Page 12 of Catch and Release

“Oh,” Willa responded. “Well, thanks. That was nice of her. Your grandmother.”

“Ida.”

The name rang a bell. Willa squinted her eyes together, searching her memory. Suddenly, a sunny, summer afternoon from her childhood flashed in her head. She was young, maybe 7 or 8. She had spent the entire day building sandcastles with her cousins. She’d come inside for a snack, and her grandmother had been visiting with a friend. Ida. They were eating a treat that Ida had brought over, and they offered some to Willa. In fact, Willa was pretty sure they’d been eating…

“Brownies,” she breathed. “Ida. I remember her.”

If memory served her correctly, those were some of the best brownies she’d ever had. A special family recipe, in fact.

Ida and her grandmother often spent Sunday afternoons visiting after they got home from church. They walked together during the weekdays, gossiping about townies and their latest exploits. Once, not all that long before she died, her grandmother had called her hungover after a night of drinking sangria on the wharf with Ida.

Willa was overwhelmed with the sudden memories of someone who had meant so much to her grandmother—someone who had been thoughtful enough to make her brownies to welcome her to the neighborhood. For a split second, Willa wondered how Ida even knew she’d moved in, but then again, word traveled fast on the Bay.

“I’d love to see her,” Willa said suddenly, bringing herself out of her reverie. “Ida, I mean. Can I drop by sometime to say hello?”

Shawn was quiet for a moment, his eyes boring into Willa’s.

“She’s only gone on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons for bridge, Friday nights for Bingo, and Sundays for church,” he finally said.

“Alright, then,” Willa nodded.

Putting pieces together, Willa suddenly realized that Shawn must live with his grandmother.

“How long have you lived with her?” she asked him.

His jaw tightened.

“Since my grandfather died, about a year ago.”

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I’m sure she’s grateful not to be alone.”

A beat of silence passed between them, and then Willa noticed that it was almost completely dark.

“Well, I’d better get these inside,” she said.

“I’ll help,” Shawn responded, grabbing her bucket of mullet before she could protest.

She sighed, dropping the cast net on the wharf and following behind him. Shawn was wearing the same thing he had on at the bait shop: gray shorts, a white t-shirt, and some well-loved sneakers. He was effortlessly strong, and she was sure that unlike the men in California who worked out to keep a certain appearance, Shawn’s muscle came from frequent fishing. She could see the ripples of his back through the white shirt he wore, and couldn’t help but admire the way his calves flexed as he walked up the hill toward her house.

Once they got to the back porch, she directed him to a cooler she’d gotten out to put the fish in.

“You’re going to eat these?” he asked, sounding a bit incredulous.

“Of course,” she said.

He grunted in response.

She rolled her eyes as he dumped the fish into the cooler. She was losing patience for this guy and his damn assumptions. She picked up the bucket and began to carry it into the garage.

“What is it this time?” she huffed.

He wrung his hands. “I can carry that for y?—”

“No, thanks.”

He followed her into the garage.

“I’m not—” he cut himself off. “It’s just that most people don’t eat mullet.”

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