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"It's pretty, Craig. What's out there on the water?" I asked, squinting at some dark blobs gently rising and falling.
"Ducks, I expect, maybe geese."
"I-low did you find this spot? Anyone else would not have noticed that driveway."
"I went fishing here a few times with my father. We have a boat we pull on a trailer hitch."
"Are you very close with your father?"
"Yeah, sorta," he said. "He's a workaholic, so whenever he wants to take off some time, I go. He hasn't been but to one baseball game this year, however. My mother never comes," he said. "She doesn't like the dust and sitting on the hard wooden bleachers. Dainty. Are you dainty?" he asked, turning to me.
"Hardly," I said. "Maybe I should be," I added, and he laughed.
"You realize that now we're really in a car. No pretending on a sofa in an attic. This is the real thing. Does that make any difference?"
"Why should it?" I asked. What was he getting at? I wondered.
"I just want you to be as comfortable with me here as you are up in the attic," he said.
"I'm absolutely fine," I said. Even though I knew he was just teasing me, I didn't like the implication that I had to live in my imagination to be comfortable. I wasn't even sure he knew what he was implying.
"Let's see," he challenged and leaned over to kiss me. His lips moved quickly over my cheek and down to my neck. I felt his hands travel up under my blouse, over my back to my bra clip to unfasten it and then he lifted my blouse. I started to turn away.
"Hey, c'mon," he said. "I hit a real triple this time."
My head was spinning a little more, and suddenly I felt a churning in my stomach. I was uncomfortable as well because of the way he was twisting and turning over me. I had an acidic burn in my throat and then suddenly gagged.
"Are you all right?"
"No," I said and reached quickly for the door handle. I nearly fell out when the door opened, but I got my feet down quickly and put my hand out to rest my palm against the car so I could steady myself. I couldn't help it. I began to throw up. He leaped out of the car and came around to hold me.
"Oh damn," he said. "We ate and drank too quickly maybe."
I shook my head and threw up some more. My stomach ached. It wasn't the speed of drinking; it was how much, I thought. Finally, I settled down and he sat me back in the car.
"How are you doing?"
"I'm okay. Sorry," I said.
"That's all right. I hate booze actually. I'll have something better next time," he said.
I wasn't listening closely. I was trying to get my head from turning like a top. 1 closed my eyes and lay back on the seat.
"We'll ride around a while until you feel better," he said. "Keep the window down to get fresh air. I don't want to deliver you home like this. Your grandfather will have me strung up or something."
I didn't say anything. He was right, of course. I couldn't walk into the house looking like a mess. We drove out and cruised very slowly back toward Sandburg. After a while, I felt my stomach settle down and my head clear. I fixed my clothing, and then we stopped and I got out and walked a bit.
"I'm okay," I announced. "Really, I'm fine."
"The good thing about vodka," he said, "is you don't reek from it. But that's a no-no from now on," he added. "I have to take care of you. No booze. We have a pretty heavy date coming up."
I got back into the car and he drove me home, apologizing continually.
"It wasn't your fault, Craig. I didn't have to keep drinking that stuff."
"Now, I should have paid more attention to you instead of the idiots around us," he insisted. "Are you sure you're all right now?"
"Yes. Sorry," I said.
