The Park Service 01: The Park Service by Ryan Winfield

Author:Ryan Winfield [Winfield, Ryan]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Birch Paper Press
Published: 2012-04-17T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 23

The Lake House at Malthusai

“Knock it off.”

Junior licking the salt from my lips.

“All right, all right. What’s that sound?”

Swoosh—thwap! Swoosh—thwap! Swoosh—thwap!

Jimmy is fast asleep snoring, his arms wrapped around his pack as if he were cuddling it. I pick Junior up and carry him with me to go investigate. The dawn light beyond the trees is gray and the distant peaks stand black against it, and as I near the edge of the bluff, the pewter lake comes into view. A duck calls, another flapping clumsily across the sky veers to the lake and lands, cutting the smooth surface open like a zipper.

I set Junior on the ground, drop to my belly, and shimmy to the edge. Just as I peek over, the sun rises from between two peaks, blinding me. I narrow my lids against the glare, raise a hand to shield my eyes, and wait for my vision to adjust.

Swoosh—thwap! Swoosh—thwap! Swoosh—thwap!

She fades into my sight like some fiery sex-goddess might in a dream from which I’d never want to wake, and I know in this very moment that I’ll never be the same again. Standing on a red clay tennis court, she’s hitting balls thrown by a machine. She wears white shoes and a white tennis skirt, her long legs bare, her skin the color of pale honey, and when she hits the ball, her skirt lifts and I can see the hint of her pink underwear. But what attracts me most about her appearance, and why I cannot pull my eyes away, is her thick red hair pulled back from her gorgeous face and tied in a pony tail that sweeps out behind her, splaying open like a burst of flame when she swings, then falling again to rest in the perfect curve of her back.

The balls come fast from the machine, and she delivers them back across the net with expert swings—backhand and forehand and overhand—dancing on the red court, agile and so faery-like I wouldn’t be surprised if her red hair spread into wings and she flew away over the treetops. But I hope she never flies away. I want to lie here and watch her forever, and I would if Junior didn’t start crying loudly in my ear, the noise threatening to draw her attention to me.

I turn to grab him but he backs away and yips again. I look at his little ribs showing through his fur and think he must be starving. Shimmying away from the edge, I head back toward our camp with Junior yipping at my heel.

Jimmy’s awake, propped against the log, digging through his near empty pack.

“What are you looking for?” I ask.

“Anythin’ eatable,” he says. “Where were ya?”

“Had to take a leak,” I say.

I don’t know why I lie to him, I just do.

“What was that sound?” he asks.

“What sound?” I say, lying again.

Jimmy just shakes his head and says, “I’m starved.”

“Me too. And so is Junior.”

He tosses his pack and stands, brushing himself off and looking around.

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