Hydraulic Level Five (1) by Sarah Latchaw, Gondolier Page B

a ski rental client about why “ Going down with you since 1973 ” was not a family-oriented business slogan. Then our webmaster called the minute I hung up, telling me that one of the TrilbyJones servers crashed and we were on back-up.
    Everyone was already there, crowded around an overturned kayak, when I entered. Warm pine paneling covered the walls, lined with wet suits and helmets, colorful kayaks and canoes, oars, and mountain bikes. Framed eight-by-ten photos were scattered between outdoor rentals, our faces bright behind ski goggles, whitewater helmets, or rappelling gear. There were six Shoshone rapids pictures—one for each year Angel and I tried to surf the unconquerable hydraulic.
    Today was tamales from Sofia. Santiago, Hector, and Cassady were all in town instead of leading an adventure group. Danita was in her spattered jumpsuit, legs crossed, and Molly sat next to her in a pencil skirt. The boys tore into another pile of stuffed corn husks, save for Cassady. Not that Cassady didn’t eat meat. But because of his diet, grease tended to make him woozy. I thought it was funny. Molly thought it was adorable.
    I scouted the plate of tamales.
    “Looking for something?” Angel asked, grinning from ear to ear. He knew what I wanted.
    “Any chance there’s a bean and potato lying around?”
    “Over here, Kaye.” Hector held up a hot corn husk. “Hope you don’t mind, but I didn’t think you could eat the entire stash yourself.”
    I dropped next to him and he handed me the tamale on a paper plate. “You’d be surprised. I tend to be an emotional eater when it comes to Sofia’s tamales.”
    “Bad day?”
    “Kind of a roller coaster week. I’m realizing I have a lot more leftovers to clean out of the fridge than I originally thought.”
    Hector gave my shoulders a squeeze. “Have I ever told you what a turn on your food analogies are?”
    “Hmm. Men and food. It’s spot on, though—that old saying about the quickest way to a man’s heart?”
    Danita lifted her tamale in a toast. “Hear, hear.”
    “That’s so true,” Molly chimed in. “It always ties back to basic needs, doesn’t it? Food, sleep, sex. You meet those three, you’ve got a happy man.”
    “C’mon, Molly, you make us sound like cavemen,” said Cassady. “We have brains, you know. We like to use them, even.” Molly’s face fell. Cassady nudged her gently.
    “And we want someone we can laugh with,” Hector added. “When everything else, er, peters out down the road, you’ll need that.” Hector didn’t remove his arm from my shoulders. It made me uneasy, but I didn’t scoot away. This was normal for us, and I’d never once felt anxious about it until the past week.
    “We like to feel useful, too,” said Santiago. “I had a girlfriend who would ask me to gauge the air pressure on her Camry’s tires. She knew how to do it herself, but then I got rewarded when I helped.”
    “Good one, hermano ,” Angel said, giving Santiago a fist-bump. “Don’t forget our Superman instincts.”
    “Superman instincts?” I asked.
    Danita looked heavenward. “Superman instincts—a man’s need to protect his woman. Angel has this bizarre fantasy that I’m Lois Lane, ready and willing to fling myself over the railing at Niagara Falls, just so he can swoop in and rescue me.”
    “We’re saving that one for the honeymoon. I’ve got my red underwear and cape packed and I’m poised for action!”
    The women groaned, the men whooped it up like…well…cavemen. This conversation was starting to take a turn for the worse, so I steered it back. “Speaking of food analogies, anyone up for the Band Game?” A chorus of refusals rippled around the room. I scowled. It wasn’t that bad of a game. The idea was to use a food analogy for a band. Rolling Stones: beef sirloin marinated in Jack Daniels whiskey. Samuel and I created it when we were kids.
    Hector manned up. “I’ll play, Kaye.”
    “In,” said Cassady.
    Molly was in