CRAIGS' LEGACY

“Come here.” Ben reached out to grasp Frankie's waist.

“Not until you say it. Go ahead, say it. It’s easy. It’s U-N-C-L-E.”

“Uncle,” he whispered.

“I didn’t hear you.”

“Uncle.”

“Say it loud. Very loud. Shout it for the world to hear,” she said between laughter.

“UNCLE,” he yelled. “Now, come here, you saucy bit of baggage, or I’ll throw you overboard.” As he reached out to draw her to him, he glanced at the sky and stiffened. “Damn!”

Thoughts of her, of them making love, of him inside her, of feeling her soft wetness surrounding him had so filled his mind he’d forgotten the most basic rule of boating: keep an eye on the sky and an ear open to nature.

If he had, he’d have noticed the sudden quiet. Animals had taken to the ground. Birds no longer chirped. The air smelled heavy. The heat he’d felt had come from desire, not the sun.

After hoisting the anchor, he turned back to her. “I need your help.” He handed her an oar. “Let’s make for the southern bank. It’s smoother.”

“What’s the matter?”

“It’s too quiet. There’s a storm coming. Put your back into it. We don’t have much time.” Wind hit them. Water splashed into the boat. “Shit!”

“What did you say?” she screamed.

“The wind’s coming at us from the northwest. That means trouble. Big trouble.”

“Why?”

“During the summer, the strongest storms come from that direction. The river’s tricky under the best of circumstances. The worse the wind, the more dangerous the river.” He dug his oar into the churning water. “And anything can happen.”

“I can’t tell you how relieved that makes me feel.”

The wind-forced rain lashed at her sideways. She glanced down at her feet. The boat was taking on water. Shit was right. They were sinking.
Looking to her left, she spotted uprooted trees drifting down river. Virginia wasn’t in tornado alley, although that didn’t mean a thing. A strong gale could do as much damage.

Furiously, she drove her oar repeatedly into the water, matching Ben’s strokes. The river wrenched it from her hands.

“I’ve lost my oar.”

“I’ve lost mine, too.” The words had no sooner left his mouth then the boat groaned beneath them. The sound of splintering wood followed. Water surged through a gaping hole in the hull and along the side. “Get that skirt off!”

Frankie tore at the waterlogged garment and jerked off her cross-trainers. She knew their weight could drag her under as surely as the long, sodden skirt.

Ben lunged forward, grabbed her arm, and jumped feet first into the churning current. Frankie came up gasping, struggling for air. Using one arm to hold her, Ben began swimming toward the bank. Twigs slapped her as they roared by. Her eyes widened in horror. A tree trunk was rocketing toward his skull.

“Ben!”

Frankie knew he’d never make it if he kept her in tow. She slowed him. He’d be lucky to survive even if he released her that instant. Which given his code of honor, he’d never do. She tore free of his grasp. With a few quick strokes, she pulled away from him.

“Go!”