake would earn money working part-time after school, it could take more than a year to get the bike in shape.
Good timing, thought Mac, because the kid wouldn't turn sixteen for about fourteen months, and there was nothing like motorcycle lust and a set of box wrenches to keep a kid out of trouble.
Someone had injected a ball of fire under Claire's right shoulder blade. If she concentrated hard on the rhythmic motion of the sandpaper, the fire abated slightly.
Just a little more, she thought, just this one piece of teak trim and she'd be finished. But somehow, between the push and the pull of the sandpaper's motion, the ball of fire exploded and she gasped.
She had to straighten out now or she'd be crippled for life.
She slithered out of the space she'd learned was called a pilot berth. Presumably it was designed for pilots to sleep in—or, more likely, according to Tim, the owner's two children.
Her back protested as she straightened. On the other side of the salon, Tim had finished sanding the second pilot berth and was sanding the flat expanse of wall he called a bulkhead with an electric sander.
They hadn't spoken more than three sentences to each other since Mac left, but the silence felt oddly companionable. If she'd encountered Tim on the street, she might have crossed to the other side, but here she hadn't felt even a twinge of danger in his presence.
"You done?" asked Tim.
"Taking a break."
He put down the sander and ducked behind her to test the surfaces. "Not bad," he pronounced, and she felt ridiculously pleased.
"I'm not done at the other end."
He grinned, a motion that had an amazing softening effect on his tattooed visage. "Big Macs OK?"
"Perfect. I could eat a horse. This is hard work."
"Hits you right in the shoulders. I'll get the food when I finish this wall."
She wanted to offer him money for the lunch, but she'd won the bet and he was paying up.
When Blake returned half an hour later, Claire and Tim were eating big Macs. He stepped into the boathouse, followed by a painfully thin boy who mumbled something when Blake introduced Claire.
The boy didn't meet her eyes and she wondered what Blake thought she could accomplish here.
"It's nice to meet you, Jake," she said.
Blake said, "I want to start painting preservative on the underwater hull of Lady Orion this afternoon. We should have time to get a coat on by midafternoon, then we'll knock off."
"Shit," said Tim, "that stuff stinks."
"Yeah, but it keeps the rot out. Tim, show Jake the brushes we use. And put coveralls on, guys."
"I'll help," said Claire, and Jake snorted.
Blake said, "You've done enough. I'll get the guys started, then I'll drive you back to Discovery Bay."
"I have my own vehicle."
From the other side of the boat, Tim called out, "The chick is up for it. She's a good worker. I lost the bet and had to buy her lunch."
Claire said, "I don't mind a mess, if you've got extra coveralls."
She's thought working with Blake and the boys might give her an opening to talk to Jake, but it didn't work.
After two hours slopping the greenish preservative onto the boat, she felt painfully sore by the time Blake shouted that it was a wrap, but they'd succeeded in covering the boat from keel to deck.
"It'll soak in," he told
Similar Books
