Page 4 of The Hitchhiker in Panama
“PETE!” Edith shouted. “LILA IS GOING TO STAY WITH US!”
“Yes, dear,” came his voice from down below. And that was that.
* * *
The next morning, I moved in, checking out of the hotel with a very understanding Paula. When I showed up atSilver Liningwith my bags, Edith led me downstairs and Peter set the coffeepot to brew.
She pointed to the back of the boat. “This is our cabin. The head—that’s the bathroom—is through here.” She waved to an open door. “Galley here on the port side, Peter’s desk and a seating area on the starboard side. You’ll be up here.”
I stood awkwardly for a few moments while she bustled around, moving things out of the way.
Through the doorway was a small bedroom. Wedged up into the bow of the boat, the bed had a V-shaped cushion with a gap at the wide end. A tiny amount of floor space at this side of the bed contained bins and piles of unidentifiable boat things.
“It’s not much; we usually use this room for storage. But it’s free, so it’s better than staying in the hotel, and you won’t be spending much time in the room itself. This is a head in here”— Edith put her hand on a closed door just outside my new room— “but it’s full of stuff, and being in a marina anyway, we use the bathrooms in the marina facilities. You can use the kitchen sink to brush your teeth on board. Everything else, go ashore.”
I put my backpacks on the bed, as there was no other place to put them down in the room. When I pressed on the mattress, I found it stiff and unyielding. Was this a better option than the hotel room?Free, free, free,I reminded myself.
“Thank you so much for letting me stay here.”
“You are welcome, dear. Now, make yourself at home, and don’t let us old farts slow you down!”
* * *
After I dumped my meager things in my new room, Peter and I drank coffee in the cockpit until the net. I got no leads on a position for the canal.
After breakfast, Edith rushed off to join the shuttle to the supermarket, which left me alone on the boat with Peter.
“What are your plans for the day?” he asked me.
I shrugged. “No plans. You?”
“Oh, I’ve got a pump I need to rebuild down in the bilge. It shouldn’t take too long, though. I don’t suppose you would want to help?”
I hesitated for a moment. It sounded like something completely outside of my expertise. But Peter and Edith were giving me a free place to stay; the least I could do was help out. “Sure.”
Two hours later I leaned headfirst into the bilge of the boat, an area under the floorboards that was full of water with a greasy sheen and a strong stale smell. Peter had me holding a hose up in the air, trying to keep it from leaking water into the boat.
My skin was covered with sweat and I had a big splotch of oil on my cotton tank top. When the end of my ponytail got soaked with bilge water, I almost cried.
Peter could tell I needed a break. “Here, take this outside and see if you can get the hose clamp undone.” He handed me a hose with some kind of connector on the end. When I took it, he piled more into my arms: a screwdriver, pliers, and a few other tools.
Staggering up the stairs, I started to set the parts down on the deck.
“Set up on the dock, please,” Peter called up.
I climbed off the boat, then kneeled to inspect and fiddle with the hose clamp. I knew how these things worked—theoretically. But even with the right tools, the screw wasn’t budging. I needed a vise.
By getting on all fours, I could hold the connector with one hand, pin the hose under my knee, and twist the screwdriver with my other hand. Sweat dripped down my chin, and my butt was sticking up in the air, jean shorts creeping up between my legs, while I strained as hard as I could against the screwdriver. I made a grunt worthy of a caveman.
A throat cleared.
I looked over my shoulder, and my upturned ass, to see a man grinning wickedly behind me. The sun was directly behind him, so I shaded my eyes to see him better. He was fair-skinned and stocky, wearing a threadbare T-shirt that accentuated his bulky shoulders and muscular arms.
“Hallo,” he said, ticking up an eyebrow.
I froze, recognizing the accent. It was the man I’d seen that first day on the docks. My cheeks heated at the embarrassing—and overtly sexual—position I was in. What even was the etiquette for this situation? Shouldn’t he just politely step around me and then we could both pretend this had never happened?
I sat back on my heels and looked up at him, dusting my hands off and squinting into the afternoon sun. His grin went crooked, eyes roaming over me.
