Brook Bingham had arrived to work a good 15 minutes early, still feeling a little queasy from the night before at the harbor, at 20, she still had the tenacity to work through a hangover. Pelican Bay Café sat on the east side of Blackburn Bay and was interlocked with a variety of boat slips, a bait shop, and the marina itself. Boaters could get whatever they needed and with a smile from anyone who worked on this jacked stretch of mangrove shoreline. Today was going to be a good day Brook Bingham thought as she strolled into the parking lot. She arrived in the uniform that Jason so loved. The tightly stitched yoga pants that hugged every curve of waist, buttocks, and thighs, she wasn't lacking in the latter areas. This was an attribute that tourists and locals relished as they dined on mediocre seafood and cold beer. The mornings were safe from the usual cat calls. That's when the "retirees" and other decrepit bundles of sagging skin visited the café. Brook felt better as she got the days work underway. The queasiness left and she began to feel elated yet still had a twirling in her stomach. Nerves. She was filled with anticipation and a little bit of nervousness as the clock struck 6:00. Jason would be here any minute. He was usually at the marina between 6:00 and 6:15. She couldn't quite understand why she was anxious today. Jason had been coming there ever since she was bussing tables at age 15. He was always polite but distant. However, the last few months had been different. She had begun to notice things. The flushness of his cheeks when he would greet her, the nervous sway of his legs as he positioned himself when he spoke and the wave he gave her when he left that said "I can't wait for tomorrow". She decided that today would be different and last night had confirmed it. She was in predatory female mode. She would play the part, pretend to not notice his presence, pretend to be busy prepping the tables of the Pelican Bay Café, or rewashing glasses that the freckle faced, freshman, who her dad hired out of pity, never seemed to get all the way clean. She'd turn on heel and with great surprise find Jason standing there. His toned body sculpted ever so nicely in his Columbia PFG fishing shirt, (always different colors but the same brand) those tanned, muscular arms of his dangling by his side. The nervous smile that he seemed to greet her with everyday, and then he'd ask. He'd ask if she'd like to go to dinner, to launch spitballs at seagulls, she didn't care what he asked. Today she would say yes, even slightly annoyed if need be. As if she had something better to do. She would feign boredom and inconvenience as though she would do him this small favor. She would bait him in, just as he did to those poor crustaceans every day. And then she would have him. She was on the fence last night in regard to whether she would reply in the affirmative to his question. But after seeing how nervous he had been, she knew as she paddled home last night that he was interested in more than just christening her, the local way, at the harbor. She didn't know if it was infatuation, lust, or general curiosity that made her think of Jason that night. What she did know is that she was young and in desperate need of something that reminded her of a real man. The tourist boys were cute enough but you could toss them a baby duck and it would gash their soft hands. They were city boys. The kind she was used to. The kind of boys that would cry at a movie to make sure you knew they had a sensitive side and gaze upon artsy cultural things with great intrigue as their skinny jeans hiked up their shins at every stride. No, she wasn't interested in that. Not anymore. She wanted to have the hands of a man caress her face, to feel the sand papery working hands that communicated a man's worth. It reminded her of her father's hands. The hands of a warrior that would die to protect her. That would cradle her when she was scared. The hands that would work for her and love her no matter what those hands were doing. Yes, that what she wanted. Maybe she was maturing or maybe it was a phase but that is what she needed at this very moment.
At 7:30am she had given up hope. She figured that he probably got drunk and overslept (as is common practice with most of the watermen she knew) but this wasn't Jason. He wasn't that way. She'd seen him on many occasions hung over and looking a little too green to go bobbing around in the back waters and then being lurched every which way as he navigated the coastal gulf. What was this feeling? She wondered. Why do I care? I mean he's cute but I'm not sure if I'm even that in to him. As suddenly as she'd put the glass she was cleaning down, she knew the feeling, she was worried.
