Page 56 of The Problem with Falling
“H-health complications after childbir-rth.” My voice cracked thinking about it. Thalia was a good one. I hated that life took the good ones away too soon.
When I said those words, I saw a level of hurt in Willow’s eyes that made my own chest ache. “She died after childbirth?” she questioned, her voice low and timid.
“Yeah. It was a hard time.”
“My…” She pushed out a smile, but it wasn’t her normal warm smile. It was dripping with grief. I knew what grief smiles looked like. I was a mastermind when it came to spotting them. I stayed quiet, wondering if she’d finish her words. But she didn’t. She just stayed still, sitting in whatever demons were inhabiting her thoughts.
“Don’t worry,” I said as I untied the boat from the dock. “I get it.”
“Get what?”
“That some things are too hard to talk about.”
Her eyes flashed with emotions, but no tears fell this time. I figured she’d spent enough time crying over whatever haunted her mind. Sometimes the darkest parts of us brought about the least number of tears.
We stayed quiet as I took the boat out on the other side of the lake. Once I found a location that felt right, I turned off the boat and set Willow up with a fishing pole.
“What kind of fish are out here?” she asked.
“There’re some blue gills, northern pike, some perch, a few bass.”
“How did your northern pike turn out? Was it delicious?”
“Didn’t eat it yet. I filleted it and am waiting for the right moment to cook it up.”
“Ah, yes. The prized fish can’t be eaten on a random Tuesday.”
“That is very, very true.”
“If I catch a big one, will you make me a fish fry?”
“Define a ‘big one.’”
She scrunched up her nose in thought before holding her hands double the width of her body. “This big.”
I’d been on the lake we were sitting on for hundreds of hours. I knew the water and the life that lived within it. There was no way in hell Willow Kingsley would ever catch a fish that big on Westin Lake.
Yet the sparkle in her eye made me not want to burst her dream.
“We will definitely have a fish fry if you catch a fish that big.”
“Not anifbut awhen,” she corrected, puffing out her chest as she rolled up her sleeves a little. “I got this.”
Four hours passed, and Willow didnothave it. After we docked for the night, I helped a deflated Willow step out of the boat. She hadn’t stopped pouting for the past hour or so due to her lack of fish. She must’ve seen her fish fry floating far, far away with every passing hour.
“Don’t take it too hard. The current was shit tonight,” I said, trying to make her feel less shitty about not catching anything but weeds.
“You caught eighteen!” she exclaimed, tossing her hands up in frustration.
“Yeah, but I’m pretty great at what I do. There’s not much that I’m bad at. You should’ve gone out with a shitty fisherman if you wanted to feel less bad,” I teased.
Her brown eyes met mine, and she smiled. “I like when you do that.”
“Do what?”
“Joke around. I like your playful side. I didn’t know you had one.”
“It comes in waves.”
