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    Rising Tides
    Rising Tides
    Rising Tides
    Ebook218 pages3 hours

    Rising Tides

    By Maria Rachel Hooley

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    About this ebook

    At 29, Kelly James is at a crossroads. She dying without ever having lived and desperate to make sense of her shattered world. She lives in a marriage destroyed by her husband’s infidelity. Enter Tyler Adams. He offers her a sailing lesson and ends up healing Kelly’s shattered heart, unaware that loving her will change him forever.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMaria Rachel Hooley
    Release dateJul 27, 2009
    ISBN9781452393513
    Rising Tides
    Author

    Maria Rachel Hooley

    Maria Rachel Hooley is the author of over forty novels, including When Angels Cry and October Breezes. Her first chapbook of poetry was published by Rose Rock Press in 1999. She is an English teacher who lives in Oklahoma with her three children and husband. She loves reading, and if she could live in a novel, it would be Peter S. Beagle's The Last Unicorn.

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      Book preview

      Rising Tides - Maria Rachel Hooley

      Chapter 1

      Standing on an Oregon beach in early April, staring at the tide as it dragged in bits of driftwood, I wondered why I hadn't bothered to visit the ocean before. The tide swept in, then swept out again, every now and again leaving tiny shells on smooth, wet sand that begged for someone to draw in it.

      While gazing out at the endless rolls and swells of water, I thought of two things. First, I had just turned thirty a month ago. Second, I wouldn't live to see another birthday.

      Frowning, I eased off my shoes and stepped barefoot into the cold water. A sudden breeze cut through my sweater, deepening the chill and reddening my skin. I shivered and took in the empty beach, content in my solitude. Glancing down, however, I saw fresh shoe prints, and I knew I wasn't alone.

      I looked up. Overhead, in a blue, watercolor sky empty of clouds, white gulls flitted overhead, circling and reeling together, darting this way and that, dipping their wings aimlessly to the eye but intent, somehow knowing. I breathed deeply, savoring the tang of the water. Shivering, I stepped away from the shore into the grooved tracks made by other feet.

      Absently, I followed them, not knowing or caring why. I stretched so as to match the stride and place a foot in the center of each track. My feet were smaller, like the shoes I carried in my arms. The sand squished between my toes. I quickened my pace, making a game of superimposing the impressions of my feet over those others, but the sand always shifted, making it hard to tell which, if either, had come first. Sometimes I couldn’t tell where my foot had begun and the other ended.

      A hundred or so yards down the beach, a black-and-white Siberian husky darted in front of me and jumped on my legs, knocking me to the ground. My shoes dropped from my grip. I’d been so intent on my steps that I hadn’t seen him coming. The dog nuzzled my cheek, tickling me with his cold nose. Trying to ward him off, I covered my face.

      Larkin, down! a deep voice called. The husky shied away, barked once, and sat back on his haunches, one ear cocked skyward.

      I lowered my hands and saw sunlight burnish the face half-silhouetted before me, turning the man’s short, brown hair auburn. He offered his hand, and I reluctantly took it—heeding if nothing else, the damp ground soaking my clothing.

      Quite a friend you've got there, I blurted—awkward yes, but all I could think of. I stood and brushed the sand from my jeans and sweater.

      Sorry about that. The man moved behind me and helped flick the grit from my back. He loves people. There, he said at length, You're clean again. He bent down, picked up my shoes, and handed them to me.

      I took them. Thanks.

      He smiled and offered his hand for the second time. Tyler Adams.

      I shook it. Kelly Jamisen.

      That’s Larkin. He pointed at the dog, which had lost interest in us and paddled into the water, chasing the waves.

      I looked at Tyler’s full-body wetsuit. Are you going for a swim?

      No. I’m going sailing. Tyler gestured down the beach to a catamaran.

      Isn’t it a bit cold? I folded my arms over my chest.

      Yeah. I won’t actually be in the water, but if I fly the hulls, I’ll get wet, anyway. The suit keeps me warm enough. We strode toward the boat, and when we got there, he pulled on a rope that raised a rainbow-striped sail. A long metal pole perpendicular to the mast held the sail taut.

      Ever been? he asked, tying the rope around the mast. He turned, waiting.

      No, I haven't. I stared at him, mostly at his black wetsuit, which made his body look like a part of the boat. His fingers travelled over the ropes and wires, tightening, straightening, double-checking with such a routine calm I knew he did this often.

      I looked at the sail and thought again of all the things I had always meant to do, now a useless list: hot-air balloon rides, rappelling, sky-diving.

      Sailing.

      That's too bad, Tyler said. The wind lifted strands of his dark hair. He straightened from his bent position near the mast. I'd ask you to come, but, he gestured to my clothes. You're hardly dressed for getting wet, and I doubt you'd much like a swim if we turned over, at least not this time of year.

      My fingers curled around my shoes, and I felt my grip tightening as my heart hammered in my chest. I was uncertain, cautious, but what difference did that make? I had spent my much of my life that way, and it had come to this. I had nothing to lose, really, one way or another, so I sucked in my hesitation and forced a weak smile. I'd like to. Really.

      He grinned and tapped his hand against the fiberglass hull. You can't be serious.

      Dead serious. I stepped toward him. I've never been, I repeated, and I'd like to be able to say I at least tried it.

      I felt his blue eyes resting on me, delving. Shrugging, he pulled the lifejacket off the tarp stretched between the hulls. It's not exactly the best time of year for this; I mean, I'd be glad to take you later in the summer, when it's warm.

      I’m willing to take the risk, I said, brushing a strand of hair from my eyes.

      He looked back at the boat and then at the ocean. It’s really not a good idea. It’s pretty cold.

      I dug my toes deep into the chilly sand and shook my head. I don’t mind, I replied, smiling. I kind of like the cold. It makes me feel alive.

      He stared at me a moment longer before offering me the jacket. Well, if you're game, I am, too. Put this on.

      I walked toward him and accepted the jacket. Sliding one arm inside, then the other, I realized I'd have to cinch it up. Otherwise, I’d come out of it in the water. I secured the plastic latches and tried pulling the webbing more snugly around me. The webbing slipped in my fingers; It wouldn’t budge.

      Here. Let me do that. It gets stuck sometimes. He leaned toward me, and his fingers latched onto the webbing, yanking it to my size. Standing so close to him, I realized I came only to about his chin.

      Bright sunlight danced off the auburn strands hidden in the rest of his darker brown hair. Is that enough? Tyler asked, his fingers lingering on the webbing, waiting for my response.

      I nodded. Fine. I pointed to the dog. The husky darted up and down the shore, still chasing the waves. What about him?

      My house is only about a mile from here. He'll go back once we hit the water. Tyler pointed to a spot farther up, to a large house in the distance. Ready?

      Yes. I bent and rolled up my jeans, my fingers fumbling with the coarse fabric. A few months ago, these jeans had been snug through the hips and calves. Now, the fabric turned easily. Tyler turned back to the boat.

      I glanced at the beach and saw a small pile of his things: shoes, sunglasses, clothing. I set my shoes among his things and walked to the boat. In the breeze that blew inland across the water, the waves rolled in, and the boat bobbed slightly, undulating in rhythm with the current.

      Cold water lapped at my calves, wetting my jeans. I clenched my jaw to keep from trembling. Once, I would have at least thought about pneumonia. Now, I didn't have time for that. Illness was a symptom, and fear was irrelevant. Where do I sit? I asked, eyeing the boat.

      Tyler touched one of the faded yellow hulls. Jump up here and then climb onto the left front corner of the tramp. He pointed to the weather-beaten fabric stretched between the hulls.

      I nodded and pulled myself onto the hull, lifting my legs before climbing onto the tramp.

      Tyler watched me sit. Settled?

      Yeah. I crossed my legs underneath me and held onto the tramp’s metal frame.

      Okay. Here we go. He placed both hands on the hull and pushed the boat farther out 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 gray-blue water, brush-stroking 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 again. It wasn't much of a choice. I was more comfortable—more at home even—on the ocean than in an office. He pulled the sail even tighter, further increasing our speed. Our side of the boat lifted even higher. Ready for some fun?

      Define fun. Half of me felt unnerved; the other wanted more.

      While the wind is good, we're going to come about. Noticing my blank face, he said, That means we're going to turn around.

      My fingers cinched more tightly, and I looked from the top of the sail to the back of the cat, trying to imagine how we were going to accomplish that.

      I'll count to three, Tyler said. Then I'll cut the rudder hard to the left. When the boom swings toward you, duck and scoot across. Then we'll be heading the other direction.

      I stared at the boom, wondering how much it weighed and whether I could duck quickly enough.

      Don't worry. I've never lost a sailor, Tyler said, grinning at my arched eyebrows. It's easy.

      Did I mention I sucked at dodgeball when I was a kid? was what I thought about saying, but what actually came out was, Let's go.

      Tyler's grin broadened. One...two...three! He jerked the rudder and released the sail. The boat turned sharply, and that huge, black pole snapped toward me. Alarmed, I ducked to the side and slid off the tramp. My butt landed on a hull. I fumbled for the edge, but my fingers slipped.

      My legs hit the water first, pulling the rest of me downward. I plunged into the frigid water, and it rushed into my open mouth, choking me, stealing my breath. My heart felt as though it would burst.

      Panicked, I kicked and thrashed, my body somehow not my own, a grim marionette whose strings were too long to see and only distantly in my grasp. Then the life jacket yanked me to the surface. I opened my eyes to blue sky, gasping and coughing until my chest burned.

      You okay? Tyler treaded water next to me. Drops beaded in his dark hair before falling back into the ocean. Jesus, did the boom hit you? He touched my forehead, his fingers probing for a lump.

      I'm fine, I sputtered, just clumsy. I shivered violently. My teeth chattered between coughs, and I kept tasting the sand and brine of the ocean.

      Come on, he said, grabbing one of the ribbed straps on the jacket. Let's get you back on the boat before you freeze to death.

      I kicked, trying to move along more quickly, but the jeans and sweater weighed my body down, and my muscles ached from the cold. Tyler pulled me along with strong, sure strokes. His fingers clung to me, unwilling to let go, even though he knew I was okay.

      We reached one of the hulls, and he swung his free arm over, clutching it. I looked up, at the height of it rising out of the water, and wondered how I was ever going to be able to make it back aboard. Even if I’d had the strength, the combination of my weight, clothing, and the cold made moving difficult at best.

      Hold on to the boat and I'll boost you up.

      I nodded, trying to keep my body from shivering as I grabbed for the hull. My fingers had trouble latching on at first, but with his help I managed to hoist myself up enough to swing my legs over and sit back on the hull. Then I climbed back onto the tramp where I drew up my knees and wrapped my arms around my legs.

      Tyler pulled himself up and sat next to me, his fingers gentle on my back. You okay?

      I nodded and closed my eyes, trying to ignore the noisy clatter of my teeth. C-cold.

      Tyler withdrew his hand and slid to the back of the tramp. We'd better get going. Once we get back to the beach, I'll take you to the house for something to wear while your clothes dry.

      He repositioned himself to sit in front of me, his body blocking most of the breeze. Sit close behind me, he said. You’ll be warmer.

      I scooted as close as I could and tried not to shiver so much. With one hand, he cinched down the flapping sail, and with the other he grabbed the rudder and began steering us back to shore.

      Again I looked up at the sky and thought the sun was probably warm, but it couldn't penetrate my dripping clothes. When my side of the boat rose again, I switched my grip to the rail at the side of the tramp. Our speed picked up enough so that the wind once again hummed off the hulls like air blowing through a hollow tube.

      I watched the land drift closer and closer, and despite the cold I felt the same draw toward the ocean as I had

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