going somewhere, Dad?"
Dad folds his hands on the table. "Yes and no."
This is what I don't like: Beating around the bush.
"What are you saying, Dad?" The tiniest smidgen of worry skitters
up my spinal cord.
He grins at me. "Actually you are the one who gave me the idea."
Already this is sounding bad.
"Remember when you told me to tell Brandon you had taken up squid fishing?"
I blink. Once. Twice. Thrice. "You're going to take up squid
fishing?" I ask very slowly.
I expect a chuckle, a laugh, a hand slap, and then a profuse answer
telling me how absolutely ridiculous this is.
Dad shrugs.
Not good at all.
"Not squid fishing, per se. Just regular fishing. All I've done since
retiring, Hon, is hang around the house. I'm going stir crazy!" He waves
his hands. "I want to do something outdoorsy for a change. My friend
John did, and look at him now."
John is the poster child for Game & Fish.
"Yeah, but, Dad." I scramble. "Think of all the diseases you could
catch from the water!"
Dad nods. "I have considered that. But I went to that new hunting
store today and found these." He slides a box across the table.
"`Purification tablets,"' I read.
"Yep. Those, my dear, will kill any bacteria in the water."
I have a vision of a U-Haul backing up to Lake Michigan and depositing four hundred pounds of these Alka-Seltzers into it, the lake suddenly becoming crystal blue bottled water.
I set the box down. "You're serious about this."
His eyes are sparkling. "I'm planning a trip for the month
of March."
"March. Dad, that's in like six weeks."
"I know." He reaches across the table and takes my hand. "I was
hoping you could go with me."
I look in Dad's eyes, and every excuse I have crumbles. Fishing is not
my thing. I will take electricity and running water over a grimy, scaly,
squiggly fish any day. Up to this point, I figured Dad agreed with me.
"Okay," I mutter. How bad can a long weekend fishing be? It's not
long enough to die of boredom. A cozy, short trip to some hole-in-thewall lake, catch a few bass, go home.
Sounds fairly easy.
Dad's elation shines in his face. "I'll start getting the supplies
this week."
"Well, don't overdo, Dad. I mean, we probably have enough food at
home. And sleeping bags." I twirl my fork in my spaghetti.
"Not for a month we don't, Laurie."
My fork stops centimeters from my mouth. Dad has good timing. A
millisecond later, spaghetti would have been rocketing out of my mouth
and splattering all over Dad's white shirt.
"A month!" I can't help it. I yell.
JACK comes running. "Is everything okay?" He twists a dishtowel
around in his hands.
"Fine, fine," Dad says, seeing my jaw is stapled to the fake
wood table.
Still wringing the towel nervously, JACK leaves.
Dad looks at me. "Laurie?"
"Where?" It's the only word I can form.
"A place by the Sacramento-San Joaquin Delta. A little town."
I blink. "For a month."
Dad's eyes are shining in excitement.
Drat my guilt complex.
"Fine." I sigh. "I'll go if Brandon will give me that month off."
He could have been jumping up and down. "Good! Ah, Laurie, this
will be so much fun! Just the two of us, the open water, the rustic cabin
on the river...:.
"Running water?" Incredible.
"Of course running water. And electricity. What did you think? We'd sleep in a tent?"
I shrug.
"No, this is a cabin. You don't even have to fish with me if you don't
want to. The scenery is gorgeous. Bring your camera."
"March," I say again.
"Yep. Temperatures in the fifties and sixties."
I twirl my fork around, contemplating. How bad could it be? A
month of relaxation, picture taking, and fish for dinner.
"How are you doing?" a voice murmurs near my ear.
I jump. A meatball flips cleanly off my fork and lands splat, right in
my lap.
JACK stands there, water pitcher in hand. His expression registers
horror.
I can see it coming before it happens, yet my brain doesn't work fast
enough. "Oh my gosh," JACK says, "I'm so sort -
Dad folds his hands on the table. "Yes and no."
This is what I don't like: Beating around the bush.
"What are you saying, Dad?" The tiniest smidgen of worry skitters
up my spinal cord.
He grins at me. "Actually you are the one who gave me the idea."
Already this is sounding bad.
"Remember when you told me to tell Brandon you had taken up squid fishing?"
I blink. Once. Twice. Thrice. "You're going to take up squid
fishing?" I ask very slowly.
I expect a chuckle, a laugh, a hand slap, and then a profuse answer
telling me how absolutely ridiculous this is.
Dad shrugs.
Not good at all.
"Not squid fishing, per se. Just regular fishing. All I've done since
retiring, Hon, is hang around the house. I'm going stir crazy!" He waves
his hands. "I want to do something outdoorsy for a change. My friend
John did, and look at him now."
John is the poster child for Game & Fish.
"Yeah, but, Dad." I scramble. "Think of all the diseases you could
catch from the water!"
Dad nods. "I have considered that. But I went to that new hunting
store today and found these." He slides a box across the table.
"`Purification tablets,"' I read.
"Yep. Those, my dear, will kill any bacteria in the water."
I have a vision of a U-Haul backing up to Lake Michigan and depositing four hundred pounds of these Alka-Seltzers into it, the lake suddenly becoming crystal blue bottled water.
I set the box down. "You're serious about this."
His eyes are sparkling. "I'm planning a trip for the month
of March."
"March. Dad, that's in like six weeks."
"I know." He reaches across the table and takes my hand. "I was
hoping you could go with me."
I look in Dad's eyes, and every excuse I have crumbles. Fishing is not
my thing. I will take electricity and running water over a grimy, scaly,
squiggly fish any day. Up to this point, I figured Dad agreed with me.
"Okay," I mutter. How bad can a long weekend fishing be? It's not
long enough to die of boredom. A cozy, short trip to some hole-in-thewall lake, catch a few bass, go home.
Sounds fairly easy.
Dad's elation shines in his face. "I'll start getting the supplies
this week."
"Well, don't overdo, Dad. I mean, we probably have enough food at
home. And sleeping bags." I twirl my fork in my spaghetti.
"Not for a month we don't, Laurie."
My fork stops centimeters from my mouth. Dad has good timing. A
millisecond later, spaghetti would have been rocketing out of my mouth
and splattering all over Dad's white shirt.
"A month!" I can't help it. I yell.
JACK comes running. "Is everything okay?" He twists a dishtowel
around in his hands.
"Fine, fine," Dad says, seeing my jaw is stapled to the fake
wood table.
Still wringing the towel nervously, JACK leaves.
Dad looks at me. "Laurie?"
"Where?" It's the only word I can form.
"A place by the Sacramento-San Joaquin Delta. A little town."
I blink. "For a month."
Dad's eyes are shining in excitement.
Drat my guilt complex.
"Fine." I sigh. "I'll go if Brandon will give me that month off."
He could have been jumping up and down. "Good! Ah, Laurie, this
will be so much fun! Just the two of us, the open water, the rustic cabin
on the river...:.
"Running water?" Incredible.
"Of course running water. And electricity. What did you think? We'd sleep in a tent?"
I shrug.
"No, this is a cabin. You don't even have to fish with me if you don't
want to. The scenery is gorgeous. Bring your camera."
"March," I say again.
"Yep. Temperatures in the fifties and sixties."
I twirl my fork around, contemplating. How bad could it be? A
month of relaxation, picture taking, and fish for dinner.
"How are you doing?" a voice murmurs near my ear.
I jump. A meatball flips cleanly off my fork and lands splat, right in
my lap.
JACK stands there, water pitcher in hand. His expression registers
horror.
I can see it coming before it happens, yet my brain doesn't work fast
enough. "Oh my gosh," JACK says, "I'm so sort -
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