garage, this was him.
Rennick flipped on the lights. “Why don’t you fill up a cooler?” he said. “Grab a few Cokes and stuff. I’ll get the rods and night crawlers.”
“We’re going fishing?”
He turned around then, caught me with a dazzling smile. “Nobody will be looking for you out on the water.” I must’ve looked unsure. “Is that okay, Corrine?”
I nodded. I was so grateful for the distraction. For everything. And for the chance to be completely alone with Rennick for a few more hours. But was it a sin in a port city like this to admit that you’d never been fishing before?
We took the small motorboat a few miles down the coastline to a marshy inlet where Rennick said we could catch redfish or just sit and be. I liked the way he tilted his face up to the sky when he said that. I liked the intimacy it insinuated.
The sun was at its fiery noon peak in the sky. So I wore a sloppy white old-man fishing hat from the bait shop to protect my pale skin, and I was happy for the cover it gave me. I could glance out from under it and watch Rennick as he steered the boat, and then as he set up our gear. He moved deftly. Confidently. He felt at home here.
When he killed the motor, he sat still for a long time, and then he pointed out an egret on the shore. It was a beautiful white bird, tall and fragile-looking.
“Dodge swears that an egret once flew down and stole the hat right off his head while he was fishing. He swears it was because he can sit still and be more patient than any other fisherman in the world. I think he was asleep.” Rennick laughed, his eyes crinkling up in that adorable way, and the sound of it echoed in the mangrove trees around us. The egret stretched its wings into a broad expanse, and once again settled into position.
Rennick reached for the fishing poles. He handed me one, made of some sort of extremely light metal with a large shiny reel on the end. I wasn’t a moron, I could figure out what was supposed to be done here. But how exactly did one get the line out into the water?
Now Rennick was opening up his own little cooler, much like the one I had packed full of Cokes and water. “Dug these up myself in the backyard with Bouncer.” He opened up a little Styrofoam container that was packed full of black dirt and fat writhing worms.
Not wanting to look like an amateur, I picked one right up, let it slide around in my hand for a moment, dangled it in front of my face, watching it squirm, trying not to worry about the worm, trying not to think of the crawdad, everything.
“I need to put a hook on the end of your line first,” Rennick said. He bent down to his tackle box, rocking the boat a little bit, and looked up at me from under the fringe of his lashes. “You ever been fishing, Corrine?”
“In theory.”
It was a stupid answer, I realized this immediately. I just meant that I had seen people do it. But Rennick began to howl with laughter. “In theory?” He held on to his stomach, and he laughed, and the boat rocked on the water in time with his guffaws. I threw my worm at him, and it hit him right on the cheek and then dropped to the bottom of the boat. Rennick swatted at it, then laughed some more. I wanted to dissolve into a puddle of liquid dorkiness right there.
When I couldn’t help it anymore, I began to laugh with him, and that’s when I reached over the edge of the boat and splashed him, just a friendly little splash. And then he did the same to me.
The water felt cool and clean on this hot day. After a few rounds of splashing, Rennick stood up in the rocking boat and secured our fishing poles. He pulled his shirt above his head, still laughing. I tried not to gawk. I tried. But oh, his torso, it was beautiful. Thin and ropy. Defined muscles. His abs tanned and golden from the sun. “Stand up,” he told me.
“No way,” I told him.
“Don’t make me carry you,” he threatened. “You started this.” He pointed at me, smiling. And that’s when he flipped his sandals off and just jumped in. I stood up and watched him over the side, the boat rolling with the motion of his jump.
“It feels so good,” he said, surfacing, shaking his hair. “Here, give me a hand up.”
I didn’t even hesitate. I offered him my hand to help him into the boat, and just as it was sinking in that I had offered my
And he pulled me in. I laughed just as I realized how gullible I was, and then I was tumbling headfirst into the water.
It slid over my skin, crisp and cold, and it was clean, practically clear blue. I stayed under longer than I needed to, just to feel it against me, and opened my eyes. I could see him across from me, and his eyes were open too. I smiled. He smiled.
And that’s when it clicked on.
It scared me, startled me. So when Rennick reached for my hand again, I didn’t grab on. I shook my head and swam away, feeling the water move around me, feeling each one of my old swimmer’s strokes cutting into the force of the water.
He caught up to me quickly, and when I stopped swimming we broke the surface. I treaded water, and I could see we were a good distance from the boat. “Let’s race,” I told him.
It had been months since I’d trained, but I told myself it was like riding a bike. He squinted in a challenge, and then we both dove under. But I was off like a shot. I had always been good right out of the gate. Always took my lead that way.
When I slapped the bow of the boat with my hand, Rennick was right on my heels, but I had beat him. Fair and square.
I gave him my best triumphant smile.
“I am not slow,” he said, disbelieving, shaking the water from his hair.
“I’m just faster,” I told him, gloating.
“You are full of surprises,” he said. He had a bead of water right at the tip of his nose, and I wanted so badly to touch it, wipe it away. But I didn’t.
Rennick pulled himself up onto the rope ladder ahead of me, and when he offered me his hand, I didn’t take it. Just a quick shake of my head. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything.
We spent the rest of the afternoon and into the twilight with Rennick teaching me how to cast the line, how to bait with ballyhoo, how to take a hook out of a caught fish. It was all exciting and fun, and quite high up there on my list of favorite distractions. My favorite being Rennick with his shirt off. Second being his eyelashes.
I loved watching him cast the line, maneuvering the pole just so as he reeled in a catch. The muscles in his arms flexed, and he held his mouth in this perfect pout of concentration. It was obviously all so second nature to him. He threw back all of the fish we caught, dismissing them as not big enough. He got a little self-conscious while he was throwing back the last one, a pretty large sunfish. He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye.
What was it that he thought he was apologizing for? Could he really feel as though I would judge him for not being macho enough or something? I tried to picture what kind of home life could have nurtured that in him. I pictured a young Rennick, my Fourth of July Rennick, and my heart hurt for him. And I was just so thankful for Dodge. For what he meant to Rennick.
I caught my first fish, a catfish the size of a snow boot. “This is the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen!” I said, staring at the nasty thing, its glassy eyes staring right back at me. It was slippery and wet, with thick, slimy whiskers. It bucked in my hands, still moving its mouth, looking for water.
Rennick took it from me, unhooked it, held it in both of his hands, and, of course, shoved it close to my face, making smooching noises. “He just wants one kiss, Corrine.” The catfish whiskers tickled my cheek, and I laughed, pushing it away. Rennick tossed it back in the water with a laugh.
As the afternoon wore on and the sun became too much, Rennick turned the motor on and steered us into a thick shady patch near the shore. We sat in the quiet little hideout of kudzu and mangrove trees, eating weird little snacks that Rennick had packed, like corn nuts and celery stalks that had seen better days.
