Chapter 27 #2
“It is. And the point of yoga is to stay vertical for the entire length of a standing pose.” He smiled and raised an eyebrow. “Things don’t always go as we plan, though, do they?”
“You’re like a one-man comedy show today, aren’t you?” Kenny rolled her eyes and tried not to smile. “And did you say something about Eelsnot? What on earth is that?”
“Terrible name, isn’t it?” J.P. replied like he was hoping to get a rise out of Kenny.
“It’s just a protective coating that people use on their boats and boards to safeguard the watercraft from the elements.
It usually makes the ride smoother and faster, too.
” He pulled out a small black tub that looked like a chewing tobacco container from his pocket.
“I’m getting quite the education this morning. So many things to worry about on this island that don’t come up in regular conversation on my sheltered oasis of Manhattan.” She loosened a paddle from under the bungees of one of the kayaks, indicating she was ready to go.
“When was the last time you kayaked?” He asked as he picked up the other paddle and stood it tall in front of him.
“Over the summer I rented a paddle boat at the Lake in Central Park. Does that count?” She attempted to sound convincing while wondering if she was in over her head.
“Not even close to counting.”
Kenny shrugged her shoulders. “Okay. Then never.”
“Maybe we should be down closer to the Beach Club in view of the lifeguards?” He half-joked but immediately stood down when he caught a glimpse of her exaggerated eye roll.
“Or not! Here, hold out your paddle out in front of you like this.” J.P.
lifted his arms straight in front of him, his palms facing down, and wrapped around the shaft with the long sides of the blades pointing toward the sky.
Kenny extended her arms horizontally and mimicked him with her paddle, the long side of the blade facing up and the curved back of the blade closest to her body.
“Great. Now lift your arms and rest the paddle on your head. Move your arms so they are at a ninety-degree angle. This is the spacing for where your hands should be on the paddle, so your arms don’t get too tired, too quickly,” he instructed.
Kenny followed suit and stood proud as a peacock at the water’s edge with a seven-foot oar resting on her head, hanging on every word J.P. said. Staring out at the ocean, in this awkward position, there was no place in the world she would rather be.
“You can bring that down, Hulk.” He laughed and nodded to her lifted arms. “You’re going to want to keep your grip loose.
Don’t white-knuckle it, your joints will get sore.
Then you’re going to stroke side to side, submerging the blade into the waves to push the water back and propel yourself forward.
” He paddled from side to side in thin air.
She took a few faux strokes and burst out laughing. “I think I’m ready for the water. Put me in, Coach. I’m ready to play!”
“If you say so!” He handed Kenny his paddle, grabbed the two kayaks by the bows, and pulled them closer to the shoreline.
“The water is ridiculously warm today. I took a dip right before you got here. Hence, the Guido hair.” He motioned to his wet, slick-backed hair that started to dry into something that resembled a pompadour.
Although she was mostly distracted by everything that was happening below his chin, she was relieved to learn that the slicked-up, voluminous mop on top of his head wasn’t his go-to style when he was sans baseball cap.
The look reminded her of a ribbed wife-beater, chain-wearing bro from Staten Island rather than the athlete in preppy, Dri-FIT golf attire he usually donned.
“When do we actually get on the kayaks?” she asked as she slowly trudged through the water, the waves now breaking just below her knees.
J.P. stopped dead in his tracks and turned to face Kenny. “Are you afraid of the ocean?”
“I’m not afraid of the ocean. I might be afraid of sharks in the ocean.” She nervously giggled as she scanned the top of the water for fins.
“You have better odds of having an up-close encounter with an alligator in the ponds that run through Pelican Pointe than an encounter with a shark while kayaking but, here, hop up.” J.P. laughed and steadied one of the kayaks with both of his hands so Kenny could climb on top.
“You and these alligators. You’re so funny,” she mumbled as she struggled to lift herself onto the boat, pulling up her torso by pushing down with her forearms. “Do I look as ungraceful as I feel?” she asked as she swung her right leg onto the boat and shimmied the rest of her body to the center of the kayak, where she propped herself up to a seated position.
“Don’t they teach you in journalism school to not ask questions you don’t want the answers to?
” J.P. smiled and tapped her knee. “And clearly you haven’t read the “Alligator Caution” signs that are all over this plantation.
‘Assume every body of water contains an alligator,’” he said as he effortlessly hoisted himself onto the other kayak in one swift motion.
“At least now I know I don’t have to run in zigzags in case I do spot one on my walk from my back door to the pool deck,” she sarcastically said while she thought about the absurdity of an alligator taking up residence in a foot deep decorative landscaping pond filled with koi fish.
“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. I don’t know how you would manage down here if you hadn’t run into me. Race you to the next house down, let’s see what you’ve got!” J.P. put his oar in the water and started swiftly paddling through the current, parallel to the beach.
“I don’t even get a head start!” Kenny called after him as he left her in his wake.
She thought there must be some validity to scrubbing down the kayaks with the Eelsnot because paddling came easier than she expected and found herself cruising through the waves with little effort.
The mist that brushed her face and arms from the blades cutting through the water was warm but refreshing.
The sun cast beams of light onto the water the way stage lights shine through a theater, anticipating the star of the show to appear.
She felt small, free, and energized by her surroundings.
She wasn’t far behind J.P. and certainly wasn’t taking the race as seriously as he was.
She also knew that if she put her mind to it, she’d be able to keep his pace.
But she was too consumed with the beauty around her to focus all her energy on paddling at a quick clip.
She was also distracted by the ocean view of the monstrous house she passed on the beach path.
“You’re not even out of breath!” a winded J.P. said to Kenny who coasted her kayak alongside his.
“And you probably shouldn’t be, I wasn’t even trying to race you! You do need to start walking the golf course and not relying on those carts,” she needled. “Hey, where’s Cliff today?” she pivoted, hoping she didn’t offend or embarrass him with her observation.
“I left him up at the house.” He nodded to the mansion behind the dunes. “He went bonkers when I was out here earlier. He’d lose his mind if he saw both of us this far from shore.”
“That house? Is it really a single-family home? It’s larger than most boutique hotels I’ve stayed in over the years.” She stared at the house that stretched so long it still seemed to be in front of her.
“Yep. That is one house, for one guy.” J.P. laughed as he and Kenny started to leisurely paddle again.
She looked at him confused.
That couldn’t possibly be his house. Or could it?
“I know what you’re thinking. I am not that one guy,” J.P. assured. “My place down by South Beach would fit in the guest garage. It’s Mr. Cunningham’s place. Cliff and I are house-sitting for him while he’s away on business this week.”
“Wow! That isn’t too shabby.” She wasn’t sure what else to say without the words potentially coming out wrong or offensive.
The house was so opulent it appeared out of place on the island that was notably unpretentious and unassuming, despite the wealth and elegance among some who lived and others who vacationed there.
“Some think it’s a little . . . over the top? Which I guess I can understand. But that’s not what I see when I look at it. I see it as a symbol of all the old man’s best intention; the good fortunes and opportunity he’s brought to so many people,” J.P. said in a serious tone.
“You seem to have a lot of respect for Mr. Cunningham. And the feelings must be mutual if he asks you to crash there while he’s out of town,” Kenny replied.
“I’ve known Mr. C for more than twenty years and I still remember the first time I met him.
Like all stereotypical Ohioans, my family came down here every summer for vacation.
The year I turned fourteen, my big gift was a round of golf with my dad at Liberty Oaks.
Golf wasn’t big in our small town outside Columbus, so I didn’t play much.
I was a three-sport athlete, but golf wasn’t one of them.
Anyway, after our eighteen holes we were sitting in the clubhouse having lunch when this guy came over to my dad and introduced himself.
His name was Mike Cunningham. He told my dad he saw me on the course and thought I had real potential for a kid my age.
They chatted while I chowed down on my burger and when we were leaving Mike gave my dad a piece of paper with his number on it and told him to call the next time we were in town. ” He smiled at the memory.
“Huh? I guess your dad called him the following summer?” Kenny asked, genuinely interested in what transpired over the course of two decades that forged the strong bond between an inexperienced teen golfer from the Midwest and a billionaire from the Lowcountry.