Dock Talk

Camp sounded different after lights out. Gone were the cheers from the waterfront. The whistles. The music drifting from cabins. Now there were only muffled voices. Counselors whispering through screen windows. The occasional giggle from a camper refusing to go to sleep. A flashlight beam cutting through the trees. Somewhere, someone was reminding a cabin for the fifth time that talking after taps still counted as talking.

For the first time all day, nobody was calling my name.

I wandered down to the dock. The lake looked like polished black glass. The stars were so bright they seemed to exist twice—once overhead, once beneath my feet.

I sat on the edge of the dock and dangled my feet. The water was cold against my ankles. I leaned back on my hands. The quiet left too much room to think.

About home. About the version of myself that had climbed onto a Greyhound convinced adulthood was mostly girls and freedom. About the version of myself sitting here now.

Somewhere inside me, two people kept arguing. One wanted every adventure. Every flirtation. Every reckless story. Every wet pussy.

The other wanted something harder to find. Someone who stayed. Somewhere that felt like home. Someone who cared.

I heard neither footsteps nor breathing. Only the faint shift beneath me as the dock dipped under another person’s weight.

Long legs stretched out beside mine. Bare feet slipped into the water, sending gentle ripples across the reflected stars.

I looked over.

Amanda. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders. The clipboard was gone. So were the pressed slacks and consultant posture. She was Clark Kent without the glasses.

She wore mid-thigh shorts, a black wife beater that really showed the curves of her chest, and her glasses. The casual sexiness of her look had me dipping my foot deeper into the cold water to cool off the hot thoughts I was having.

Without the corporate professional intensity, she looked almost like a different person. If someone had introduced her tonight instead of that first afternoon, I wasn’t sure I’d have recognized her.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi.”

She stared out across the lake. “What were you thinking about?”

“Life.”

She nodded as though that were a perfectly reasonable answer. “It will come fast.”

I waited.

“Eight weeks of camp. Two weeks of closing.”She smiled. “If you convince Deb you’re indispensable, maybe a little longer.”

I laughed quietly. “And then I’m homeless.”

She looked at me. “No.”

“No?”

“I’ll help you figure something out.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.” She shrugged. “I’m good at solving problems. I know people. I can probably help you find work.”

I shook my head. “You’re way too nice to me. I feel like I’ve mostly been a nuisance.”

Amanda laughed softly. “You’re eighteen.” She nudged my shoulder. “You come with factory-installed chaos.”

I smiled. “Can I say something?”

“You usually do.”

“Don’t get offended.” She turned toward me. “I like this version of Amanda.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“The casual one.”

I gestured vaguely. “You still look…insanely gorgeous. But now you seem approachable.”

For a long second she didn’t answer. Her brown eyes held mine. “Are you trying to approach me?”

Heat climbed straight into my face. “If I thought I had a chance…” I laughed awkwardly. “…maybe. But you already established I’m an annoying eighteen-year-old.”

She didn’t look away. “You know…” Her voice softened. “Your charm is starting to grow on me.”

I searched her face for the joke. Didn’t find one.

The corner of her mouth lifted into that slow smile I’d only seen a handful of times. Under the water, her foot brushed mine almost absentmindedly. Neither of us moved. The lake barely rippled.

For a moment neither of us seemed interested in looking anywhere else. The silence wasn’t empty. It was curious. As if both of us were trying to understand something we hadn’t expected. Then the radio clipped to Amanda’s waistband crackled to life.

“Amanda. Amanda.”

She closed her eyes, and growled. She picked up the handset. “Go ahead.”

Static. “We’ve got an issue at the women’s counselor shower house.”

Amanda sighed toward the stars. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’ll take care of it.”

She clipped the radio back onto her waistband and stood. “So much for peace and quiet.”

I reached for my shoes.

She looked down at me and smiled. “Come on. You’re back on the clock.”

“I thought my shift was over.”

“It was.”

She started walking toward the trail. “Now you’re helping me.”

“Doing what?”

She looked over her shoulder. “Cleaning up someone else’s mess. Story of my professional life.”

A grin spread across her face, “We’re going to unclog a toilet.”

The spell broke. The stars remained overhead. The lake stayed perfectly still. And together we left the dock, trading quiet conversation for wrenches, plungers, and whatever fresh disaster camp had dreamed up before midnight.