Page 53 of The Austen Escape
I did. It was a jerky motion that sent the fly two feet and plopped it in the water right along the shore.
“It’s a good start.”
“Liar.” I pulled in the line as he had—and it caught on the hem of my dress.
“You’re right.” Nathan laughed, then swung his head in an exaggerated motion as if that was the only way to become serious once more. “Try again. Think of it like flicking paint off a paintbrush. Pretend you’re Jackson Pollock.”
“Well then...” I did exactly what he said and fared no better. But it didn’t matter.
Nathan knelt and untangled the line from around my feet.
“I’m clearly not an artist.”
“It takes time.” He cast again.
After a few minutes, I reeled in my line and watched him.
He spared me only a glance. “My grandfather used to say that everything in the world could be solved at the cadence of a cast. Think about things, don’t rush them, get a feel for them, live organically. Live life like you cast.” He bent his arm again, and with fluid slow motion he shot the line straight across the pond into the slow-moving water near the far bank.
“All the stuff you’ve been trying to get me to do this past year?”
His brows met above his nose. I was tempted to press my finger there as he had done to me.
“I guess I have. I find work goes better when you ask for help and bring people into the process. And you do, don’t get me wrong. I’ve never seen anyone more giving. But something hiccupped with Golightly.” He returned to casting. “Please don’t think I’m advocating the same approach Karen is taking.”
“What? You’re not promoting ‘dialoguing’ and ‘collective creativity’ and ‘thought leadership’?” My voice felt as derisive as it sounded. “Karen wraps threats in buzzwords. There’s not much else there, not for me at least.”
Nathan didn’t comment.
“That was inappropriate of me. I’m still angry about a lot of stuff she’s doing.”
Nathan looked at me. “Not at all. We aren’t at WATT. In fact, WATT is no longer a client of mine. We are two friends talking about my fishing and your work.” He winked.
“Yes, but you know a lot about my work.”
“I also know you’ll figure it out. You’re good at your job, Mary.”
I gestured to the rod, ready to change the subject. He was slowly pulling in the line. The fly fluttered across the surface of the water. “So you grew up doing this?”
“My grandparents had a place in northern Minnesota. It was a tiny cabin on a lake with no indoor plumbing, and it was heaven. I used to spend as much time there as I could during the summers. Granddad wasn’t a talkative guy, but every now and then, after hours of silence, he’d reveal these great quiet truths. I should’ve written them down because I’ve forgotten most of them.”
“What’s one you remember?”
Nathan cast again. “He said that how people treat you is only 10 percent about you and 90 percent about them, so you need to be careful how you react and how you judge. You never know someone’s story.”
“Clearly a numbers guy. I like him.”
“An engineer at 3M for forty-three years. Definitely a numbers guy.” Nathan gave me more than a passing glance this time. “You would have loved him and he you.”
A fish saved me from a reply. Nathan immediately yanked his rod tip up and started pulling line in with his free hand.
“How can I help?”
He tilted his head to the soft turf beside me. “Can you get that net over the side without ruining your dress?”
“It’d be my second. There was a muddy hem issue yesterday.” I envisioned poor Sonia as I dropped my rod and grabbed the net. I pulled my skirt over my knees so as not to get it too dirty and knelt on the grass.
I scooped the net in a few times before emerging with an iridescent fish. It flipped and flopped, forcing me to wiggle the net to keep it inside.
