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Authors: Diana Ryan
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his.
“You were right. I could see this a million
times over and never grow tired of it.” Nolan turned to face me, and I looked
up into his eyes. He carefully and gently brushed a tiny bit of brown hair from
my eyes and tucked it behind my ear. Then he took my chin in his hand and
sweetly pulled it ever so slightly upward until his lips barely brushed mine.
An electrifying tingle shot down my face and through my entire body as I
surrendered to his touch. He kissed me again but this time with more meaning,
and I felt like I was floating on a fluffy, white cloud.
Nolan pulled back slightly and whispered, “I
guess this is Make Out Rock?”
I giggled and replied, “Yeah. You can’t help
but fall to its power.” My perma -smile was back, and
I knew this was going to be the best summer of my life.
Chapter
Seven
The next morning I said hi to Rob at the
dispatch booth and took the long staircase down to the docks. Jack was already
there, checking the oil on the Bailey .
“Hey kiddo!” he greeted me when I stepped on
the back deck. “You ready for another fun-filled day on the Wisconsin River?”
He was a little too chipper for this early in the morning.
“Are you drunk again?” I asked him, checking
his eyes for a sign.
He laughed a big belly laugh and said, “No! I
told you I would never do that again! Maybe I’m just in a good mood. Is that a
crime?” He smiled at me, but I knew something was up.
Jack and I headed inside to start up the Bailey
and check our tour book supply and prep the boat for the day. As soon as Jack
turned on the two-way radio, it buzzed to life: “ General Bailey ,
Dispatch.” It was Rob up in the dispatch booth. Jack picked up the mouthpiece
and said, “Go ahead.”
“We’ve got Badgerland Tours coming in five minutes. Jack, will you be ready for early loading?”
“10-4, absolutely,” he replied happily. Then he
turned to me, “An OLS? Hot damn!”
Cha- ching !
An Old Lady Special (commonly called OLS by
boat employees) was a jackpot!
Occasionally, a whole coach bus full of elderly
ladies on tour through Wisconsin would stop at the Boats. Although it was
sometimes a pain to load them all up, they were usually the most courteous and
inquisitive passengers, and the best part was that each little old lady needed
a guidebook to take home and show their grandchildren.
“Sweet! We
haven’t had an OLS yet this summer!” I said, while doing a very immature move
that looked like a cross between an Irish jig and the potty dance.
“This is perfect timing. It’s been so slow this
summer, and my truck needs new rotors and brakes. I’m in some desperate need of
some cold, hard cash.” He paused and then turned to look me straight in the
eyes. “Don’t ever get married, Ava, because inevitably, your spouse will decide
to have a sleepover with someone hotter than you in your own bed, and divorce
is brutal on the checkbook.”
I was in shock. I’d had no idea what had
happened in the divorce other than it was messy, and poor Jack was left
heartbroken. I didn’t really know what to say, so we found ourselves in silence
for a few moments.
I knew I hadn’t sold many books so far this
summer, but I didn’t think it was my fault at all. It was plain math—more
passengers equal more money. I gave the best tour I could each and every time I
went downriver. I wasn’t only motivated by money, I truly enjoyed what I was
doing, and I’m the kind of person who does everything with my whole heart
invested. I owed this trip to Jack, and I even considered giving all the
profits to him and his truck.
After we quickly swept and cleaned up the boat,
we were ready for loading. I noticed Jack was whistling an upbeat tune. I don’t
think I had ever heard Jack whistling before. We took our posts at the end of
the dock and watched as a line of probably eighty-five elderly ladies was
herded very slowly down the stairs. There was a younger woman, probably in her
early thirties, with the
“You were right. I could see this a million
times over and never grow tired of it.” Nolan turned to face me, and I looked
up into his eyes. He carefully and gently brushed a tiny bit of brown hair from
my eyes and tucked it behind my ear. Then he took my chin in his hand and
sweetly pulled it ever so slightly upward until his lips barely brushed mine.
An electrifying tingle shot down my face and through my entire body as I
surrendered to his touch. He kissed me again but this time with more meaning,
and I felt like I was floating on a fluffy, white cloud.
Nolan pulled back slightly and whispered, “I
guess this is Make Out Rock?”
I giggled and replied, “Yeah. You can’t help
but fall to its power.” My perma -smile was back, and
I knew this was going to be the best summer of my life.
Chapter
Seven
The next morning I said hi to Rob at the
dispatch booth and took the long staircase down to the docks. Jack was already
there, checking the oil on the Bailey .
“Hey kiddo!” he greeted me when I stepped on
the back deck. “You ready for another fun-filled day on the Wisconsin River?”
He was a little too chipper for this early in the morning.
“Are you drunk again?” I asked him, checking
his eyes for a sign.
He laughed a big belly laugh and said, “No! I
told you I would never do that again! Maybe I’m just in a good mood. Is that a
crime?” He smiled at me, but I knew something was up.
Jack and I headed inside to start up the Bailey
and check our tour book supply and prep the boat for the day. As soon as Jack
turned on the two-way radio, it buzzed to life: “ General Bailey ,
Dispatch.” It was Rob up in the dispatch booth. Jack picked up the mouthpiece
and said, “Go ahead.”
“We’ve got Badgerland Tours coming in five minutes. Jack, will you be ready for early loading?”
“10-4, absolutely,” he replied happily. Then he
turned to me, “An OLS? Hot damn!”
Cha- ching !
An Old Lady Special (commonly called OLS by
boat employees) was a jackpot!
Occasionally, a whole coach bus full of elderly
ladies on tour through Wisconsin would stop at the Boats. Although it was
sometimes a pain to load them all up, they were usually the most courteous and
inquisitive passengers, and the best part was that each little old lady needed
a guidebook to take home and show their grandchildren.
“Sweet! We
haven’t had an OLS yet this summer!” I said, while doing a very immature move
that looked like a cross between an Irish jig and the potty dance.
“This is perfect timing. It’s been so slow this
summer, and my truck needs new rotors and brakes. I’m in some desperate need of
some cold, hard cash.” He paused and then turned to look me straight in the
eyes. “Don’t ever get married, Ava, because inevitably, your spouse will decide
to have a sleepover with someone hotter than you in your own bed, and divorce
is brutal on the checkbook.”
I was in shock. I’d had no idea what had
happened in the divorce other than it was messy, and poor Jack was left
heartbroken. I didn’t really know what to say, so we found ourselves in silence
for a few moments.
I knew I hadn’t sold many books so far this
summer, but I didn’t think it was my fault at all. It was plain math—more
passengers equal more money. I gave the best tour I could each and every time I
went downriver. I wasn’t only motivated by money, I truly enjoyed what I was
doing, and I’m the kind of person who does everything with my whole heart
invested. I owed this trip to Jack, and I even considered giving all the
profits to him and his truck.
After we quickly swept and cleaned up the boat,
we were ready for loading. I noticed Jack was whistling an upbeat tune. I don’t
think I had ever heard Jack whistling before. We took our posts at the end of
the dock and watched as a line of probably eighty-five elderly ladies was
herded very slowly down the stairs. There was a younger woman, probably in her
early thirties, with the
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