16. Fishing
Chapter sixteen
Fishing
Ellie’s waiting on the front steps of the middle school with her backpack between her feet and her phone in her hand. She sees me when I pull up and smiles.
"Hi, Annie," she says, getting in.
"Hi. How was your day?"
"It was school." She pulls the door shut. "So. You know."
I do know.
“I was thinking we could make lasagna for dinner.” I pull out of the parking lot. “What do you think?”
She hesitates for a moment. “You’ll have to teach me.”
“Absolutely. My kitchen just so happens to be a teaching and experimenting kitchen.”
“Really? Experimenting?” She lights up. “I love the sound of that.”
“That’s great. Open-minded and enthusiastic. Exactly the kind of house guest I love.”
She smiles. “Did my dad bring my things over already?”
“Yes, ma’am. Bright and early this morning on his way to the airport.”
This morning feels a lifetime ago.
Doc showed up at seven this morning with Ellie's bag and a printed list of the emergency numbers and procedures he had already sent me. He was trying very hard not to show his nerves over leaving her behind, but they might as well have been a brass band popping out of his chest.
He went through everything twice. Emergency contacts. Ellie's schedule. What she eats, which is everything except plain wild rice.
Who eats plain wild rice.
I can’t blame her on that one.
He also included the name of a pediatrician two towns over even though she hasn't needed one in three years. He handed me the list and I took it and told him I’d post it on the refrigerator after I took a picture of it.
He visibly let out a deep breath and smiled weakly.
He was a father leaving his kid for the first time since he lost his wife, and I could tell he was beating himself up over it. I wanted to put my hand on his arm and tell him it was going to be fine.
I honestly couldn’t think of any way to do it that didn’t seem like an advance or taking advantage of the situation. So, I stood in my doorway and held the list and let him finish. I reassured him Ellie would be fine and to get going so he wasn’t late for his flight.
He looked at me for a second. “Thanks, Annie.”
Then he left.
I've been thinking about that second all day. The weight he was carrying behind those gray eyes. It means a lot that he’s trusting me to look after her this weekend. He didn't have to. There were other options.
"You ready for fishing in the morning?" I ask, turning onto my street.
Ellie looks over at me, the spark is already in her eyes. "Yes. I've had it marked on my calendar since the bait shop."
"Five-thirty. Like we talked about."
"That's not morning. That's the middle of the night."
"That's when the fish are there."
"I know." She sighs. “And we’re using worms, right?"
"Yes."
"Great.” She straightens in her seat, already rehearsing it. "I've been practicing with spaghetti."
We both laugh. “You’re going to do great.”
***
We make the lasagna and I teach her all about layering and cheating. Buying the pasta that doesn’t have to be precooked and coating the pan with oil first and adding a thin layer of sauce in before you start layering anything.
While we wait, I clean up and she does her homework at the island. We make small talk, but I try not to disturb her work. Once dinner is served she dives in as if she hasn’t been fed in a week. I forgot the appetite teens have.
Before she starts her second helping she comments, “Annie, this is so good. I love your sauce.”
I take that as a win.
After dinner she wanders the living room, reading the spines of books, looking at the photos on the shelf above the fireplace.
My parents on the dock. My mother in her garden.
One of Jake and me from years back when we were both younger and stupider and laughing about something I can't even remember now.
"Is this your mom?" She's pointing at the one from the dock.
"Yeah. And my dad."
"They look kind."
"They were." I dry my hands on the dish towel. “They were?”
I stop for a moment and sigh.”They were killed about eight years ago now."
She turns around and looks at me, and there's recognition in her expression. "Oh Annie. I’m so sorry. What happened?" she asks, her voice a little timid, as if she is afraid of the answer.
"Plane crash," I say. "In Alaska."
She nods, slow, and looks back at the photo.
"I'm really sorry," she says and I know she means it.
"Me too," I tell her and walk over to look at the picture up close.
We stand there for a minute in the comfortable silence of two people who understand loss.
Ellie Bie and I are going to be fine this weekend.
She goes to bed at ten, which took some convincing, but I reminded her just how early five-thirty is going to get here. I hear her moving around upstairs. Water running. A drawer. The small creak of the bed settling.
Then quiet.
I sit on the couch with my tea. There is a different quiet down here tonight.
Fuller, somehow.
There's a backpack at the bottom of the stairs and a jacket on the hook by the door and a young lady in my house that I am responsible for. It changes the feel of the night.
I finish my tea and go up to bed. I stare at the ceiling before I drift off, thinking about the fourteen-year-old down the hall who asks real questions and means them.
And her father.
***
I knock on her door at five-fifteen and she makes a sound that isn't a word but is clearly a response, so I tell her I've got coffee and she has ten minutes, and I go back downstairs and start moving gear.
She comes down at five-twenty-three in layers, her hair pulled back, still half asleep, but she takes the travel mug I hand her and wraps both hands around it and says thank you. She offers to help carry gear out to the car and we load up.
And then we’re off to my favorite fishing hole. I tell her it's about twenty minutes so if she wants to catch a quick nap. I don’t even finish getting the words out before she has already put her coffee down and is curled up, with her head leaning against the window.
I’m pretty sure she was out cold in less than two minutes.
By the time we arrive, the sky is starting to lighten on the horizon, but no promise of color yet. The water is flat and calm.
“Hey Ellie.” I shake her shoulder gently. “We’re here.”
She moves slowly, but makes it out of the truck. She walks around in a small circle, looking in every direction.
"Okay," she says. "I see it now."
"See what."
"Why you'd get up at five in the morning for this."
"The fish are a bonus too."
She smiles wide. We pull out the gear and I explain everything to her. She’s good at threading the line right away and I tie on the hooks. I start practicing casting with her, pointing out the areas I know have dead fall just under the surface, so she should avoid them.
And then it’s show time. Worms.
“You ready?”“Always. It’s just a worm.”
I have her reach in and pull one out for me. She doesn’t flinch at all. She grabs one for herself.
“I want to do it with you, if that’s okay.”
“It is.”
I show her how to pierce the worm in three places so he doesn’t wiggle off and if a fish happens to take a chunk out of him, you might still have a bit of bait still left on your hook. She mirrors what I do and she isn’t squeamish at all.
Not going to lie. I’m actually relieved. I was worried this might have gone in a different direction.
With my first catch, I show her how to set the hook without yanking it. She gets tangled twice in the first half hour. Both times she calls me over and we sort it out, and she watches what I do with focused attention so she'll know what to do next time.
The silence of fishing settles in. Random comments are made and by seven she's casting really well and standing a little taller than she was when we started.
Ellie sighs. “My mom loved to be outside.”
"She liked to fish?" I ask, and I keep my voice light.
Ellie casts. Watches the line settle. "She wasn't great at fishing. At least that’s what Dad says. She had no patience for it."
She smiles. "He says it's the one thing she wasn't good at."
"What was she good at?"
"Everything else." She says it plainly, not with bitterness, just as a fact. "She was the kind of person who was good at everything. She worked hard to make it look easy."
"He's a good dad," I say.
"Yeah," Ellie says. "He is."
By eleven-thirty we’ve already caught enough for dinner. Ellie holds up the catch and looks at it with satisfaction, and I take a picture.
"This is definitely dinner tonight," I tell her.
"Really?" She looks at the fish. "With what I caught?"
"That we caught. Yes, really."
Her whole face lights up and grins.
“Is it okay if we invite Jake for dinner?”
“That would be fun.”
We find a spot above the waterline and eat the lunch I packed, sitting on a log with our backs to the trees and the water in front of us, and the tired-good feeling of a job well done.
"Can I ask you something, Annie?" Ellie says.
"Of course, anything."
She picks at the label on her water bottle. "Does it get easier? Like, actually easier?"
I know exactly what she’s asking, so I don’t rush. I want to give her a real answer.
"Honestly," I say. "Yes and no. At the same time. Which I know is not what you want to hear, because you want it to be yes."
She nods.
“Easier, I think, is something you slip into slowly.” She turns to me and rests her head back against the tree.
"The first year was the worst," I tell her. "Not because it hurt more, exactly. Because I kept waiting for it to feel better. To feel normal again.”
"When did you?"
“That normal never came back.” I look at the water. "But I’ve slipped into a new normal. Yes, it feels different at times, looking at pictures, being in the house. But the new normal is most of my life now, outside of the sadness. It’s changed into something I can live with.”
I glance at her. "That's not very comforting, I know."
"No, it is," she says. "It's actually better than when people say it gets easier. Because that feels like a lie."
"It's not a lie. It just takes longer than anyone tells you."
She's quiet for a minute.