anyone arrived. She closed her eyes and returned to her selfless fantasy.
After giving her pets fresh water, Alexia looked at the clock and decided she had time for a swim before supper. She changed into a competition-style, one-piece, red swimsuit and put her other gear in a beachbag. When Boris saw that Alexia was wearing the swimsuit, he ran immediately to the front door and started barking.
âIs this your favorite outfit?â she asked him as she slipped on a windbreaker that was hanging on a hook by her front door.
Boris scratched the door. When she opened it, he ran down the steps so fast that he was at the bottom waiting before she turned the key in the door.
The temperature of the ocean had already begun to drop as fall advanced toward winter. A few hearty Canadians still splashed in the surf fifty miles north at Myrtle Beach, but almost no local residents ventured into the ocean farther than necessary to make a good cast into the surf.
Alexiaâs boat, a lightweight aluminum craft on a small trailer, was underneath her house. She kept it locked with a thick, rusty chain wrapped around one of the stucco pillars, but it would be a desperate thief who considered the ancient watercraft a worthy object. It was only 150 feet from her house to a place where she could easily slide the boat into the marsh, and it was easier to pull the trailer by hand than hitch it to her car for a ten-second drive.
Alexia was wearing an old pair of dock shoes that had been seasoned by the salt water and marsh mud. Digging her heels in the sandy soil, she was able to get the trailer moving. Once it was rolling all she had to do was maintain a constant speed to the edge of the water. Her biggest challenge was keeping Boris away from her feet. When the boat reached the first strands of marsh grass, she expertly turned it so that the engine was pointed toward a small canal. She pushed the boat forward and then released the latch that held it on the trailer. Lifting up the tongue of the trailer, she held on to a rope tied to the bow of the boat as the stern slid into the water.
Boris didnât need coaxing. He bounded into the boat as soon as Alexia pulled away the trailer. His feet made loud scratching sounds as he ran back and forth from the engine to the bow. Alexia pushed the boat into the water and hopped in it at the last second. Stepping over a single seat, she sat on the gunwale beside the motor. The engine could be started with a key, and in a few moments, she was guiding the boat along watery paths as familiar to her as a sidewalk in town.
It was a zigzag route through the marsh to the barrier island. Boris took up his position as figurehead, madly barking at the mullet that jumped from the water on both sides of the boat. The silver sides of the fish flashed against the dark water. Alexia smiled at the dogâs antics and wondered what he would do if one of the slender fish jumped out of the water and landed in the boat.
The barrier island was owned by the state of South Carolina. Only two hundred yards across at its widest point, the one-mile strip of sandy beach was too narrow for commercial development. It existed at the whim of the ocean and feared nothing except the sea. A major hurricane could cut it in two in a night, or a shift in offshore currents could erase it in one hundred years. Alexia was simply glad it existed for her. Plans were made to build a causeway from the mainland to the southern end of the island so people without boats could walk on the pristine sand. Alexia hoped the funding for the causeway went into repaving a road somewhere else.
She steered the boat toward a spot at the northern end of the island. The last twenty yards of her journey were through open water where the ocean met the marsh. The front of the boat bumped into the muddy sand on the landward side. Boris leapt through the air onto the shore and disappeared over the top of the sand dunes. Alexia tossed out her beach-bag and
After giving her pets fresh water, Alexia looked at the clock and decided she had time for a swim before supper. She changed into a competition-style, one-piece, red swimsuit and put her other gear in a beachbag. When Boris saw that Alexia was wearing the swimsuit, he ran immediately to the front door and started barking.
âIs this your favorite outfit?â she asked him as she slipped on a windbreaker that was hanging on a hook by her front door.
Boris scratched the door. When she opened it, he ran down the steps so fast that he was at the bottom waiting before she turned the key in the door.
The temperature of the ocean had already begun to drop as fall advanced toward winter. A few hearty Canadians still splashed in the surf fifty miles north at Myrtle Beach, but almost no local residents ventured into the ocean farther than necessary to make a good cast into the surf.
Alexiaâs boat, a lightweight aluminum craft on a small trailer, was underneath her house. She kept it locked with a thick, rusty chain wrapped around one of the stucco pillars, but it would be a desperate thief who considered the ancient watercraft a worthy object. It was only 150 feet from her house to a place where she could easily slide the boat into the marsh, and it was easier to pull the trailer by hand than hitch it to her car for a ten-second drive.
Alexia was wearing an old pair of dock shoes that had been seasoned by the salt water and marsh mud. Digging her heels in the sandy soil, she was able to get the trailer moving. Once it was rolling all she had to do was maintain a constant speed to the edge of the water. Her biggest challenge was keeping Boris away from her feet. When the boat reached the first strands of marsh grass, she expertly turned it so that the engine was pointed toward a small canal. She pushed the boat forward and then released the latch that held it on the trailer. Lifting up the tongue of the trailer, she held on to a rope tied to the bow of the boat as the stern slid into the water.
Boris didnât need coaxing. He bounded into the boat as soon as Alexia pulled away the trailer. His feet made loud scratching sounds as he ran back and forth from the engine to the bow. Alexia pushed the boat into the water and hopped in it at the last second. Stepping over a single seat, she sat on the gunwale beside the motor. The engine could be started with a key, and in a few moments, she was guiding the boat along watery paths as familiar to her as a sidewalk in town.
It was a zigzag route through the marsh to the barrier island. Boris took up his position as figurehead, madly barking at the mullet that jumped from the water on both sides of the boat. The silver sides of the fish flashed against the dark water. Alexia smiled at the dogâs antics and wondered what he would do if one of the slender fish jumped out of the water and landed in the boat.
The barrier island was owned by the state of South Carolina. Only two hundred yards across at its widest point, the one-mile strip of sandy beach was too narrow for commercial development. It existed at the whim of the ocean and feared nothing except the sea. A major hurricane could cut it in two in a night, or a shift in offshore currents could erase it in one hundred years. Alexia was simply glad it existed for her. Plans were made to build a causeway from the mainland to the southern end of the island so people without boats could walk on the pristine sand. Alexia hoped the funding for the causeway went into repaving a road somewhere else.
She steered the boat toward a spot at the northern end of the island. The last twenty yards of her journey were through open water where the ocean met the marsh. The front of the boat bumped into the muddy sand on the landward side. Boris leapt through the air onto the shore and disappeared over the top of the sand dunes. Alexia tossed out her beach-bag and
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