The tourist gave another snort. "You meanher?" He said "her" like no man in his right mind would ever meetmeat the altar. But then he muttered, "I wish."
I blinked.Well, that was unexpected.
And yeah, just a little disturbing.
As I stood there, trying to decide if I should feel insulted or flattered, Mister Wall Street turned back to the tourist and asked, "So why'd you mention her?"
The tourist's brow knitted in confusion. "Who?"
"Your wife."
"Oh.Her." The tourist cleared his throat. "Because she's the one who told me."
With obvious annoyance, Wall Street asked, "Told you what?"
Caught by curiosity, I stuck around.Was it worth the wait?
Not hardly.
The tourist replied, "That my bag was at the dock."
Oh.Well, that made sense. I should have predicted it.
After all, I had lived on Mackinac Island for most of my life – yes, even during the frigid Michigan winters when tourists were long-gone and the island's population shrank to just a few hundred brave souls who called the island home.
But during these warmer months, the population swelled, bringing with it the tourism dollars that kept the island afloat – well, financially, anyway.
Now that the men's attention had returned to each other, I should have taken the chance to scurry away. And I was just about to – honest – when the tourist turned and called out in my direction. "You! C'mere."
I froze. "Me?"
"Yeah. You work here, right?"
Oh, crap."No. I was just walking past." This was no lie. I'd been walking to the bike rental shop when the commotion had made me stop and gawk like Iwasn'trunning late for work.
Normally, I'd be riding my bike.Not today. Today, my lovely new roommate had borrowed the bike without asking, forcing me to walk instead.
And now I was here, getting pulled into a commotion that had nothing to do with me.
The tourist gave me a dubious look. "You weren't walking whenIsaw you." His eyes narrowed. "You were just standing around. You're saying youdon'twork here?"
I drew back. "Not for the ferry company, if that's what you think."
His gaze dropped rudely to my chest. "No kidding."
I bristled. "Excuse me?"
"I'm just saying, Icanread, you know." And then, as if to prove it, the tourist announced, "Pickett's Pedals."
"Oh." I looked down.Right.As usual, I was wearing my work shirt, which had nothing to do with the ferry company.Theyhad boats.Wehad bikes.
Big difference.
I was still looking down when the tourist continued. "But I'm just saying, you're a local, right?"
Well, at least he hadn't called me a townie. I looked up and gave a reluctant nod.
With his free hand, he motioned me over. "So help a guy out, will ya?"
