Gillian's Do-Over (8 page)

Throughout dinner Gillian tried to relax, but images of that huge man with his hairy arms and legs—definitely not the best look for a man in short pants—tipping over the raft and taking her with him as he slid under the surface of the water, kept intruding on her thoughts.

Quinn
finally patted her hand. “You haven’t been paying attention to a thing we’ve said.”

“I’m sorry, honey. I guess I’m just nervous. About tomorrow. The raft. The water.” She forced
a smile.
That man. Houdini or Harry, whatever. HH.

“You’ll be fine. I know you
will,” Bianca added. “Want to sit with me? Quinn promised I could sit in the middle seat.”

Gillian
grasped her future daughter-in-law’s hands. “Yes, definitely. A great idea.” She paused and took a deep breath. “But where was Quinn going to sit?”

“He wants to be in the front—the better to catch the spray.” Bianca chuckled
.

“And you don’t want to sit with him?”

“Sure. But if you prefer, I’m happy to sit with you. Maybe after lunch, I’ll join him in the front. I’m not quite as adventurous as he is. You and I can hang on to each other when we go over the Class Four rapids.”

“Are those the really bad ones?”
Gillian eyed Quinn, who seemed to be stifling laughter.

“
Wrong attitude, Mom. Think exciting, not dangerous.”

“Maybe not for you.
I’ll sit with Bianca, on the second seat.” Not with a man. Old HH would need a raft all by himself.

The next morning Quinn and Bianca walked down to the rafting area with Gillian. She glanced around and saw that the man from the previous afternoon did not seem to be around. Feeling better about the challenge of the river, she donned her life vest and tightened the straps as ordered by their guide, a young woman whose tanned arms and legs suggested she spent many days on the water. Just as they were climbing into the big yellow raft, Herb galloped across the lawn and onto the dock, breathing hard.

“I made i
t! Sorry I’m late. Overslept.” Without asking, he clambered into the raft and took the seat Gillian had mentally reserved for herself and Bianca. “Hello, there, little lady!” he fairly shouted. “I was hopin’ I’d see you again. Lookin’ forward to doing the Class Fours? I sure am!”

Gillian looked back at the guide, who shrugged her shoulders.

“Tighten up your straps, Herb,” the young woman ordered.

Quinn
grabbed Bianca’s hand and took the forward-most seat. “Come on, babe. You’re sitting with me now.” He beamed at Gillian before leaning over to whisper something in Bianca’s ear, prompting a quiet giggle from his fiancée. Gillian had no choice but to sit next to Herb.

The guide gave them a
brief set of instructions and some practice paddling in calm water, during which the four customers learned how to paddle forward and backward, in sync with each other. Then they pushed off into the center of the river and began to glide quietly through the water.

Gillian
slowly began to relax. At a firm suggestion from their guide, Herb ceased his too-loud chatter. Birdsong and the slap of the waves against the sides of the raft became the primary sounds as they coasted along. Occasional comments from Quinn and Bianca served only to complement the calling of the birds. Soon, however, they approached an area of white water. The whooshing of the water against the stones in the river alerted Gillian to the increasing speed of the raft as it was carried along by the current.

“Okay, people. Here’s your first test to see how well you work together. P
addle one, two, stroke. Stroke together,” the guide ordered.

Quinn
laughed.“Here we go!” They entered the first chute through which the water foamed and bubbled.

The spray that cascaded over them was bracing.
Gillian looked over at Herb. He was beaming as he wiped his face. In the front seat, Bianca was laughing along with Quinn. “Fun!” she exclaimed. “Did you get wet, Gillian?”

“A little.” But
the water felt good on her face and arms against the heat of the sun’s strong rays. She made a mental note to apply more sunblock to her nose and her knees when they stopped for lunch.

“You got that right, b
eautiful,” Herb exclaimed.

Gillian
couldn’t tell if he was commenting on her bedraggled appearance or that Bianca was beautiful. He was probably right on both counts. One of them bedraggled, the other beautiful.

At
the next section of white water Gillian had a moment of fright when she slipped forward on her cushiony seat, and had to grab Herb’s beefy arm to avoid sliding down between the seats. After she righted herself, she pressed her right foot against the forward seat along the edge of the raft to remain in position. Herb patted her hand where she was still clutching his arm. She tried to act nonchalant as she let him go and grasped her paddle again.

“Get ready, people,” the guide said.
“This one’s a Class Three, a little bigger than the last one.”

Gillian concentrated on paddling
each time Quinn, in the seat in front of her, did so, and the raft scooted through the water. Now that she knew what to expect, the spray and bouncing movement of the raft no longer surprised her as they approached the next section of rapids.
This
is
fun.

“Everyone
ready?” the guide asked minutes later. “Here we go again. Stroke, stroke.”

Even
Gillian responded with laughter. “Let’s do it,” she said. This time, she kept her seat more easily, imagining herself riding a horse as they bounced between the water-covered rocks, into and out of the white water, a rush of spray cooling them all. Quinn laughed and Bianca squealed. “This is great!”

“
Good,” Gillian murmured more quietly.
So much for the easy sections
. Gillian looked ahead when Quinn pointed. “Here comes a big one!”

Lots of white water. Oh my
. Was that what was meant by a Class Four? Gillian’s pulse picked up. Could she keep her seat this time?

“Paddle, keep paddling!” the guide ordered.
“Stroke together, stroke hard! One together, two together.”

As they slid forward,
a huge wave splashed over the front of the raft and doused them all. Quinn shouted with laughter, as did Herb sitting behind him. Bianca squealed again. Gillian gulped, certain she was going to lose her seat on the wet and slippery rubber when the raft first seemed to lift to her left and then dipped down steeply toward a huge rock on her side of the raft.

“Watch out!
Paddle hard!” the guide yelled. “Stroke, together!”

“Oh my goodness!”
Gillian called out, almost losing her paddle. She grabbed for Quinn’s shoulder as she slid forward, missed, and felt herself falling forward to the side. Her paddle slipped out of her hand when it hit a rock, as her body continued to propel forward. Her shoulder knocked against Quinn’s back just before she fell against the side of the raft and slid over the side and into the water. When she came up, gasping in reaction to the cold of the glacier-fed river, her sun hat was resting against the back of her neck, held in place by the strings she’d tied under her chin. Gillian floated behind the raft, held high in the water by her life preserver. The raft slid past another rock and seemed to settle into quieter water. She kicked her feet and leaned forward to reach it, but it scooted forward out of reach.

Gillian’s
left leg scraped against a rock. She gasped, certain she was going to be pulled under the surface of the water again.
Why
had she agreed to do this? She grimaced and closed her mouth to avoid swallowing more water as she slid into another chute and was whirled around. Her already scraped-up knee hit another rock and she yelped.

“You okay? Grab
the paddle.” The guide held out her paddle and Gillian grabbed it, missed and tried again, this time clinging to it as the guide pulled her toward the raft, now bobbing gently in a backwater.

“Mom, are you al
l right?” Quinn peered at her from behind sunglasses streaked with water droplets.

“I’m okay. I’m not sure my leg is.”
She dog-paddled in the water, her hair falling forward into her eyes.

Bianca reached for
Gillian’s hand as the guide grabbed her other hand. Between the two of them, they pulled Gillian into the raft. She landed in an ungainly slump in the bottom, her head and shoulders next to Herb’s hairy legs and her butt in the air as she tried to pull her legs into the raft. She rolled over, managed to angle herself past Herb’s huge knees, and onto the seat. After brushing her hair out of her eyes, she looked down at her right leg and knee. The scrape didn’t look as bad as it felt, but she was sure she’d be sporting bruises tomorrow. Said visible bruises would likely be smaller than the one to her ego. She’d felt like a clumsy ox in her attempt to get back into the raft.

“I should have grabbed you,
Gigi,” Herb offered. “My bad. Here’s your paddle.” He handed it to her.

She chose not to ask how he’d managed to rescue it from the river.
Or had the guide given it to him?
No way am I doing this again.

Not sure whether the guide
could read her mind, Gillian was silent the rest of the ride down the river, glad she was able to keep her balance on the slippery seat, thankful the occasional sprays of cold water as they traversed less difficult rapids soothed her face, heated as much from her embarrassment as from the bright sun.

Over lunch, she glared at
Quinn, who’d been so solicitous with the antiseptic cream the guide told Gillian to smooth onto her scraped knee and lower leg.

“I told you this wasn’t for me
, honey.”

“Mom, you did great! Didn’t you hear what the guide said
? You were one of the first people she’d ever seen go through those rapids on their own and you did well.”

“My knee does
not
agree.” Why did she have to be the one to fall in? She mentally pouted and imagined how much her muscles would be complaining tomorrow, reminding her that she was too old for this sort of thing. How awful she must have looked, with her butt in the air, her
wet
butt. She was sure her hair, no longer in a jaunty pony tail, looked as sodden and bedraggled as she felt. After loosening the straps of her life preserver and dropping it to the ground, she pulled her blouse away from her breasts, hopeful the fabric would dry and not cling so tightly while they ate lunch.

“I
t’ll be fine. You’ll see. Tomorrow, while Bianca and I are hiking, you can lie on our balcony and get a suntan. Rest your muscles.” Then, his eyes twinkling, he added, “Or let Herb entertain you. I have a feeling he’d like to.”

She snorted and elected not to respond
, thankful she’d already nixed Quinn’s invitation that she go hiking with them. Sitting on the balcony with a good book sounded like heaven to her. That and a nice nap on a comfortable bed. Away from Herb and his boisterous comments.

The next day Gillian was lying down, engrossed in the book she hadn’t finished the day of their arrival, when loud knocking on her door roused her.
I can
guess
who that is.
She sat up, stifling a groan at how her scraped leg had stiffened overnight, and closed her robe. She opened the door enough to peer out at Herb’s smiling face. So much for a quiet afternoon.

“There you are! Come on out, Gigi.
It’s too nice to sit inside.”

Why d
oes he seem to speak in exclamation points?
“I don’t think so, Herb. I’m resting. My leg still hurts.”

He
widened the door opening and took one giant step inside. “Well, let me see that beautiful gam. I’ll rub it. How would that be?”

Her pulse picked up in alarm that
she couldn’t prevent the man from entering her room. He was looking at her as if he were a cat after a canary. “No. I just need to rest.” She tried to sound firm even as she backed away when he took another step toward her.

Too late, his
gorilla-like arms pulled her against his chest. Firmly. Too firmly. Flattening her breasts against his body.

“
Let me rub your back, get you to relax some. You look tense. Are you tense, little lady?” One arm began vigorously rubbing her back. No backrub that. More like being in a meat-grinder.

He can probably tell I’m not wearing a bra.
Gillian pushed ineffectually against his chest. “Let me go. Please. I don’t want a backrub. Ooh—”

Before
she could wrestle out of his arms, he bent his face down to hers and planted his mouth over her lips, ending her objection with a too-wet kiss that smelled and tasted of cigars.

Ewww
.
Gillian’s brain was on overload. She opened her mouth to scream. But the man was like an overweight octopus, his arms too long, his muscles too strong, his mouth covering hers. And he had backed her against the wall.