Rising Tides by Maria Rachel Hooley Page B

into the water.  When it came to his waist, he jumped onto the hull and seated himself at the back of the boat, where he grabbed the pole he used to steer.  With his free hand, he picked up the single line hanging from the sail and pulled it until the slack disappeared and the rope snapped taut.  I looked up at the sail as air filled it, curving it away from me.  The boat picked up speed, and I looked at the rippled wash the rudder left in our wake.
    Tyler jerked the line through a metal cinch on the boat, and it caught, keeping the line tight without his constant grip. "So--what do you do when you're not walking the beach, Kelly?"  He looked up at the sail before glancing back at me.
    "Paint," I replied, focusing on his eyes again and noting  how the light turned his irises a commanding shade of blue.  "And what do you do when you're not sailing?"
    Tyler smiled.  "Not much."  He tugged on the line.  "I seem to spend a lot of time on boats, teaching people to sail and taking tourists on fishing trips."  The boat sped up and I could hear the wind humming along the hulls.  My side of the boat started to rise.
    I clamped my hands around the edges of the tramp.  "This feels...uneven."
    Tyler chuckled, squinting at my white knuckles.  "Actually,  it's normal.  The faster we go, the higher one side of the boat will rise because of the wind."
    My grip slackened as he spoke.  At first, I thought it had been his words that had had the calming effect, but that wasn’t it; it was his voice, something in the way it echoed the serenity of the ocean and hummed with the wind.  I closed my eyes and listened as he talked about the mechanics of sailing, the degrees of the sail into the wind that maximized speed, about tacking and jibbing.  Except he wasn't talking about mechanics.  Those were just the words he used.  The rest was left to the hum of the hull skimming water.
    "You all right?" he asked, touching my wrist.
    I opened my eyes and saw my reflection in his.  I was small now, but I would shrink even more, every day until....  "Fine," I said, smiling a thin smile I was sure didn’t touch my eyes.  I looked away, out at the water.  "I guess this isn't the only boat you have, then, is it?"
    Tyler leaned back, the wind rifling his hair.  "No, I own five others, each with a particular use.  For instance," he said, pointing to the tramp, "this one wouldn't be much good for a fishing expedition.  No place to store anything."
    I kept looking at the grayblue water, brushstroking a canvas in my mind.  I watched the waves, the rolling motion forming swells and caps that rose, crested, and vanished.  Ebb and flow.  Much of that constant rolling was diminished as the hulls gracefully skimmed the water.  If only I could capture this smooth feeling in a painting.
    "So--is it what you expected?" Tyler asked.
    I raised my hand to shield my eyes against the sun and the azure sky.  "Better!"
    "How long have you lived in Oregon?" Tyler asked.  His hand was anchored to the rudder stick, his fingers gently gripping the aluminum as though he expected no surprises.
    "I don’t," I replied, brushing the hair from my face.  "I've just been here a few days.  I live in Colorado.  Boulder.  I hadn't ever seen the beach before."  I reached down and touched the water, skimming my fingers across the surface.
    Tyler watched my fingers rippling in the water.  "When I came here, I thought I'd only stay a little while.  That was before I walked on the beach and saw my first sunset, and before I went sailing."  He shifted his legs.  "I felt the ocean tugging at me, and I knew I wouldn't be happy anywhere else."  He chuckled and looked up at the sky.  "And to think I went to college to become an accountant."
    The sail began to flap, and Tyler shifted our direction slightly until the wind again smoothed the sail.
    "Why sailing?"
    Tyler kept his gaze above, checking to make sure we stayed in the wind's path.  We had sped up