WILLEM (The Witches of Wimberley Book 1) (11 page)

“Will that do, sir?”

I looked up and smiled. “This has to be the only to-go service in the world that doesn’t send you home with paper napkins and plastic sporks.”

She nodded and walked away at a things-to-do pace.

I ambled outside to see how the activity signup was progressing.

“Willem.”

I stopped when I heard a voice call my name from a few feet behind me. It was Kellan.

“I hope you forgive me for pretending to be a contestant earlier. Just like you guys come to get information from us, we get to take a look at the new crop of hopefuls.”

Shaking my head, I said, “Nothing to forgive. Now if I’d said something that had disqualified me, that would be different.”

He smiled in his congenial way. “It’s tough to read actors. You seem like an okay guy, but you could be acting.”

I laughed at that. “Just to ease your mind, I never landed a single acting job. Not in ten years. If I was any good at it, I wouldn’t be here.”

“Oh?” His chin angled to the side. “How did you end up here?”

“I was standing in line for the last audition I was ever going to try for. The guy next to me in line handed me a card, said try the witches, and the rest is history.”

Holding out his hand, he said, “That’s a new one. I’m a collector of stories. Yours is unique.”

I shook his hand. “Happy to oblige.”

A look of curiosity crossed his face. “You from Texas?”

I shook my head. “Alabama.”

He grinned. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Canoe.”

“Good choice. Popular choice. Raider’s in charge.” He leaned in close and lowered his voice. “Watch out for him. He thinks turning other people’s canoes over is hysterical.”

“Wow. Thanks for the tip.”

Kellan gave me a manly slap on the shoulder and walked off.

I didn’t see Roger or Ivan or any of the others I’d met at the bar or Orientation. There was still a line at one of the tables. I stopped one guy leaving.

“Which activity is that for?”

“The canoe thing. It’s the most popular.” He looked back at the line. “By far.”

CHAPTER FIVE

I had just finished off the pecan pie and lay back on the bed to watch TV and rub my stomach like a happy Buddha statue, when I heard a knock at the door. I took the precaution of looking through the peephole even though I felt as safe as if I was still in my mother’s womb.

Looking up and down the hall, I could see that someone had left their delivery and disappeared. There was a bundle wrapped in brown paper and tied with corn shuck twine. There was also a card with my name on it.

I closed the door, locked it, placed the package on the bed and unwrapped it like a Christmas present. I never would have guessed what it was in a hundred years. A black long-sleeve, wick-away moisture shirt in my size, dry-on-the-fly camouflage cargo short pants that came to the knee in my size, and black pull on water booties, also in my size.

At that point I should not have been amazed that they knew so much about me or that they were prepared to produce precisely what I needed when I needed it.

“Hmmm,” I said to the room, as if that covered it.

So I went to sleep and dreamed of beautiful witches dressed like “I Dream of Jeannie”, moving in and out of a white tent where I lay on Persian rugs with tons of pillows, smoking something from a pipe. Each was carrying a platter of constantly changing delectable delicacies and encouraging me to try more. It was a perpetually moving line that seemed to have no end.

I had set the alarm for eight just to be sure that I had time to shave and look halfway awake. Maybe get a coffee in the lobby downstairs.

The clothes and booties fit perfectly and, if you ask me, didn’t look too bad on me either. I stuck my phone, wallet, and room key in one of the cargo pockets, zipped it up, and headed down. It was eight fifty and would have been excruciatingly early if I was on my old L.A. lifestyle schedule. But I wasn’t. I was a new man in hungry pursuit of Plan B and that was noteworthy for two reasons. First, I had no Plan C. And, second, I didn’t really know what Plan B was. I just knew it was focused on the concept of heart’s desire. And what could go wrong with that? Right?

The Charmed Horse Hotel had a coffee bar open in the mornings with a barista who could challenge any espresso artiste anywhere in the world. Yes. That includes Italy. I haven’t been to Italy, but I feel certain enough to make that claim.

I took my steaming cup of pseudo self-actualization out onto the porch to wait for the van. There were seventeen other guys already waiting, wearing clothes that were similar, but not identical.

At least there’s that.

In other words, the hotel’s entire weekend occupancy was going canoeing on the Blanco River with a mad Viking who wanted to turn us over in the water. Christ.

They were standing around on the front porch decking trying to look cool while eyeing each other suspiciously. Ivan wasn’t there, but I didn’t expect to see him since he’s staying somewhere else.

At nine on the nose, three white vans pulled up and stopped right in front of us. Each driver came around and slid the side panel door open.

The driver of the van directly in front of me added, “Watch your step, gentlemen,” and smiled.

“Is anybody sitting up front?” I asked.

He looked surprised. “No. You’re welcome to shotgun if you want it.”

“I do. Better view.”

He grabbed the handle of the passenger door and opened it for me. I noticed the other guys giving me dirty looks for being impertinent enough to score a better seat, but I shrugged it off. I wasn’t there to make friends and, hey, they could have asked just as easily as I did.

When we pulled away, I said to the driver, “I’m Willem.”

He slanted his eyes sideways like he had a secret. “I know who you are Mr. Draiocht.”

“I can’t say the same. What’s your name?”

“Lawson.”

“That’s a great name. Strong. Unusual.”

“Belonged to my granddad.”

“Was he from around here?”

“Yep. He was born here, but in case you’re wonderin’, we’re still considered newcomers.”

“So how long’s the ride?”

“’
Bout eight minutes.”

“You going out on the river today?”

He shook his head. “No. I’m going to be waiting for you downstream at the end of the day and drive you back here.”

“That’s good to know. So what do you do when you’re not driving contestants around?”

“Oh. This and that.”

“Uh-huh.” A snort from behind told me that somebody thought it was funny that I just hit a conversational wall. The rest of the contestants in the van seemed to be listening to us instead of talking amongst themselves. “Have you ever done the canoe thing on the river?”

“Oh, sure. Lots of times.”

“Must be fun then.”

“Hmmm. If you’re a certain kind of person.”

I didn’t know where to take the conversation from there so I let it drop. We rode the rest of the way in silence, but that was just another couple of minutes.

We pulled off the highway and drove down a dirt road, banked with brush on both sides, for a hundred yards. The dense foliage opened to a grassy riverbank shaded by huge cypress trees.

When Lawson stopped the van, he looked over his shoulder at the other passengers and said, “Grab some breakfast at that truck over there and then get a life jacket. You’ve got about fifteen minutes before you’ll be on the water with a paddle in your hands. Nobody gets on a canoe without a life jacket.”

The green bank was littered with brightly painted canoes that looked way too cheerful for a group of guys trying to prove they would never emote because it’s not cool.

“Hey! Willem.” I heard a shout and turned to see Ivan stuffing something that looked like a tortilla and scrambled eggs into his mouth. I started walking his direction as he was heading in mine. “You’ve got to try this, man. These people know how to eat.”

I checked in with my stomach. It replied that it was still working on last night. So I said, “Looks good, but I ate.”

He smiled around a mouthful of breakfast burrito. “So you’re gonna share a canoe with me, right?”

He was too teasable for me to let that go. “I don’t know, man. Do you have experience?”

Ivan looked crestfallen. He stopped chewing and said, “They said we don’t need experience.”

I didn’t have the heart to play him any longer. “I’m just messin’ with you. Of course we’re gonna share a boat.”

His good-natured demeanor returned immediately. “We’re supposed to put on one of those life preservers.”

I didn’t want to wear one of the bulky, hot life preservers, and knew I didn’t need one, but I figured it was a pick-your-battles moment. So I let it go.

One of the helpers stepped up to us. They were easily identified by their khaki shorts and forest green tees.

“Morning, gentlemen,” said the kid waving two plastic pouches. “These are for your valuables. Put your phones, wallets, watches, or anything else that can’t get wet in here. These are watertight so long as you seal them up. Put them in one of your big zipper pockets. Buttons come open sometimes, but zippers get even harder to open when they get wet. So you won’t lose your stuff no matter what.”

I wondered what he meant by ‘no matter what’, but figured it had something to do with accidentally going in the water.

Ivan and I reached at the same time and followed his instructions while he looked on to make sure we got it right. “Excellent,” he enthused. “It’s a glorious day for a float down the river.”

You have to give it up for somebody who’s enjoying his job. At that he moved on to the next group of guys and repeated the instructions.

“So. Let’s pick one out,” I said.

“Yeah. We don’t want to get stuck with yellow or orange.”

I had to laugh. “Why? What’s wrong with yellow and orange?”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, they’re cheerful, but too girlie.”

“Alright. How do you rate canoe colors for manliness, Ivan?”

“Well,” he said, “nobody can argue with ocean blue. It’s universally understood as a boy color.”

“Universally,” I repeated drily.

“Red is a good strong masculine color. It says, ‘If you’re lookin’ for trouble, you came to the right place’.” I laughed, because I couldn’t imagine anybody thinking Ivan was trouble. “What?” he said.

“Nothing,” I chuckled. “Go on. This is entertaining.”

“The green is also a good solid masculine color. It says ‘close to nature and the great outdoors’ without any hint of feminine compromise.”

“Looks like that brings us to orange and yellow.”

“Orange and yellow are for pussies.”

“Well, then, red, blue, or green it is. Take your pick while you still can.”

He opened his mouth, but was stopped by the sound of Raider’s bellow. A bunch of the kids in khaki shorts and green tees jumped in the water.

“Line up over here.” He pointed to where the grassy bank met a short dock. “We’ll get you in the boats in order.”

Leaning toward Ivan, I whispered, “So much for color preference.” Ivan made a face. “Don’t be glum, chum. You know in your heart it doesn’t make any difference.”

“Yeah.” He produced a small smile. “I guess.”

We got in line behind about ten other guys. The camp shirt kids on the bank pushed the canoes in. The kids in the river took control, guiding them alongside the dock as they waded through the water.

They held the first canoe still while the first two guys got in and took their seats. They picked up the paddles.

“If you’ve never done this before,” Raider yelled, “don’t worry. It’s not hard. If you want to turn left, you both paddle on the right side. If you want to go straight, one of you paddles on the right while the other paddles on the left. If there’s a big difference in strength, you’ll have to make an adjustment, but you’ll figure it out. If you lose an paddle, one of you will have to jump in and get it. So try not to lose an paddle.