With no one around to distract me from my thoughts—not that I ever needed it before—this weekend is promising to be one long motherfucker…
***
Fishing in the early morning on the lake is like being inside a winter dream. White and blue and the shadow of the trees as I cast my line and look around. So quiet. Peaceful. A bird lets out a single trill, then falls silent.
My father taught me how to bait and fish. Bass and trout and perch and walleye, we often brought something back. My father gutted and cleaned the fish, and then grilled it on the terrace, while my mom made one of her wonderful salads—colorful and—
Stop. I splash into the water in my rubber boots, not caring that the cold is numbing my feet. I didn’t come here to escape my thoughts of Brylee and Riddick only to be tortured by memories of Mom.
Anyway, this is where I learned to fish, and I don’t have to think much as I check my lines and watch the silvery surface of the water, letting the calm of the place enter me.
Try to enter me. It sort of keeps glancing off the skin of my thoughts, like they’re encased in steel. As if my thoughts are blades and the calm is made of cotton clouds.
Blades circling back to the city. Why didn’t Brylee come talk to me again? Has she given up on me? And is it any wonder with the way I’ve been pretending she doesn’t exist, with my curt replies to everything she says? It’s a miracle she’s held on for so long.
And Riddick, did his brother stay home, safe from harm? Is his back okay? Who’s taking care of him?
Focus on the lines, Ryan. See if the fish are biting.
Maybe I should move up the shore, find a better spot. Rain is coming.
I gather my things, reel in my lines, and set off along the sandy shore, toward the house of our closest neighbor, a huge mansion with a swimming pool and tennis court, outlined against the gray sky.
Setting up everything again takes my mind off things for a while. I welcome the emptiness inside my head with relief. In the distance, a dog barks, answered by another. The wind blowing over the lake brings the scent of rain and cold.
Wrapping myself better in my rain poncho, I fold my arms over my chest, letting my gaze skim over the lake like a flat stone. Houses loom across the water, enormous, rectangular shadows. A few boats sway on the
ripples, moored to small piers.
This is what I need. This—
“Boy!”
The booming voice jerks me from my contemplation of the still water. I know that voice, it’s—
“It’s me, Harold Douglas, your neighbor!”
Yeah, I’d guessed as much. “Hey.”
“You haven’t been up here in ages. Look at you, you’re all grown up from that scrawny little boy I used to know!”
Whereas he hasn’t changed one bit. Tall and wide like a fridge, he claps my back, almost sending me into the water. His icy-blue eyes twinkle over his thick blond beard.
“Caught anything yet? What bait are you using? Is your father with you?”
“No, he’s—”
“I bet he stayed in the city. The countryside is too untidy for him.” He laughs, a deep echoing sound.
“I didn’t—”
“Cheer up, boy! Why so blue? You look like you’re heading for prison, not fishing. You’re here to have fun, isn’t it?”
“Yeah…”
“God above, your mom would have scolded you. You look like someone kicked your puppy.”
Heat is crawling up my neck. “I’m fine.”