27. Keaton Catch and Release
No, Keaton, you don’t understand,” Anderson is saying animatedly as Bowen and I walk with him down the brick boardwalk in downtown Morehead City alongside docks teeming with huge, beautiful fishing boats, just a bridge away from Beaufort. I am limping ever so slightly, but between the Advil and my bandage’s perfect pressure, I’m shocked that my foot barely hurts. It has been almost a week since my injury, and I’m getting a little better every day. “You’ve never seen a fish this big. It’s insane.”
Bowen smiles down at me, and I can’t help but laugh. Anderson is so, so excited about seeing the fish caught at the Big Rock Tournament this year. “Did Dad tell you that we are fishing in the Big Rock Kids Tournament?” he asks.
I feel a warmth wash over me with the knowledge that Bowen hasn’t given having me here with his son a second thought. There’s no awkwardness, no push-pull. Anderson is the one who introduced us after all, and while it isn’t like we’ve told him we’re seeing each other, he’s a smart kid. I bet he’s figured it out. But maybe this is how it should be. Easy.
“What do you fish for in the Big Rock Kids?” I ask.
“Same stuff,” he says as we pass a row of food trucks. “Billfish, like sailfish, blue marlin, and white marlin. There’s a game fish category where you fish for dolphin—”
“Dolphin!” I exclaim, stopping in my tracks.
Anderson rolls his eyes and laughs. “Keaton, dolphin is mahi-mahi.”
I put my hand to my heart in relief. “Then why didn’t you just say that?”
“Dolphinfish is the scientific name,” Bowen clarifies.
“Marine biologist showoff,” I joke.
I see the Big Rock Landing off in the distance and can already make out the huge fish hanging from the weigh station. It turns my stomach. “Do you kill them?” I whisper.
“The Big Rock Kids is a catch-and-release tournament—well, for the billfish. We keep the game fish because we eat them,” Anderson says, totally in his element. “I caught my first sailfish last year. We even won the whole first-day prize.”
“What’s the first-day prize?” I ask. I expect him to say, like, a gift certificate to the Sanitary Fish Market, the county’s oldest restaurant, or Chasin’ Tails, his favorite tackle shop.
“Last year it was thirteen thousand dollars,” Anderson says nonchalantly.
My jaw drops. I look up at Bowen. “Seriously? Thirteen thousand dollars for a fish? That you released? What does a nine-year-old do with thirteen thousand dollars?”
Anderson rolls his eyes. “Someone made me save it for college.”
I laugh as we make our way to the landing, where people are gathered around what is apparently a seven-hundred-pound blue marlin. I think of my grandfather, of how much he loved this sport. The rush of catching a fish is something I have never actually experienced, but I can appreciate. I get that same incredible adrenaline rush when I’m working on a huge project or closing a big deal.
“This fish,” Bowen says, pointing, “if it doesn’t get beat by a bigger one, will bring in more than a million dollars.”
“What? A million-dollar fish?”
“More if it wins more than one category,” Anderson says.
“Well this is just insane!” I exclaim. “I thought people won bragging rights and, like, a case of local beer or something. No wonder everyone is so darn serious about this tournament.”
“It’s pretty expensive to enter because of that. It costs like fifty thousand dollars,” Anderson says knowingly. “Right, Dad?”
“Well, depending on which categories you enter. But yes. Thereabouts. Big entry, but big reward.”
“So this isn’t like, ‘Hey, I’m on vacation. I’m entering a fishing contest,’?” I say.
“No.” Bowen shakes his head. “This is serious fishermen and women only.”
“You should come with us when we fish the Kids,” Anderson says.
Bowen smiles down at me. “You don’t get seasick, do you?”
I shake my head, but I have no idea. I’ve never been offshore fishing, which now seems like a shame. I suddenly feel annoyed at my mother. I know she is scarred and damaged, but she had this incredible life here that she never let Harris and me be a part of. It seems kind of selfish. On the other hand, if she truly believes her parents were murdered… I have to physically shake off the feeling of fear that washes over me.
“Do I have to pay a bajillion dollars to go to the Kids?” I ask.
“Nah,” Anderson says. “The Kids is less. And Dad and I will cover you.”
I raise my eyebrows at Bowen. “How nice for your kid to offer to pay my way.”
Two fishermen are being interviewed beside their catches as another boat backs up to the landing. They are unloading maybe the biggest mahi-mahi—dolphinfish—I have ever seen. “Tacos for everyone!” one of them says, and the crowd cheers. I love fish. I love fish tacos even more. But I don’t really need to see how the sausage gets made, you know? I like it better when it just appears on my plate.
Anderson points over at a group of boys on the boardwalk beside the tents. “I’m going over there!” he says, running off. I watch as he joins his friends. One of them hands him a Gatorade. One sort of sideways shoves into him and he sideways shoves him back. I’ve learned in the past few weeks that boys are like puppies. They’re always wrestling, pushing, messing with each other.
“You’ve done such a good job with him,” I say.
Bowen smiles. “Thanks.”
“No, I mean it. It couldn’t have been easy, being a single dad all these years.” He leans over on the wooden railing, and I lean beside him.
He shakes his head. “No, it wasn’t. But I think it was easier that he was a boy. Not that I wouldn’t love to be a girl dad. I totally would. But we’ve always liked the same things. All he’s wanted to do is fish since he was like three years old.”
“And you both like pizza,” I say seriously.
He laughs. “Exactly. And I bet one day when he’s old enough we’ll both like beer.”
I nod at him. “Twins.”
“What about you?” he asks. “Do you want kids?”
I try to read his face. My answer is my answer no matter how he feels about it, but I have to wonder how he would feel, starting all over again from scratch when he has this almost fully baked kid over there. “More than anything,” I say honestly.
Out in the daylight, surrounded by all these people, isn’t necessarily the best place for a heart-to-heart. But I guess it’s as good as any. “I really want a family,” I continue. “The irony is that I’m starting to realize that my job has always been less important to me than creating a family and yet, somehow, I’ve found all this success in my career and none in my personal life.”
“Not none I hope,” Bowen says, smiling. He really is so cute.
We’re quiet for a minute. Then I ask him the question I’ve been afraid to until now. “What about you? Do you want more kids?”
He nods. “Oh, yeah. I never believed that would happen for me, but maybe the tide is turning.” He winks at me.
I don’t want to ask. I’ve been avoiding asking because I want to be cooler than this. But I can’t help but say, in the most awkward voice imaginable, “And how did your coffee go with Kerry? Have you decided what you’re going to do?”
“I think I’m going to let her see Anderson. As much as I don’t like it, and as scared as I am that she’ll come back into his life and then bail on him again, I also think it’s wrong to keep my kid from his mom.” He leans over and kisses me lightly, appearing somewhat amused by my tone. “Kerry is here for Anderson, not for me. And even if she was here for me, that ship sailed a long, long time ago. Plus, I am smart enough to know when I have a good thing going. I wouldn’t do anything to mess that up.”
He kisses me again and then strolls off in Anderson’s direction. I wonder if he knows that I can’t help but watch him as he goes.
In fact, I’m staring at him so intently that I’m a little embarrassed when Dr. Scott comes up behind me, wearing a Hawaiian print shirt, cargo shorts, and oversize glasses that look like the ones they give you when you have cataract surgery. I can’t believe Violet let him out of the house in any of it.
“Well, hey,” I say.
“Hey, yourself,” he says.
I look around. “Where’s your bride?”
“She’s at home. Fishing tournaments aren’t really her thing.” He looks down. “Hey, how’s the foot?”
I give him a thumbs-up. “A really talented doctor did a beautiful job on it.”
He smiles and then looks around, as if making sure no one is listening. “Could we talk for a minute?”
He’s suddenly serious, and I’m worried. He leads me to a secluded two-person wooden swing in a frame overlooking the water. “Is Violet okay?” I ask.
He nods. “Yes. She’s fine. This isn’t about her.” He looks up at me, and I can see the concern written all over his face.
He doesn’t speak, and I realize it’s because Bowen has come up behind me. He touches my shoulder. “Hey, I need to run,” he says. “Want me to drop you off at home?”
I shake my head. “Dr. Scott can take me back.” He nods in agreement.
Bowen looks confused. “Are you sure?”
I nod.
“Um,” he says nervously, “Kerry’s here.”
My eyes go wide. He points to Anderson, and I see a tall brunette in a pink sundress standing about ten feet away from him, watching him laugh with his friends. Honestly, I wanted her to be less pretty. I’m just saying. “Do you want me to keep Anderson?”
He sighs. “She kind of ambushed me. She knew we’d be here. But now that Anderson has seen her, I’ll just take him home with me.”
I smile encouragingly. “Good luck. I’ll check on you later.”
As Bowen walks away, I watch him, my stomach filling with anxiety for both him and Anderson. I hope they’re both okay.
“So she’s back, huh?” Dr. Scott says. “That should be interesting.”
I resist the urge to run after Bowen and turn to Dr. Scott. “Should I be worried about this?”
“She tends to come back every few years, blow up Bowen’s and Anderson’s lives, and leave. So, yeah, we should all be worried.”
I can feel how incredulous I look, and he laughs and pats my hand. “Oh, but for your relationship, no. Bowen is totally smitten with you.”
Well, that’s somewhat of a relief, anyway. “So, what did you want to talk about?”
“Keaton,” Dr. Scott says, “I think this is one of those things Violet would think was inappropriate.” Oh, good Lord. Is he coming onto me? But then he continues, “I know you’re about to put your grandparents’ house on the market, and I was just wondering… well… Do you think your mom and uncle would be willing to sell their plane?”
“Their plane?” I repeat.
He nods. “Yeah. Townsend had this gorgeous Beechcraft Bonanza. Brand new. Or, well, it was. I think it was a 1973. It was his pride and joy. And, I thought if it was just sitting there in their hangar…”
He seems weirdly nervous. “What in the world would you do with a plane from 1973?”
He laughs. “Oh, with a GPS and a few tweaks, that plane would be up and running again in no time.”
I shrug. “It never occurred to me that they might still have the plane. I have no idea where it would be, but I am happy to ask my mom and Lon if they have it.” I pause. “It seems likely since they still have the house. And a boat.”
Dr. Scott laughs. “Okay. Well, maybe don’t tell Violet I asked? She’ll think it’s rude.”
Sweet Violet. It strikes me how funny it is that my grandparents loved to fly and now Harris does, too. I wonder if my grandmother and I have any similarities like that. Well, I mean, I know we both like champagne. And, as I know now, we’re both pretty darn good at the Old Homes Tour. But maybe there’s more. And I smile because, if I hadn’t taken this big chance, I’d never have had the opportunity to find out.