Thirty
Trudy
It was the perfect weekend for Trudy to make good on her wager with Shug. Haskel went to Birmingham with Leon, who was meeting some party strategists about an upcoming vacancy in the state senate; Haskel hoped to get advice on his own campaign, which had dipped in the internal polls recently.
“What am I supposed to tell everybody at church?” Leta Pearl asked.
“That I’ve gone fishing,” Trudy said.
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. I can’t go around telling the members of First Baptist the truth !”
Shug honked his horn out front, and Trudy peeked outside. There he was, coming up the walk in a flannel shirt and blue jeans. Bess trotted alongside his well-worn cowboy boots until she stopped to sniff Leta Pearl’s marigolds.
When Trudy opened the door, Shug grinned, and Trudy was sure she grinned too.
She whispered, “Mama’s upset about me skipping church.”
“I hear you!” Leta Pearl hollered from the kitchen.
“Morning, Mrs. Abernathy,” Shug called, strolling in behind Trudy. “And we ain’t skipping church. We’re casting our nets on the other side, just like Simon Peter.”
“Shug Meechum.” Leta Pearl pointed a spatula at him. “You may be the untouchable football coach Monday through Saturday, but on Sunday, in the eyes of the Lord—”
“Here.” Shug revealed a sterling pie server he’d been hiding behind his back. “Brought ya something.” He’d tied a blue ribbon around the handle, with a little card attached.
Leta Pearl twisted up her face. “A pie server is a strange gift.”
“Maybe so. But if you’re anything like my mama at the holidays, I bet you can never find enough of ’em.”
Leta Pearl set her spatula down and snatched the gift from Shug. “Well, I do like to keep my pumpkin and my apple from touching each other.”
“That’s because you’re raising your family right, Mrs. Abernathy.”
Leta Pearl opened the tiny card and read it aloud. “I hope you have a wonderful day, any way you slice it.” She snickered and covered her mouth to hide her amusement. “Shug Meechum.” She pointed her new pie server at him. “This is not a date . My daughter is engaged to—”
“Superintendent Haskel Moody, the future mayor of Bailey Springs himself.” Shug held his hands up in surrender. “I would never dream of trying to compete with such a formidable opponent.”
“The only formidable opponent around here is me ,” Leta Pearl said.
“None of this has my blessing, I don’t care if you show up here with a whole truckload of sterling silver.
Y’all are making good on a bet, like a couple of drunken mobsters.
And you better listen to me real good, Coach Shug Meechum, the last thing we need is pictures in the Beacon of you two gallivanting around the lake together while Haskel’s out of town. ”
“Yes, ma’am,” Shug said. “I agree. That’s why we’re fishing up in Hardin County.”
Leta Pearl eyed the football coach. “Anything you have to cross a state line for is the work of the devil, if you ask me. And just so we are clear, the Good Lord also said to lay down your nets and follow him well before he said anything about casting them on the other side.”
Leta Pearl turned around and tried to flip Dub’s fried eggs with the new pie server then grunted, “Good Lord,” realizing her mistake. She quickly set it down and picked up her spatula. When she turned to see if the coach had noticed her blunder, he grinned and winked.
“Missster Coach!” Pete hollered, padding in from the stairwell wearing his suit pants and a tie that Trudy had clipped on. He hugged Shug on the thigh, and Shug hoisted him up.
“Well, don’t you look dapper this morning, Mister Pete,” Coach said. “You getting married or something?”
“No sssir. I’m going to church.”
“Well, I reckon you’ll be the best-dressed man there.”
“Ain’t you coming?” Pete asked.
Leta Pearl cleared her throat. “That’s exactly what I asked, Peter.”
“Well ... son.” Shug set Pete down and knelt beside him.
“The NFL’s still on that ridiculous strike, see?
And the word’s out that the smallmouths are biting up in Tennessee.
And sometimes I think that’s the good Lord giving us a gift and well .
..” He looked at Leta Pearl. “When someone gives you a gift, I reckon you should take it and be thankful.”
“Even if it’s a puzzle ?” Pete asked.
Shug laughed. “I reckon so.” He mussed the boy’s hair and stood back up.
Pete looked up at Leta Pearl. “Can I go fishing too, mama?”
“Oh, honey,” Trudy said as she traced the part in Pete’s hair. “Maybe next time.”
“Well, I don’t see why not!” Leta Pearl said. “In fact, Peter, I think it’s the best idea I’ve heard all morning.”
“You do?” Trudy asked. “Mother? You think Pete should miss church ... to go fishing ?”
“Don’t you want him to come along?” Shug asked.
“Of course, I do,” Trudy said. “I’m just surprised that Mama—”
“Now it’s really not a date, is it?” Leta Pearl grinned. “Y’all can come back and repent at tonight’s evening service.”
Pete had only been fishing a few times and always with Dub, who wasn’t very good at it, and never in a fishing boat like Shug’s.
Pete tagging along alleviated some of her guilt about doing this behind Haskel’s back.
Plus, if push came to shove, Trudy could claim the whole trip was because Pete wanted to go fishing, and Coach Meechum simply offered in kindness.
It would be a lie, but just a little white one.
The life jacket in Pete’s size looked brand new, and Trudy wondered if Pete coming had been Shug’s plan all along. Shug tugged it on when they got in the boat, told Pete to hold his arms out, and zipped it up. “There ya go, big man,” he said. “You’re ready now.”
The water was glass smooth. Sunday really was the best time to be out there; no other boats with almost everyone at church. And the drive up to Tennessee had been gorgeous. Tall oaks with orange and gold and burgundy leaves, a tunnel of stunning fall foliage through rolling hills.
On the lake, Trudy felt enough room for all her thoughts about June Bug and Carter, as well as all the thoughts about Haskel she’d been shoving down.
This must be why men loved to fish. It probably had very little to do with catching anything, and more to do with emptying a flooded mind into the river.
Shug busied himself teaching Pete how to cast, his arms wrapped around the boy from behind, holding him at the wrists and elbows. Pete picked it up easily, and before too long, was flinging the bait out into the water on his own.
“You really believe what you said to Mama?”
“Which part?”
“The smallmouths biting being a gift from God.”
“I’m not so sure about that.” Shug laughed. “I get a much closer sense of the Almighty here than sitting in a church pew, though. That’s for sure.”
“Yeah, but why not go fishing on Saturday, and church on Sunday?”
Shug took off his ball cap and scratched his head. “And miss college football?”
Trudy laughed and picked up her rod and reel. “Minnow me,” she said.
Shug held her hook, reached down with his other hand into the minnow bucket, and caught an unlucky swimmer.
“Sorry, little guy.” Shug kissed the minnow before shoving the hook through its head, top to bottom.
Trudy turned away.
“All set,” Shug said, and released the lure, leaving the dying minnow squiggling and swinging.
“Thanks.” Trudy cast it out into the water and kept her eyes on the red and white bobber, floating on the surface.
This also, she realized, made fishing appealing.
That you can talk without having to face a person, free from overanalyzing their reactions, or predicting their thoughts.
It was as if, when you’re tending a line, you could say anything.
“Shug.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Why aren’t you married already?”
“What kind of question is that?” Shug laughed.
“I don’t know. A curious one? You’re attractive. You’re smart—mostly anyway. Great with kids. Doesn’t make sense.”
“Miss Abernathy.” Shug focused on Pete’s bobber. “I only met you three months ago.”
“Sorry. You’re right.” Trudy felt embarrassed for overstepping. “I shouldn’t be meddling in your—”
“No.” Shug looked up and met her eyes. “I mean that’s my answer to your question.”
“Shug.” Trudy gave a half-suppressed laugh. “I’m serious.”
“So am I,” he said. Those black eyes of his seemed to hold the whole universe. She swallowed and opened her mouth to speak.
“Coach! I got somethin’!”
“Hang on, Pete!” Shug called.
Pete struggled to hang onto his pole, his bobber had been pulled completely underneath and almost out of sight.
Shug caught his rod seconds before Pete let it go.
He took the time to wrap Pete’s little hand back around the handle, his large hands swallowing up the boy’s.
They pulled and reeled together, until a beautiful smallmouth crested the water, thrashing and jerking.
“Okay now, Pete. Slow and steady. Just reel while we give him a little bit of slack.”
The two reeled while lowering the tip of the rod toward the fish, which swam under hard with a jolt and a tug. Bess’s tail wagged furiously, panting with her paws up on the side of the boat. She barked and whined every time the bass came into view.
“Now.” Shug spoke softly as if telling a lullaby. “We stop reeling and pull the rod back toward us like this.”
The two of them pulled and tugged and reeled; the fish came into view and then darted underneath again, over and over in a rhythmic dance.
“Very nice job,” Shug whispered. “He’s a big one. Now what?”
“We reel,” Pete whispered back. “Then give him some ssslack.”
“Very good.”
Before they all knew it, the fish thrashed about on the floor of the boat. Pete’s smile could cast a shadow on the sun. He clutched his hands together in front of his chest, looked back and forth between his mother and Shug.
“Wow!” Trudy said. “Great job, fellas!”
“That was all Pete,” Shug said. “I’d say that’s about a ten pounder.”
Pete beamed. “I caught a fish!”