“Yeah,” Jack says. He gets a faraway look in his eye. “I wasn’t around as much as I should have been Gabe’s first few years, but I’m planning to make up for lost time with him and the baby, when she comes.”
“Can you believe this guy?” Brooks asks me. He’s known Jack a while—they used to work construction together. “Seriously, if you had asked me if he would ever have a girlfriend, let alone a fiancée and a kid and another on the way, I would have laughed in your face. And look at him now. Alldomesticated.”
Coming from Brooks, that’s not a compliment. I don’t feel quite as scornful toward domestic bliss as Brooks does, but when I look at Jack, all I can feel is relief I’m not him because if you don’t fall in love, you can’t get your heart put through the meat grinder, either. I’ve got Katie, and that’s all I need.
Jack is unfazed. “You’re just jealous. Family life has the best bennies.” He smirks.
Okay, yeah, there’s a little envy mixed in with my relief. Brooks wasn’t kidding about my drought in the sex department. When Katie came to live with me, it temporarily put an end to all sextracurriculars. It’s been a while, and I’ll admit, I’m tired of mixing it up by switching hands.
“Katie’s mom died two months ago,” Brooks says.
I glare at him, because, way to drop a bomb in the middle of a fishing trip.
Jack starts in with theI’m so, so sorry…“Thanks,” I say. “But it’s—Katie’s mom and I weren’t together, so it’s more that—it’s Katie who’s grieving, you know?”
I don’t say how bad I’m hurting for her, because—well, I figure Jack probably knows. After Katie was born, I realized that I’d joined a new club of men: dads. All of us have at least one little person who depends on us not to fuck up. No secret handshake, but there probably should be. And I’m sure Jack can imagine himself in my shoes, whether he wants to or not.
“Katie moved in with me after her mom died, and she’s okay. I mean she’s sad, she has nightmares, whatever, but she’s really doing great, considering.”
It’s me who’s trying to figure out how to do it all and do right by Katie.
Jack nods. “Kids are resilient.”
Brooks yelps and for a while we’re all distracted by helping him land his catch, and then all the dirty work that follows. After that, we swap coffee for cold brews and fish for a while in silence, only the trolling motor running. It’s so fucking peaceful. If I could, I’d spend all my time this way, in the great outdoors—fishing, camping, kayaking, you name it. I vow I’m going to get Katie out in the woods as soon as possible, teach her to fall in love with nature, the way I did when I was even younger than she is.
Of course, before I plan any trips, I’d better sort out our day-to-day situation…
It’s getting later in the morning now and even though we drop deeper, we’re not getting any bites. We leave the lines in while we eat lunch, but still nada. We decide to call it. Brooks swaps motors and we head back.
On the lakeshore, after we load the boat back onto the trailer, we strike up a conversation with two guys who’ve also just come back in from a morning of angling. They have their sons with them, Boy Scouts chasing their fishing badge. The men are sheepish, the boys restless. They admire our catch enviously.
“We hooked one,” one boy says glumly, “but the line snapped.”
His dad winces, obviously disappointed that they couldn’t be superheroes to their boys.
“Let me see your tackle,” I say to the bummed-out dad. It’s older gear, and the drag has been set way too tight. I try to loosen the drag screw on the reel, but I can’t do much.
The kids are watching, so I explain. “The line broke because this screw was too tight and when the fish ran, the line didn’t unspool fast enough. What I’m doing is called setting the drag. But the thing is, this rod is kind of beat up, and there’s not too far I can go in either direction with the screw.” I address the owner of the rod. “You weren’t doing anything wrong—you just need a new spring and drag washers.”
He shoots me a look of relief and gratitude. “Thanks,” he says, and I know he doesn’t just mean for the fishing advice. He means for the face-saving, however small.
I feel ya, dude. Ever tried to braid a little girl’s long hair? Or, hell, even brush it?
Katie has burst into tears and yelled, “Mommy could do it!” in my face more than a few times since Thea’s death.
My turn to wince.
We part ways with the dads and sons and load our own stuff into the truck.
“So where’s your daughter this weekend?” Jack asks, as we drop backpacks and tackle boxes into the truck’s bed.
“With her grandmother.”
“She watch Katie when you’re in the store?”
The store is Mike’s Outdoor Store. Brooks and one other guy, Rodro, are my assistant managers. It’s a good gig, steady, low on the bullshit, reasonable hours. I’m lucky.
I’ve gotta sort out the child care thing so I can hold on to it.