Jackson
This early in the morning, there’s a nip in the air as we unload tackle boxes and fishing rods from the back of Denny’s truck.
Plunking my stuff down onto the solid wood pier, I grasp the corduroy collar of my lined denim coat, tugging it tight around my neck to cut the biting chill from the cold lake.
Apparently the last of the ice melted away only days ago, and none of the other fishermen in town seem to have gotten that memo because we have the place to ourselves.
Arms loaded with fishing gear and a cooler Beryl insisted on packing full of food for us, Denny and Dad head down the narrow, overgrown trail toward the lake.
The heavy thud of the plastic cooler hitting the dock makes the entire thing vibrate, and I struggle to steady myself on my feet to keep from falling in.
A dip in this lake would probably be nice mid-August, but not so much right now.
Water ripples out from around the dock as the wavy, boat-like motion slows right as Austin steps onto the long, narrow pier.
With an expert whip of his elbow, the black collapsible camping chair in his right hand opens in one smooth motion, and he sets it down close to where I’m standing.
Then repeats the same with the other chair he had tucked under his arm.
At the last minute, Cecily talked Austin into joining us, and though he was silent for the entire drive to the lake, he looks happy to be here. There’s a marked decrease in the tension he usually carries in his shoulders, and his facial features seem more relaxed than normal.
The four of us arrange our chairs into a sloppy line, sinking into them with a collective sigh of relief.
Denny was right—the fresh air is good. It’s crisp enough to squash the inklings of a headache I had after the emotional talk with Kate this morning, and refreshing enough to wake me up after a night with little sleep.
Haunted by the reminders of her in our bed, I spent the entire night slumped over on the same uncomfortable chair I sat in while she shaved my face.
“This reminds me of when I’d take you boys fishing when you were kids.” Dad sits forward, lean body curved over his knees as his gaze bounces between my brothers and me.
Austin sifts through the small tackle box on his lap. “Except Denny’s a bit less annoying now than he was then.”
“A rare compliment from my brother. I’ll take it.
Thanks, Aus,” Denny says. I’m not even sure he’s here to fish—at least, he’s certainly not in a hurry—with the way he’s slumped back in his chair, hands in his pockets, feet propped up on the wooden lip running the edge of the pier.
With the dark shade of his sunglasses, I can’t tell from here whether his eyes are open or closed, but unless I’m missing something really interesting on the opposite side of the lake, I can’t imagine he’s staring that intently at anything.
Dad looks Denny up and down. “Didn’t get much sleep last night?”
“Avery’s teething, so nobody in our house is sleeping.” Denny shifts in his seat, shoving his hands deeper into his coat pockets.
“When you guys were babies, Grandpa kept insisting we rub a bit of liquor on your gums, even though your mom told him that wasn’t appropriate anymore.
One night, Jackson wouldn’t stop wailing, and I swear he snuck in and did it anyway.
But hey”—Dad shrugs—“Jackson slept through the night. Didn’t make a peep. ”
Denny half-laughs, lolling his head against the back of his chair to face in my direction. “How much liquor did he give him? Jackson barely made a peep his entire life.”
“Hard to get any words in edgewise with you,” Austin mumbles around the green fishing lure held between his teeth.
I watch Austin intently, copying his motions as he ties a lure to the fishing line on his rod.
Embarrassed heat creeps up my neck, and I consider giving up—pulling a Denny and leaning back in my chair to try and get a nap in.
I can live without most of my memories; it’s hard to miss what you don’t remember.
But it’s the moments like this, or like story time, when I feel deficient.
Austin ties a knot before I’ve had the opportunity to figure out how he’s tying it.
I tuck my tongue into my cheek. Seconds before I throw the entire bloody contraption in the water, Austin takes the fishing rod from my hand without a word.
His big, work-hardened hands tie a delicate knot in the thin line, slowly and in my line of vision so I can watch how he does it.
And when he hands the rod back to me, I mouth a thank you that earns only a tiny nod in return.
I shakily stand and copy Dad’s casting motion.
Thankfully, that one’s a bit easier to fake than setting up the rod.
And when the small blue-green lure, designed to look like a minnow, hits the calm lake with a kerplunk, something goes kerplunk in my brain.
A brief memory ripples across the surface, and I fight like hell to reel it in.
“I remember that time we went fishing and Denny lost two rods in a single day,” I say. Not because I’m looking for a reaction out of them. Repeating things out loud helps them stick. “Grandpa looked like he wanted to kill him.”
Dad’s eyes meet mine, and he gives the same soft smile I recall getting from him on rare occasions as a kid.
The thin skin around his eyes crinkles. A glint of love twinkles in his coffee-colored irises.
He used to be tougher, from what I remember.
Gruff and quiet and hard to please. I wonder if it was losing Mom or getting older that softened him, or maybe it’s being back here with us.
From what I understand, this is the first time the four of us have spent time like this together since my brothers and I were kids.
“Grandpa shouldn’t have trusted a twelve-year-old with his expensive rods,” Denny mutters. “That was his first mistake.”
Dad makes a face that says Denny has a point. “Definitely shouldn’t have trusted you with anything after the first rod fell off the boat.”
Details of that day pebble into place. “We were at this lake, weren’t we?”
I glance around at the familiar setting that shouldn’t feel any different than the hundreds of lakes I’m sure I’ve visited in my lifetime.
Dense trees line the small lake, a loon dips and dives beneath the gray-blue water, and morning sun slants through the treetops to glisten over small waves lapping against the rocky shoreline.
“This was Grandpa’s favorite lake to fish,” Dad says. “Swore he caught a sturgeon here once and refused to listen to logic that the creeks running in and out of this lake aren’t big enough for sturgeon to end up here.”
Austin snorts. “A man of few words, except when it came to fishing and rodeo stories.”
Denny chimes in, “If you heard him talk about his younger years, you’d think Grandpa was the best roper there ever was. Not a single piece of evidence, but don’t you dare question it.”
“Nah, we all know Austin and I were the best team ropers back when we were both in our prime.” Fishing rod held between his cowboy boots, Dad bends to grab his travel mug with a small groan.
Austin’s face twists. “Speak for yourself, I’m still in my prime.”
Denny livens up a bit, though there’s still a tired grit in his voice. “Oh, I think we need some friendly competition between you two.”
“Wouldn’t be fair. Dad hasn’t been working cattle for more than a decade.” Austin’s verbal jab is meant to be lighthearted, I think, but coming from a place of deep hurt, it’s no wonder it doesn’t land that way.
Dad tips his face toward the sky and blows out a breath before speaking.
“I want all three of you to know I’m sorry.
I never should have left the way I did….
It’s a shitty excuse, but I guess I didn’t know how else to deal with…
” His lips press firmly together and his hands gesture something that says everything he can’t.
Even after all this time, he can’t find the strength to talk about his wife dying.
Denny clears his throat. “I get it, Dad. Losing the person you love does fucked-up things to your head.”
Our dad sniffs, burying the emotion deep enough his tears never crest and fall. “It’s a pain I hope none of you have to face until after you’ve lived long, happy lives.”
My mind wanders to Kate. The raw, honest pain in her voice and the way my words hurt her time and time again. If I had died, would she be sitting here years from now, still unable to talk about me? I think so.
The silence that follows is deafening. I imagine my brothers are thinking about their wives, too.
What it might feel like to lose them. I lost mine…
in a roundabout way. She’s still here, the only one holding on to our shared history, doing everything she can to ensure we get those long, happy lives we vowed to have.
And I’ve been playing fast and loose with her heart.
Denny lets out a sigh and tips his head back toward the sky. “Man, it is way too peaceful out here. What the hell are we doing working our lives away on the ranch?”
“Paying our bills, feeding our families, putting roofs over our heads, that sort of thing,” Austin mutters.
Denny huffs. “Maybe I could become a fisherman instead. Sit here every day, sell what I catch…”
“You gotta be able to catch something first,” Dad points out.
“Hey, that’s not fair,” I say with a smirk. “He caught some pretty good Z’s earlier.”
That gets Dad and Austin laughing under their breath. Denny shakes his head, hooking a thumb in my direction. “Big talk coming from a guy who was asleep for almost a full week straight.”
I shake my head. “That was medical hibernation, not sleep.”
Denny cackles. “Having a baby means my sleep’s medically required, too. I’ll get Blair to write me a doctor’s note that says so.”
We lapse into quiet again, fishing lines dragging lazy paths across the lake’s surface. The silence isn’t so awkward or tense or sad this time.