Once Upon a List (20 page)

After a relaxing and delicious meal, which included a bottle of Chianti and a shared slice of tiramisu, Clara and Lincoln, exhausted from their first, fun-filled day, returned to the Historic Chippewa Inn, and, after a long, end-of-evening embrace, retreated to their private bedrooms, closing the doors behind them.

“Good night, Link!”
Clara, tucked snugly in her bed, called out across their silent, darkened suite. They'd already wished each other good night, but, laying there thinking about him—wondering what it might be like to
intentionally
fall asleep in the same bed together—she couldn't resist saying it one more time.

“Good night, C.J.!”
Lincoln, also beneath his covers, returned in a loud but gentle voice, which brought a subtle smile to Clara's face.
“Sweet dreams . . .”

“Good night!”
hollered some guy from across the hall with a very deep voice like James Earl Jones.

•
Visit the Wisconsin Dells

 

28.

A
fter a hearty, early-morning breakfast, Clara and Lincoln—well-rested and prepared to
“soak up the sun and waterpark fun”
—headed directly to Noah's Ark, best known as “America's Largest Waterpark!” A full-day event, this was not only the Dells' premiere attraction, it was what Clara had specifically been dreaming of as a ten-year-old waterslide fan composing a mandatory list to stick in her fifth-grade time capsule.

Upon paying the price of admission and entering the spectacular, over-the-top waterpark where the constant sound of rushing water and children's laughter pervaded the hot, summer air, Clara—stunned by its glittering enormity—slowly turned to Lincoln. “Holy crap.” A growing smile spread across her face. “We're really here.
Look at it
, Link. It's—It's a literal wet dream!”

“It sure is.” He grinned, his mouth slightly agape. “I've never seen anything like it. No wonder I wanted to come here so badly when I was a kid! Uh, for the record, C.J., your time capsule list
rules
.”

“And here we are, twenty-two years later,” she marveled. “Together. Who would've thought?”

“I know.” Lincoln beamed at her for an extended moment before urging, “
Come on.
Let's go get changed!”

When Clara exited the women's locker room, barefoot and wearing her new, lemon yellow bathing suit—a two-piece tankini that she'd purchased especially for the trip—Lincoln, waiting for her by a giant, mushroom-shaped fountain in his plaid swim trunks, appeared to stop himself from doing a double take.

“Wow
. You look—You look fantastic.” It seemed as if he was trying to make a concerted effort not to let himself stare at Clara's body, which had resumed its standard healthy and enticing womanly form.

“Thank you.” She felt her cheeks flush, keenly aware of his eyes taking her in. Perhaps she was mistaken, but she could have almost sworn that she'd detected a glimpse of desire in them. “You don't look too shabby yourself.” She grinned, noticing that the alleged love handles Meg had previously dubbed “Ben & Jerry” seemed to have disappeared. Then, worried that she might have been caught checking him out, Clara cleared her throat. “I vote we ride Black Anaconda first,” she suggested, referring to the longest water coaster in the entire country, which was over a quarter mile long, and boasted six hair-raising climbs and spiraling, thirty-mile-per-hour drops that inspired the ride's menacing motto:
“You can't scream long enough!”

“Excellent call.” Lincoln raised his hand in the air, waiting for Clara to give it a high-five, which she did with noted enthusiasm. “I think it's this way!” He bolted toward the bustling Paradise Lagoon Activity Pool, where shrieking toddlers splashed their way across a lily pad trail leading to a shallow swim area.

They were waiting in a long line to ride the wildly popular Flash Flood—their seventh thrill ride of the day—when Clara, soaked to the bone, began to shiver, despite the fact that it was eighty-five sunny degrees outside.
“Brrrrr!”
Her teeth chattered as she wrapped her arms around her chest. “They should give us towels while we w-w-wait.”

Standing behind Clara, watching her quiver, Lincoln inched forward and enclosed his arms around her so that the front of his body was pressed against the back of hers. “Better?” He gently ran his hands up and down her chilly arms.

It was a caring gesture as opposed to a sexual advance, but still, Clara turned her head, water dripping off her ponytail, and smiled at him with her heart suddenly racing. “Much. Thank you . . .”

“You're covered in goose bumps!” he noted.

Clara wasn't sure if they were a result of being drenched in freezing water, or being held against Lincoln's warm, wet body—which felt surprisingly muscular—but suddenly, she didn't seem to mind the long line quite as much.

After a few more water coasters and a lunch break, Clara and Lincoln, ready to relax and let their burgers digest, hopped on individual inner tubes and took a long, leisurely float along the snaking Endless River.

Unable to recall the last time she'd gotten a tan, Clara luxuriated in the sensation of the sun warming her exposed body. Drifting languidly along the water, her mind was not beleaguered with what she was going to tell The Beer King during their scheduled phone call next week when she was required to reveal her future plans regarding Scuppernong; it was not fretting about what might happen if a buyer decided to purchase the judge's condo that she'd grown attached to; it was not worrying about where the Sam Hell she'd buried Leo's forsaken recorder and whether or not Libby was going to forgive her for annihilating her backyard; it wasn't contemplating the last few remaining items on her time capsule list, or “The Untold Want,” or even Sebastian. Rather, Clara was lost in deep thought about her old friend, Lincoln Foster, and her unexpected, new feelings for him, which, she realized while floating
“the carefree waterway,”
had been slowly blossoming for some time now.

“Should we take The Plunge?” Lincoln, lounging in the raft slightly ahead of hers, grabbed hold of her foot and gave it a wiggle, knocking Clara out of her reverie. She gasped with surprise.

“I'm sorry!” He laughed, still holding on to her toe. “Didn't mean to scare you.”

Catching her breath, Clara covered her chest with her hand, smiling. “I'm sorry, what—what'd you say?”

“The Plunge,”
Lincoln repeated, raising his eyebrows up and down while pointing toward the north end of the park. “Are you ready to take it?” He was talking about Noah's Ark's highest, steepest, undisputedly most terrifying water ride: a fierce, old-fashioned, extreme vertical-drop slide, “ten stories up, five seconds down.” The Plunge challenged the bravest of thrill-seekers,
“Do you dare to drop?”

Though she was feeling adventuresome, Clara wasn't quite sure if she had the guts to “dare to drop.” “Oh gosh”—she swallowed—“I don't know, Link. It looks scary.”

“Come on,”
he persuaded. “When are we ever going to be back in the Wisconsin Dells at Noah's Ark again? This could be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. What would Walt Whitman say?”

Knowing Lincoln was right, Clara dipped her hand in the Endless River and splashed him in the face. “He'd say:
Now, Voyager, let's go to the arcade first while I build up my stinkin' courage.
”

After a jaunt in one of the park's three classic arcades, complete with Ms. Pacman—Clara's favorite video game, involving fruit—followed by a raucous ride on Bumper Boats, Clara and Lincoln proceeded to the Holy Mother of all water rides: The Plunge.

During their twenty-five minute wait in the winding line, Clara's nervous stomach did somersaults, her anxiety level increasing with each rider's haunting scream as they plummeted down the radically steep slide. Beginning their slow climb up the wooden, ten-story staircase, Clara and Lincoln passed a menacing plaque that warned in bold letters,
THE POINT OF NO RETURN: FOR YOUR SAFETY, RIDERS ARE NEVER PERMITTED TO WALK DOWN STAIRS!
“No problem,” Clara mumbled to Lincoln. “I can do this.”

Only, when she finally reached the top of the staircase and was asked by a Plunge Boy—a handsome young man in his late teens who resembled David Beckham—if she wanted to ride on her mat “feet- or head-first?” Clara instantly froze, paralyzed with fear, stuttering, “I—I can't do this!”

“Sure you can.” The encouraging Plunge Boy grinned, well accustomed to this sort of P.P.H. (Pre-Plunge Hesitation, as it was known among seasoned park employees). “I promise, you're gonna have a blast. And it'll be over in
five
measly seconds. Bam!” He clapped his hands together. “Piece o' cake! So what'll it be”—he nodded at the mat—“feet- or head-first?”

Biting her lip, wide-eyed and visibly trembling, Clara stared down at the bottom of the aqua slide, ten
looooong
stories below, and shook her head. “No. No way, man. This is
CRAZY!”
Spinning around, she started toward the staircase.

“Sorry. Can't let you do that.” The agile Plunge Boy lunged to the side, blocking Clara with his bronzed, muscular arm.

“This is nothing, C.J.,” Lincoln chimed in, attempting to comfort her. “It'll be
fun!
Here”—he stepped in front of her—“would it make you feel better if I go first so you can see there's nothing to it?”

“No!”
Clara grabbed his hand, her wobbly knees clanking together as she desperately pleaded with him, “Don't leave me up here!
Please! I can't!”

Suddenly, a little girl with black braids standing in line with her father behind Clara shrieked, “I can't either, Daddy! I wanna get down! I wanna get down
NOW!”
She began to wail.

“Miss, I appreciate that you're nervous,” the well-trained Plunge Boy stepped in, “but the staircase is wet and slippery and way too dangerous for me to let you climb down. Not an option. So you're gonna have to take a seat on the mat and—”

“And what?” Clara interrupted, her voice growing louder and more hysterical by the second. “
Dare to drop?
Hell no, Plunge Boy!
I wanna get down!”

“I WANNA GET DOWN, DADDY!”
screamed the little girl with black braids.

“It's okay, it's okay . . .” Lincoln gave Clara's hand a gentle squeeze.

“It's not okay!” Clara hollered. “Look how freakin' high we are! This slide is for
LUNATICS!”

“This slide is for LUNATICS!”
sobbed the little girl with black braids.

“Fuckin' A.
She's right!”
said the teenage girl standing in line behind the little girl with black braids, shuddering.

“Miss, you're holding up the line and starting a riot. I'm gonna need to ask you to please sit down on your mat and enjoy your ride down the slide now,” said the Plunge Boy. “Come on.” Crouching, he gave her mat a welcoming pat.

“Oh my
GOD
, Link!” Clara clung to him.

“OH MY GOD, DADDYYYYYYYYYYYY!”
sobbed the little girl with black braids.

“FUCKIN' A!” gasped the teenage girl behind her.

“All right,
look
,” whispered the Plunge Boy to Clara and Lincoln. “Under normal circumstances we don't allow two riders on one mat, but how about if I bend the rules to prevent mayhem and let you go down together? Will you get on the mat then?” he implored Clara.

“Together?” she repeated, shaking.

“Yes.”
Lincoln smiled appreciatively at the patient Plunge Boy. “Thank you. That would be wonderful. Right, C.J.?” He curled his arm around her shoulder, offering reassurance.

Blinking, Clara made a strange, undecipherable grunt.

“That means
okay
,” Link explained as he lowered himself down onto the red foam mat, beckoning for Clara to come join him.

“Now you sit between his legs and lean your back upright against his chest,” the Plunge Boy instructed her. “No problem. Fun stuff . . .”

Holding her breath, looking like a deer stuck in headlights, Clara followed his directions.

“Good girl.” Lincoln smiled as she tightly grasped hold of his thighs, clinging on with white knuckles for dear life. “I've got ya,” he whispered in her ear. “I've got ya now . . .”

“Ready?” asked the Plunge Boy. “On the count of three.
One
. . .
Two
. . .”

Like a wild banshee, Clara started screaming at the top of her lungs.

“THREE!”
Giving Lincoln's back a friendly push, he sent them shooting down the slide.

And together, Clara and Lincoln took The Plunge.

T
hat evening, they dined at one of the nicer restaurants in the Dells, the Edgewater—a charming, rustic spot with dim lighting and a hundred-year-old oak tree located smack dab in its center, which a full bar, also made of striking oak, had been built around. There was a jazz quartet playing old standards in the corner near the bar, and several couples swayed to the music, as if in a different era. Over a meal of savory seafood and delicious vodka cocktails known as “Oak Cars,” Clara and Lincoln laughed until their eyes watered about how loud she had shrieked the whole way down The Plunge, and how his aching ears were still ringing. “Your brother might have to teach me sign language when we get home,” Lincoln teased.

“I really am sorry.” Clara giggled, dabbing at her eyes with her napkin as their waiter approached their table with their third round of “Oak Cars.”

“Can I interest either of you in some dessert this evening?” he inquired.

Lincoln looked to Clara for a response before answering, “No, thank you. I think these drinks will do us well.”

“It's been a hell of a day,” Clara elaborated to the waiter, proudly sharing, “We took The Plunge.”

“Ahhh,” he nodded. “What did you think of Noah's Ark?”

“Awesome!” Clara and Lincoln replied in perfect unison, as if they'd rehearsed the moment.

“I couldn't agree more,” said the grinning waiter before bouncing to a new table of diners that had just been seated.

“I really did have a wonderful time today.” Clara removed the straw from her beverage.

“Me too.” Lincoln raised his glass, smiling at her. “To the Dells.”

“To the Dells.” She happily clinked her “Oak Car” against his.

“And
,” he added, softening his voice, still holding her gaze, “to the wonderful creator of the list that brought us here.”