Never Forgotten by Kelly Risser

  ***

  It was a short drive. The buildings near the docks—they were more like shacks—stood crookedly, their weathered, gray wood sagging from Mother Nature’s brutal torment. In contrast, most of the boats gleamed in bright whites and brilliant primary colors, clearly the pride of their owners. Two or three boats were tethered to each pier, and a few appeared empty this Saturday morning. I didn’t know which boats belonged to Grandpa Jamie, so I followed him closely, quickening my pace to keep up with his long stride. He didn’t say anything to me as we walked, and I was about to ask him which was his when he stopped in front of the longest pier. It had two boats on the left side, one on the right, and one tied on the end.

  Grandpa Jamie strode down the pier and stopped at the last boat. I pulled up right behind him, peering around his right side. He was broad enough that I didn’t feel safe standing next to him; the pier was narrow. There was one man kneeling on the deck of the boat, his back to us as he tore out a broken board. He wore a baseball cap on his head, his white t-shirt tucked in the back pocket of his cargo pants. His muscles rippled, and his skin glistened from the heat and the labor.

  “What’s the status?” Grandpa Jamie demanded, and the man jerked. Clearly, he did not hear us approach. When he turned and stood, I swallowed in surprise. Evan.

  Evan relaxed against the sideboard and smiled at me before addressing Grandpa Jamie. “Good morning to you, too. Thanks for the heart attack.”

  “You’re young,” Grandpa Jamie grunted. “You’ll get over it.” He nodded at the boat. “How is she?”

  “Damage is minimal.” Evan pointed to the board he was replacing, and three others he had clearly just nailed down. “This deck got the worst of it. I’m about ready to sand and paint.”

  Grandpa Jamie pulled me forward. I think he meant to be gentle, but I almost tumbled into the boat. I caught myself just in time. He didn’t seem to notice. “That sounds like the perfect job for you,” he said. “Evan, can you show Meara what’s needed?”

  Evan grinned. “Absolutely.”

  Grandpa Jamie scratched his head, his eyes already scanning the other three boats and the rest of his team. As an afterthought, he asked, “You’ve met each other before, right?”

  Evan’s grin widened. “Briefly.” I took a sudden interest in the anchor as my cheeks burned. Once again, Grandpa Jamie didn’t notice.

  “Good…good,” he said absentmindedly. He was already walking away.

  Evan held out his hand to help me into the boat. I took it and climbed in carefully. My sea legs were far from developed. I’d only been on a boat twice, and both times were with Kim’s family. The summer before eighth grade, they invited me to their cabin in Minocqua, Wisconsin. They vacationed there every summer. That week I got violently sick both times I was on the boat. I was miserable. Kim and her family were sympathetic, but they never invited me back.

  “You just couldn’t stay away from all this, could you?” Evan teased, gesturing to himself. I rolled my eyes and laughed. He rewarded me with a dimpled grin before turning to pick something up from his pile of tools. It looked like a small, wooden block.

  “How are your sanding skills?” he asked.

  “Nonexistent?” I answered, adding, “I’ve never done it, but how hard can it be?”

  “It’s not,” he said, handing me the tool, “but there is a definite technique. Here, I’ll show you.” He wrapped his fingers around my wrist and guided me down until we were kneeling side by side in front of the board he just installed. He covered my hand with his and said, “You want to maintain an even pressure and move with the grain, not against it.”

  I moved the block back and forth a few times, my hand under his. My blood pounded in my ear, so loud he could probably hear it. His hand was warm and firm on mine. Stay cool, I told myself. I looked over at him and asked, “Like this?”

  His eyes fixed on mine. He didn’t move his hand. “Perfect,” he said, as his gaze moved to my lips. I swallowed.

  “How’s she doing?” Grandpa Jamie called from the boat next to ours. We jerked apart.

  “Fine,” Evan called back, getting to his feet. To me, he said, “I’ll go and get the paint.”

  Sanding was kind of relaxing. I took comfort in the repetitive nature of it. The sun was hot on my back, but it felt good. I always soaked it up in the summer, knowing that I would be wishing for some of its warmth in the dead of winter.

  Icy cold water dripped on my shoulder and made me jump. I looked up to the source and saw Evan holding out a water bottle. “Sorry for startling you,” he said. “I thought you might be thirsty.”

  “Thanks.” I opened the cap and downed half the bottle. I didn’t realize how thirsty I had gotten. “Did you get the paint?”

  Evan held up one gallon of paint and two brushes in response. “Is the sanding done?”

  “Almost.” I pointed to the last board. “I just have that one to finish.”

  “Okay.” Evan set the paint supplies down near the boards I’d already sanded. “I’ll get started then, and you can join me when you’re done.”

  I finished sanding as fast as I could, and then went over by Evan. He smiled and handed me a paintbrush. “You’ve painted before, right?”

  “A little.” Mom and I had painted the kitchen in our old house. I didn’t tell him about the mess we made in the process. We were covered in paint, but laughing when we were done.

  “Why’d you come here today?” Evan asked.

  I shrugged and dipped my brush in the paint.

  “Just a little,” Evan cautioned as he watched me.

  “I just wanted to hang with my grandfather a bit, I guess.”

  “Is it hard?”

  “What?”

  “Getting to know them?”

  “No…yes…I don’t know. It’s weird. I don’t understand why we never visited them or why they didn’t come see us.”

  “Yeah. That’s a little strange, although I can guess why they didn’t come see you.”

  I looked at Evan and waited for his answer. His eyes took in the boats surrounding us before he gestured with his paintbrush. “This takes year round dedication. Your grandfather can’t leave.”

  “Sounds hard,” I said. Evan returned his brush to the paint bucket. In his haste, droplets of paint flew, and one landed on my nose. Evan started laughing before brushing it off with the sleeve of his shirt.

  “Sorry about that.” He grinned at me, but it soon faltered. Once again, I was locked in his gaze. We leaned toward each other. He brushed a strand of hair back from my face and tucked it behind me ear. “Meara?”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you want to go to dinner?”

  “Tonight?”

  “Yeah.”

  “With you?” I asked, realizing that was an incredibly stupid thing to ask.

  Evan grinned again. “Yeah. That would be the general idea.”

  “Okay.”