Read Online Our Love Will Go the Way of the Salmon by Cameron Pierce - Free Book Online Page B

love and belonging that not even Llewellyn made him feel. The fish spoke to Frank. The fish spoke words in a language no human could ever understand, but Frank knew they must be words of love, and so he removed the hook from the fish’s lip and, as the fish sat there breathing hoarsely, clutching the side of the boat with its human hands, Frank lowered himself into the dark water. By the time he reached the bottom, he was little more than a skeleton, and yet somehow he remained. Tragic as it was, the fish with human hands reassured him that he’d avoided something far worse, something coming soon. Fish hand in skeleton hand, they swam out of the river to the open sea, far from the bad thing about to happen.
     
     
     
    VI. Klaskanine
     
    “Staying in town a while, or just passing through?” Llewellyn asked.
    “I’m at a campground on the Klaskanine.”
    “Not much to do out that way.”
    “I got lost.”
    “You gonna be lost out there long?”
    “I don’t know what I’m gonna do.”
    “So long as you’re alone?”
    Anisedias shrugged. “I don’t mind a little company.”
    Llewellyn pursed her lips. She went over to the serving window. “Hey Larry,” she called into the kitchen. “You mind if I skip out?”
    “Sure. Just one thing,” Larry said, coming out from the kitchen with an oyster shooter in each hand.
    “What’s that?” Llewellyn already knew what he’d say next.
    “Get me a date with your sister.”
    “Get me out of this place and you can marry my sister.”
    “I’m getting you out right now.” He downed one of the oyster shooters.
    “I mean for good.”
    “Why you wanna leave so bad, huh? This ain’t such a terrible place to live.”
    “He’s right,” Anisedias said. “It’s not so bad.”
    “You,” Llewellyn said, pointing at Anisedias, “you got here today, so your opinion on this place doesn’t count. And you—” She pointed at Larry, whose head was tilted back to let the second oyster shooter slide down his throat. “You stay quiet about this. If Frank finds out, I’ll know you were talking.”
    Larry looked at her with this look like I didn’t see a thing . There was some cocktail sauce in his mustache. “Larry,” she said, “you’ve got cocktail sauce in your mustache. You know what that means, don’t you?”
    “It means you can trust me, right?”
    “It means you ain’t ever getting a date with my sister.”
    She pulled two bottles of Bitter Bitch out of the cooler and gestured with one of the bottles toward the door. “Come on, Anise baby. Let’s see your ride.”
     
     
     
    VII. Berserker
     
    “Oh, a Rebel,” she had said, unable to mute her disappointment. Women always did that. When they found out he rode a bike, they assumed that meant a Harley. But Harleys were all branding and no muscle. Weak shit.
    Swaying women in favor of his Honda Rebel took nothing more than a nighttime ride. Even with a chick hugging his waist, he could cut breakneck corners going sixty-five. Pure torque and acceleration, he’d named his bike S.S. Berserker, and he truly believed she had the power to sail on open seas, to ride on water, if the desire ever arose in her machine heart. She was the love of his life, but there had been others, and more would follow.
    No.
    In truth, the bike was a piece of shit. He’d stolen it from his sister’s ex-boyfriend, the one whose ass he’d kicked on Easter. The dude was a shithead and he drove a shitty bike, but it was Anisedias’s shitty bike now.
    Although the storm had relented a little, they were both soaked by the time they arrived at the riverside campground. The ride had been dark. At one point, they came around a bend in the highway to find an elk, standing in the road. The elk’s antlers fell under the illumination of the bike’s headlight, but they were moving too fast to stop. Anisedias swerved right and hoped the elk moved in the other direction. Somehow they stayed upright, passing within inches of the elk,