OH MY! OH MY!

 

"Are you all right?" the tall, tanned, muscular stranger asked, as he dismounted his bike and pushed it toward me.

I sat on a tree-shaded bench along the bike trail rubbing my grass-stained knee, while my bike—my younger brother's bike, actually—lay in a heap beside me in the grass. 

"I saw you take the fall," the stranger said. He stopped in front of me, his startling blue eyes full of concern. "I was about fifty yards behind you. Are you hurt?" When he removed his helmet, he revealed a head of short, curly black hair, his square-jawed face clearly in view. Oh my!

"Embarrassed, mostly," I said, eyes lowered. "A rabbit darted out of the woods. I hit the breaks, I swerved, and suddenly I was lying in the grass.”

"Glad you were wearing a helmet,” the stranger said. “ I know a bit about bikes.” He told me I was riding a skinny-tired road bike, often used for racing. Casual bike riders sometimes find a bike like that uncomfortable and unstable. All of which I already knew.

I smiled at the stranger. “Unstable for sure,” I said.

“The seat on that bike,” he added; “is sway too high for you, the handle bars too low. And though I’m glad you’re wearing a helmet, you need one that fits better.”

"The bike and the helmet belong to my brother." I explained he was off to college. I was visiting my folks. They lived only a block from the beginning of this trail. I spotted the bike and helmet in the garage and decided to enjoy this gloriously bright, sunny day with a bike ride—I couldn't resist. "But I hadn't ridden a my own bike much lately, and now I'm sitting on a bench rubbing my knee, my brother’s bike in a heap."

"Look," the stranger said, and flashed a wide smile. "I've got an idea. I'm testing this new hybrid." He inched the bike closer to me. "A padded seat and upright handlebars provide a comfortable riding position and—"

"How do you know so much about bikes?"

"I sell them," he said, beaming. "I own Bike Right, best bike shop in the state."

"Ah!" I said, and grinned. "I thought you sounded like a salesman."

"Sorry about that." He shrugged, a slight blush creeping across his sculptured cheekbones.

Oh, my!

He said, "Bikes have been my life since I was a kid. But here's what I was thinking." He explained he could lower the seat and handle bars on the hybrid he was riding—no tools necessary. He'd ride my brother's bike, and we could continue riding along the trail together—if my knee felt okay—or go back to the parking lot at the beginning of the trail, maybe five miles back. My decision.

"Um, I don't know if I trust the knee for a long-distance ride," I said. Besides that, I wasn't sure I should take a ride with a total stranger, no matter how totally handsome. "Let's cycle back to the parking lot," I suggested.

We rode side-by-side, slowly, chatting, while other bikers and a few runners whizzed by us. When he told me his name was Jeff Bradley, I nearly fell off his bike. I'd been a cross-county runner in high school and college, and I remembered reading in the sports pages about a kid at my high school who'd been a junior national cycling champion several years in a row and had even tried out for the Olympics. We'd never been in any classes together, though.

"You're Jeff Bradley?" I asked. "Graduate of Clear Creek High School, fifteen years ago?"

"I am!" Big, big smile.

Oh, my!

"I'm Sally McBride. I graduated the same year."

"Are you kidding me? Cross country star, right? Four high school state championships. I read about you in the paper all the time. A college star too."

"Until I tore a muscle in my left calf—it's never been the same. Now I don't run at all."

By the time we'd reached the parking lot and stopped at his car, we knew each of us was single, not dating, and he knew I was the lead teller at the Clear Creek State Bank.

"Look," he said, all sheepish. "I can set you up with the perfect bike, helmet, everything but..." His voice trailed off.

"But what?"

"I'd love to go riding with you—you know, just to make sure everything's okay. I mean, if you're interested in a bike."

My head tilted. "Do you ride with every lady you sell a bike to?"

"No. Never before," he said. "Ever. Honest."

My heart thumped again.

Oh my! Oh my!

A smile stretching wide across my face, I said, "I'm interested," and realized maybe this could the most enjoyable ride of my life.

The End

 

 

 

 

TWO LONELY HEARTS

            My mouth fell open. I jerked off my sunglasses for a better look at the man standing over me. I lounged in my beach chair in the sand, very close to the blue water's of Mystic Lake. I tilted the umbrella shielding me from the sun for an even better look at the man. 

"Katy?" he said. "It's me. Charley Hayes!"

"Oh. My. God! Charley!"

The entire beach scene seemed to disappear for a second—bright sun, hot sand, blue lake, and laughing families enjoying a splendid afternoon.

Charley smiled. He had turned gray around the temples, and his sandy hair had thinned a bit, but he was still tall, muscular, and quite handsome. "How on earth did you recognize me?" I said.

"That huge green umbrella caught my eye. I sort of peeked under—you haven't changed. Is that same umbrella, after all these years?"

"Yes! The very same," I said. Whipping off my sunglasses, I jumped up to shake his hand. He wore a Hawaiian shirt and long white swimming trunks. I'd dressed for the beach in a new, red, two-piece bathing suit.

Twenty years ago, my husband and I, along with several other families from differing states rented, a cabin every summer on Mystic Lake. Charlie and his wife were one of the few who owned a cabin. We all swam and laughed together, our kids included. We cooked out and often enjoyed midnight bonfires on the beach. We sang and made up ghost stories.

But as our three kids grew up—my husband Ted's and mine—we didn't have time for summer vacations on Mystic Lake any longer. Our kids became involved in summer sports like baseball, softball, and soccer.

"How long's it been?" Charley said.

"Twenty-five summers since Ted and I were here," I said. "It's why I decided to visit again for a week. An anniversary, of sorts. We always had so much fun, and I was looking for something to do."

Charley raked a hand through his hair. I sensed he wanted to ask about Ted but was perhaps afraid of my answer since I was alone. I saved him from asking: "Ted died three years ago," I said softly. "Heart attack."

Charley closed his eyes a second. "I'm...so sorry. Such a great guy." Then Charley smiled again. "What a voice he had when we sang around those bonfires at night."

"The way you plunked that ukulele—anybody could sing. "How's Martha?"

The smiled dropped off Charley's face in an instant. His feet shuffled in the sand. 

Oh Lord. I should have thought before asking. "I'm sorry," I said quickly. "Stupid me."

He bit his bottom lip and then said, "Um...she died ten years ago. Cancer. I guess we're both in the same boat," he added.

I wondered if he felt as lonely as I did. Two Lonely Hearts. Maybe he didn't, since his wife had passed away a long time ago. Maybe he had a lady friend. Probably—such a handsome man in his fifties.

"Mind if I sit with you a bit?" he asked.

"Yes, please! Please do."

Charley told me his son Ben bought the cabin from him. Every summer, Ben and his wife Angie and their two young kids spent as much time here as they could. Charlie came along sometimes. He was taking his afternoon stroll along the beach when he spotted me. He said he'd dated a bit but nothing seemed to click, so he'd given up. "Life's been pretty lonely," he concluded.

Lonely or not, I hadn't thought about dating—not for a second.

Then Charley sighed, pursed his lips, and looked me squarely in the eyes. He jolted me with a simple question: "Would you like to do something tonight, Katy? Go into town, have dinner?"

My eyebrows must have jumped off my face with surprise, and I'm sure I appeared tongue-tied. I mean, I never expected to be asked on a date, not in a million years. "I—I'm..." Then I thought if Charley Hayes had the courage to ask me for a date, I had the courage to treat him to a meal. My heart pounding, I managed: "How about if I make something for us at my cabin? Barbecued chicken, maybe? And a salad?"

"Excellent!" he said, his blue eyes lighting up. "I'll make a pot of beans, and I'll bring some wood for a fire later. My ukulele is stuffed somewhere in a closet back at the cabin."

I tried to quiet my pounding heart. "Perfect," I said, as I pictured two lonely hearts sitting together around a fire under bright stars and a big moon, becoming better acquainted, perhaps shedding their loneliness.

The End