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Guests filled the dining room, the usual Saturday night jam-packed crowd, but calmer than any meal of the past week. Missing were the thirteen little urchins running around, bouncing up and down on the benches, begging their parents for more dessert, waving like maniacs when Ingrid walked in. No more horse camp. The kids and their families had boarded the ferry that morning, sailing back to their lives after one blissful week in the wilderness.
I tucked myself away at a table for two in the corner, back against the wall, sipping a glass of wine, courtesy of Kathy, and watched Ingrid at a table with Ryder, Greta, and the skinny through-hiker, Otto. They all talked at once, laughing, and looking happy in the way that young people look, before the years of slogging through the working world and raising families and shouldering mounting responsibilities take the edge off pure, unadulterated fun.
The dining hall was polar opposite to my old company cafeteria—the place where I met Bill #2. Where the Ranch design was rustic, including the sawdust floor, my old corporate cafeteria was all glass and metal filled with sleek tables. To its credit, the corporate cafeteria had window-lined walls, so those of us trapped inside like zoo animals could gaze out onto a green landscape lush with enormous rhododendrons, ferns, red-leafed maple trees, backed by firs and cedars.
Never packed and boisterous like the dining hall, quiet permeated the corporate cafeteria. It had been insanely quiet, as if too much chatter might drain crucial brainiac power. Bits of code might waft away along with data needed for the next meeting, the next presentation, the next, the next, the next.
I had first spotted Bill #2 while I was jamming in a tuna salad sandwich on a rare lunch break. He was handsome in an academic nerdy way—just my type—with painfully short hair and eyes that sparkled when he smiled. Ah, there was the catch. They only sparkled when he smiled, a smile that was abundant early in our relationship, but those sparks faded with passing time. Not only that, but as the money amassed in our collective savings accounts, the less nerdy he became, morphing into a cocky shadow-nerd, a self-aware geek coupled with the insight that in these days of tech as power, tech as king, nerd was cool. In other words, he began to think of himself as a super cool geek nerd. That wasn’t even the worst of it.
Some lovers stand by you through thick and thin, even before the vows of richer-poorer, sickness-health. Others drift away at the first sign of trouble. My smart, nerdy guy proved to be the latter. A drifter. One day solid, the next day semi-transparent, and soon, invisible.
The wine must have gone to my head as I watched the happy table of Ingrid and company. I felt old and alone.
Luka walked in, went straight to the food line with purpose, without so much as a glance around the room. He thanked the server as he made his way down the line, plate heaping by the time he reached the end. Then he turned and looked for a place to sit.
I waved at him. He nodded, another one of those Harley biker nods, meant to acknowledge but only barely, and I tucked my errant hand back down, embarrassed. Too late. He walked toward me.
“It’s crowded in here tonight,” I stated the obvious. “Have a seat.”
He set his piled-high plate down then fetched a cup of coffee from the hearth. When he sat across from me, his back to the room, he gave another nod, this one toward my wine glass. “Special occasion?”
“Celebrating the end of a successful horse camp. Thirteen happy kids, one scraped knee, and parents who enjoyed five days of a break in parental duties enough that ten of them have already signed up for next year.”
He clinked his mug to my wine glass. “To horse camp.”
“Would you like some wine? Kathy left the whole bottle.” Obviously, the bottle sat conspicuously on the table.
He forked a mound of food into his mouth, chewed, and before he had a chance to answer, I retrieved a wine glass from the kitchen.
The wine was a lovely dark red cabernet sauvignon made by one of the burgeoning wineries in Chelan, bottled with a Stehekin label. They sold them at the store at the landing, and Kathy kept a stash. I poured Luka a glass and picked at my dinner.
“How are you holding up?” I searched for a conversation starter.
“Holding up?” He looked confused.
“Yeah, you know. Busy, busy, lots of kayaking families, we’ve had a few urgent electrical matters.”
He looked at me blankly for a minute, then said, “I am holding up very well.”
I was starting to get a complex. Was I drunk? My thoughts must have shown on my face. He watched me as he devoured his dinner, a savory roast chicken with herbed potatoes, green beans, and thick rustic Italian bread from the bakery.
He finally set his fork down and sipped his wine. “The electrical work here is, what’s the phrase you American’s use? A walk in the park. This job is a walk in the park. This life is,” he glanced around the dining room for the first time, “abundant. No one is hungry. No one is hurting. It’s all good. Very good.”
“I’m glad. We appreciate the work you’re doing, both the electrical and kayaking. We’ve been up and running electrically without a hitch. And we haven’t had a single complaint from any kayakers. Au contraire!” Good God, now I was dragging up my high school French? What was wrong with me?
Luka looked vaguely amused as he moved onto dessert, a delicious-looking fruit pie.
On a whim—and I had no idea where this idea came from, except maybe the wine—I blurted out, “Will you take me kayaking again?”
He watched me without slowing down on the pie.
I smoothed out my crisp, white shirt in a nervous gesture, and continued. “I’d like to kayak down to Moore Point. I haven’t been there yet this year.”
“I have tours every day this week.”
“Mostly in the morning, right? How about after a tour in the afternoon? I can ask Sam to pack us some food and we can have a late picnic lunch.” I felt like a brazen floozy, coercing him to spend some time with me. Silly, perhaps. I glanced over to Ingrid’s table as they all burst into laughter together. My heart pounded as I waited for an answer.
“How far is that? To Moore Point?”
“About seven miles on the Lakeshore trail, so maybe six, as the crow flies.”
He frowned. “The crow flies must be an American expression that means...?”
“In a straight line on the water.”
“Ah, I see. Yes, as birds fly without having to follow the geography of land. Okay. You name the day and let me know.”
He finished eating, finished the last of the single glass of wine, and stood. “I must go now.” He bused his dishes and left.
Good. Kayaking to Moore Point would give me exercise and fresh air. And another chance to kayak with Luka.
***
I stopped by Luka’s table at breakfast a couple days later, as he devoured eggs and potatoes. “How about Moore Point today?”
He chewed, sat back in his chair, and gazed up at me, expression unreadable. “Okay,” he said. “My tour should be done by eleven thirty.”
“Perfect. I’ll bring food and get there a little early to get ready. See you.” I grabbed a croissant and an orange and dashed out the door, embarrassed at my boldness, but excited to have a fun afternoon off.
