The Carrier (The Carrier Series Book 1) (6 page)

“Where are you taking me? Now hold on here,
little lady! I don’t know who you think you are, but you can’t just take me to
some rock and have your way with me. I have high morals, you know!” But I knew
he was kidding because that flirty, crooked smile came out again.

I decided to play along. “I’m sorry I misjudged
you, sir. I’ll adjust my schedule to accommodate your moral upbringing.” My
perma
-smile was making another appearance, and I was pretty
sure my checks were apple red again.

He laughed. “So where are you taking me for
real?” he asked slyly. Dark green Wisconsin pines sped by on both sides of the
car.

“It’s a secret,” I said and continued down the
road. Nolan only grinned. I could tell he
was loving
it. About a mile later, I pulled the car off to the side of the road. “Get
out,” I instructed him.

He looked at the forest of pine trees that
surrounded the road. “Um...where are we going? Should I be scared? This whole
scenario reminds me of a
slasher
movie I watched last
week.” He stood by his door, waiting for further instruction as it truly did
look like there was no reason for us to be visiting this remote location. I
walked around the back of the car, and then gave Nolan a playful punch on the
shoulder. “Come on, follow me.”

We had arrived at the end of Bowman road. He
followed me down a short dirt path through the woods and joined me on top of a
tremendous sandstone cliff overlooking the peaceful, winding river. The
gleaming sun set in front of us, and an orange glow sparkled off the chocolate
brown water. The surface was quiet and still except for the edges as they
gently licked the blonde, sandy beaches below. The towering, rocky cliffs
seemed to be radiating warmth onto us. There wasn’t a boat on the river. There
wasn’t a cloud in the sky. It was as if we were the last two people left on
earth. I could hear nothing except an occasional wave upon the shore and the
loud beating of my heart.

It was my favorite spot to come to alone, and
now I was sharing it with someone I felt special about. Something sweetly
touched my hand, and as I glanced down I saw Nolan’s fingers intertwine with
mine. The feeling of his hand sent a million tiny sparks jumping through my
hand and up my arm. I felt so ecstatic that I felt we could fly through the air
if we only took the leap. We said nothing for a few minutes until a hawk broke
the silence. It glided smoothly through the air upon its impressive wingspan
until it landed on a tree branch downriver from us.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” Nolan said to
me as he squeezed my hand. He turned to face me and searched my face with his
beautiful eyes. “This is the best date I’ve ever been on.”

A smile graced its way onto my face, and I
replied, “But it just got started.” I stared back at the winding river below
us. “You know, the Winnebago had their own creation story on how this river
came to be.” I looked at him and noticed his eyes willing me to go on. “They
believed a great serpent came down from the north and pushed its way through
the Wisconsin countryside. When it wiggled and slithered through the soft
sandstone, its body created the twisting riverbed and water rushed in behind
it.  Tiny snakes fled, terrified, from its path and created the small
tributaries and waterways on the Wisconsin today.”

“Fascinating,” was all he could say. Most men
would want to move on with the date and turn to hop back into the car at this
point. But I realized that Nolan was someone special. He stayed to take in the
view, to really breathe it in and immerse
himself
in
this piece of nature that I truly loved. He was interested in what I was
interested in, and he really wanted to get to know me and that felt good.

 After a short while, I led him back down
the path to the car and hated to let go of his hand when we reached the door,
but he followed me over to the driver’s side and opened my door for me.

Aw, a card-carrying member of the dying breed
of gentlemen.

I sat down, started the car, and we jumped
forward with a jerk. I took him on the tour of the neighborhood I grew up in,
including the elementary school, high school, library, and community pool. I
asked him questions about his life and he asked about mine. A friend once told
me a first date is basically an interview, and I seemed to believe her at this
point. I guess I hadn’t really ever been on a first date before. Aaron and I
were friends before we started dating and knew a lot about each other before
the first “date” we ever went on alone.

Soon, I parked the car at the community
baseball fields. The sun had set and the light of the moon was all that
illuminated our walkway. He took my hand again, and I led him down a grassy
path that was parallel with the train tracks. We walked hand in hand, talking
until it was time to cross the tracks. We walked carefully passed over the
tracks by some tall trees and then walked down a very steep, deep pathway out
to a flat rock cliff.

The surface of the cliff was illuminated by the
silvery-blue moon shining down from the sky. I led Nolan to the end of the
cliff, and we looked down to the rocky beach below. I could feel him shaking as
he realized it was easily more than one hundred feet down to the rocky beach
below us. I giggled underneath my breath at his fear and backed us up a few
feet to sit down on a boulder securely resting on the top of the rocky ledge.

 Another breathtaking view of the river
stood before us. A glance to our right showed the docks where the
Bailey
and the other boats were sleeping quietly for the night. We were right on a
bend in the river so a look in front of us showed the point where the Ducks
entered the water at Echo Point, and further down, we could see the baby grand
piano—a rock formation that truly looked like a piano that had been tipped off
a rock cliff and landed on its side. The Wisconsin River looked much more
mysterious and magnificent by moonlight. The water was as still as glass, and a
thousand shining stars reflected off its surface from above. Nolan slid his hand
around my waist and pulled my hip in close to 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.

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 group. She was clearly the ringleader, as she knew
many of the ladies by name and escorted a few by herself down the stairs. Poor
old Rob had to make multiple trips up and down the ramp pushing wheelchairs
full of passengers. Following up the group was an overweight middle-aged man
wearing navy blue head to toe—no doubt the bus driver.

We were in the best mood as the nice old ladies
very carefully and slowly embarked onto the
Bailey
. I offered my hand
many times to help some bridge the gap between the dock and the back deck of
the boat. But as Jack and Rob were hoisting a wheelchair-bound passenger onto the
boat, another lady wedged her bright white orthopedic shoes right in the gap
between two of the stairs leading to the top deck. It took Jack and me many
minutes to pry it free while she screeched, “Watch my bunions!” at
us. Even so, I turned on the sweetness as I buttered up those old ladies,
ready to graciously accept their dollar bills at the end of the tour.

Once the group had been loaded and all were
successfully seated, the crew was ready to depart. As Jack pulled the boat away
from the dock and turned our beauty around, he began to give the ladies a
wonderful welcome. Before I knew it, someone yelled, “We can’t hear!” and
pointed to her ears. I smiled, nodded and bent down to turn up the sound system
hidden underneath the guide’s counter. When I popped back up, someone else
yelled, “Where’s the bathroom?” 

What? No
raising
of
hands? No polite, “Excuse me ma’am?” This seemed to be a rare breed of OLS.
They were going to make me work for their money.

So I did work really hard, giving interesting
and clear commentary, singing perfectly on every note, using downtime to engage
in small talk with the ladies in the front row, and doing personal favors like
opening and closing windows upon their request. It was one of my best tours in
quite a while.

Thirty minutes later we were headed back
upriver, which meant it was time for me to pass out the guide books so the
passengers could look at them and decide if they wanted to purchase one. As I
was gliding through the rows, I looked up and noticed we were passing a Duck.
It was my oldest friend, Ted. He saw my OLS and gave me an enthusiastic
thumbs-up. I think I saw him mouth, “Yeah, baby!” I replied
with
a thumbs-
up and an obnoxious smile of my own. Then he gave me the phone
sign and mouthed, “Call me later.” I hadn’t talked to Ted for a few months. I
guess it was about time.

I returned back to my station in the front of
the boat next to Jack. Traditionally, the driver gave the sales pitch. The
pitch was carefully designed to brainwash the passengers into buying a
guidebook. The driver would explain how wonderful the guidebooks were by
carefully pointing out certain pictures inside. He’d comment on how useful it
was to have a postcard for each picture from your trip, and then, for the
frosting on the cake, he would pour on a little guilt explaining that your
wonderful tour guide made a small portion of the sales from these books.
Purchasing a book would be a wonderful way to thank your guide for the
excellent tour she has provided for you.

When Jack was done, I decided to press my luck
a little more by turning on some relaxing music from my iPod. Floating upriver
surrounded by amazing scenery and listening to a beautiful song was like magic.
These old ladies wouldn’t know what hit them.

It was time to go collect my fortune. Jack
said, “Good luck, kid,” and I gave him a nod and a playful punch on the
shoulder. I quickly walked past the first few rows and sped all the way to the
back row of the bottom deck. A little tour guide trick is to start selling from
the back row and move to the front. That way, the tourists can’t see what
others are doing. If you began in the front and the first few passengers
decided to pass on the book, all the others seemed to think they would pass as
well. And it would catch on like wildfire.

I leaned into the lady by the window in the
back row, by putting on my sweetest tour guide voice and asking her if she’d
like to purchase a book. She smiled at me and handed it back. No problem. I’ve
never had one hundred percent of a boat buy. The next lady handed the book back
to me as well, and then the next.
And the next.

This was...interesting.

I continued through the rows. Old lady after
old lady handed me their book back. I made it through the entire bottom deck without
selling one single book.
Impossible.
I thought for a second that I should
ask Jack to give the pitch again. Maybe these blue-hairs didn’t have their
hearing aids turned on. During the tour I had made an effort to speak with the
ladies up on the top deck; perhaps I should have made an effort down here too.

The ladies on the back deck handed me the
books, complaining that they couldn’t hear me over the noise from the engines.
I apologized and headed up the stairs to the top deck. The top deck, in general,
was a pretty sweet ride. It was simply magical taking an open-air ride through
the Dells with nothing to block your view. But as I should have guessed, row
after row, the old ladies handed me their books back. Some said things like,
“No thanks, but I really enjoyed your tour, young lady,” or, “Your singing was
beautiful, honey, but no thanks.” I finished collecting the books and had not a
single dollar in my hand.

What the hell?

I stormed through the top deck, down the
stairs, opened the closet in the back where I kept the books, and threw them
down haphazardly into the box. I was pissed. It felt as though row after row,
each little old grandma stood up and smacked my cheek with as much force as her
flabby arm could administer. A tear grew in my eye, and then I heard that sweet
song still singing through the speakers. I left the closet, stormed up the
aisle between all the empty-handed old ladies, slammed myself into my chair,
and stopped my iPod mid-track.

“What the hell happened?” Jack loudly whispered
at me.

“We got
gotched
.” My
arms were folded across my chest, breathing heavily. I picked up my yellow
notebook and scratched a zero in for the trip. I threw it back on the counter
without a care and let the pen roll off and drop to the floor.

“No shit?” Jack was baffled. I could see it in
his face. Then he muttered, “Impossible,” and hit the throttle. The faster we
got back to the dock, the better.

After the
gotch
disaster, we hung our heads and headed up to the ticket booth looking for some
jokes and funny stories from Suzanne. Brian was there, but no Suzanne.

“Hey, kids! So I heard your OLS
gotched
ya
! That takes talent,
seriously.”

Boy, news travels fast. But how did anybody
know?

Brian turned his back to the ticket window and
held up a hand for a high five. We both completely ignored him.

Jack slammed his hand down on the ticket
counter. “Come on! We just got off the dock! Who told you?”

I wanted to yell, “Amen!” but kept it to
myself.

“Easy, Captain Jack.
Rob
watched the whole lot walk by the dispatch booth empty-handed and took a wild
guess. He immediately called me up front to check as they shuffled by with
their walkers and wheelchairs. I confirmed, not a single tour book in any
hands!” He let out a laugh, annoying to only Jack and me, and we turned to
leave the booth in frustration. Suzanne arrived for work at that same moment
and blocked the door to the booth.

“Well, if it isn’t the only crew ever to get
gotched
on an OLS!” There was that big, annoying laugh of
hers again.

“Unbelievable,” Jack muttered. “Let’s get out
of here, Ava.” Jack pushed his way past Suzanne as she set her briefcase on the
counter and opened the till. I followed him out the door, and we both could
hear Suzanne and Brian still laughing as we headed back toward the docks.

The Lower Dells docks were located at the busy
intersection of Highways 12 and 16. The corner lot contained a large Mexican
restaurant that wasn’t very tasty, a few shops with tourist junk (as Jack liked
to call it), and an ice cream shop connected to the Last Chance. All of these
were housed in two very long and awkwardly shaped buildings with siding painted
in alternating barn red and sunflower yellow. If the intention was to attract
visitors, they certainly did, but maybe not for the right reasons. In between
those two oblong-shaped buildings was a courtyard of sorts with a seating area
and planters. Tourists waiting for their boat to be loaded would lounge around
here. It certainly did have a spectacular view of the Lower Dells docks and the
Kilbourn
hydroelectric power dam. Jack and I took a
seat on a red bench and looked dejectedly out over the dock.

We sat in silence as I wondered where Nolan
was. I knew he wasn’t at Lower One. I took a quick glance to the left of the
waiting area over towards Lower Two. It was another triangle booth, much
smaller than Lower One, located at the end of the Mexican restaurant. It
normally opened later in the day than Lower One, and no one was in there yet. I
let out a sharp sigh—I wanted to see his handsome face. I knew that was the
only thing that could cheer me up.

I screamed as I felt a quick and intense pain
behind my left ear.

“You okay?” Jack asked, startled by my
outburst.

I rubbed the area with my palm, and the pain
slowly subsided. “Yeah, I guess.” The pain diminished even more. “I’ve been
getting these weird pains behind my eyes lately. I have no idea why.”

“Huh,” was all he could say. He stared off into
the scene before us, breathing deeply. Neither of us had anything to say. I
couldn’t imagine my day going any worse. I was glad it was almost over. Then I
had an idea.

“You know what?” I asked as I pulled out my
phone.
“Now’s as good a time as any.”
I opened up
UWSP’s grade book and logged in.