All Things Different

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All Things Different Page 4

by Underhill, Shawn


  “Can I try that?” Sara asked.

  “Just don’t go overboard,” Dad said. “It’s cold this early.”

  Over my shoulder I saw her wiggle to the side and lean over, letting her fingers just touch the water as it trailed off from the boat in small ripples. She probably could’ve done jumping jacks without unbalancing us, but still I kept alert, hypersensitive and remembering all the times my old man had warned me of boat safety.

  “It’s warm as a bath!” She dipped her hand deeper.

  “Dry it quick when you’re done,” Dad said. “The water might be seventy, but the air is in the fifties.”

  Sara did as she was told with a steadily delighted smile. It was like watching a little child making new discoveries.

  “Now remember,” Dad said later, after much chatter, “to keep your voice down when we get near the spot. And absolutely no standing up when the action starts. We don’t need to be spilled out of here.”

  “I promise,” Sara said, like she was swearing under oath.

  We paddled steadily, making good time with both of us paddling hard, until we were heading into a dark inlet where the water was flat and shadowy. We eased up the boat and Dad and I got the poles ready. I had to turn and face Sara then while I prepared, but I kept my eyes mostly focused on my work. She sat very still but for the turning of her head, keenly watching our movements, the big eyes taking everything in. She looked away when I put the worm on the hook, but true to her promise, she made no sound.

  I cast off. The line buzzed out and the bait went into the dark water by the rough shore, where I knew the larger, smarter trout waited patiently. Dad sent out a line on the opposite side and handed the pole to Sara. I watched my own line and reeled slowly, smoothly, while Dad whispered Sara instructions. It was strange seeing and hearing him teach someone other than me.

  In time I blocked them out. I was getting no bites, but I remained deadly serious. I held the rod loosely and kept the line taut, feeling every little change as the baited hook moved through the water. My mind began to wander into memories of trips gone by that were much more successful, lacking intruders. Some were easily differentiated and others blurred together. I remembered cold mornings and hot days and times when we got many fish and we put most of them back. Sometimes we got few or none. One time I hooked the huge pickerel where the spring-fed stream emptied into the lake and I had thought I was caught on something until Dad took the rod and said no, it was a fish, and handed it back. Many days I got just a few, but often they were good trout, perfect in size for frying in the cast-iron pan. Afternoons rowing back from the inlets feeling accomplished, hot in the sun, proud and excited to cook my own dinner, the fish cleaned and put away in the green mesh bag that trailed in the water with the strap around the loop at the stern, gliding the boat onto shore by the dock, swimming before going in to eat, and then reading at night in bed of the same sort of thrills I’d lived all day. All of it blended together in my mind as idealistically as only nostalgia can be.

  Right then, the boat shook. I was back. The old man had suddenly moved as soon as the rod bent sharply in Sara’s hands. He was leaning over close to her. She’d hooked a fish and was panicking, squealing, and almost dropped the pole overboard, with Dad lunging after it. He got it in time and was holding it steady, with the tip pointed up, trying to get Sara to turn the reel while simultaneously trying to keep her from standing up. It was a spectacle. I brought in my line quickly, set down the pole, and got the net ready.

  “What do we do?” Sara kept squealing.

  “Relax,” he kept repeating, but he was also trying to calm himself. In regards to fishing, my father never fully grew up himself.

  A minute later the fish was thrashing near the boat and I leaned and scooped it with the net, holding it up with the water running out and the fish shining in the green netting. It was a bass, a good-sized smallmouth, but not quite a record breaker. My old man carefully took the bass from the net, squeezing its sharp spines back with his big hand while he removed the hook as gently as he could. While he worked, Sara kept trying to stand up and Dad kept blocking her, using his weight. When the hook was out, he held the fish in front of her. She sat still then, admiring it with very wide eyes. It really was a nice fish, though no trout, with its ugly mouth and spiny back. Sara touched its side gently with the tip of her finger. The fish tried to thrash in Dad’s grip. Sara pulled back sharply.

  “Put him back,” she shrieked. “He’s gross!”

  “We will,” Dad said. “These aren’t great eating.”

  “I would never eat one,” Sara declared. She rinsed her hand in the lake and dried it thoroughly. You would have thought the fish was toxic.

  The bass shot off as soon as Dad loosened his grip in the water. We saw it for a second before it was gone in the darkness, but the thrill remained with all of us for some time after. And it’s a good thing too, because after all the commotion, it was the only fish we caught all that morning. So, after eating the turkey sandwiches and drinking the sodas we’d packed, we waved the proverbial white flag and started rowing toward home, Dad satisfied, Sara thrilled, and me not so much.

  “Everything okay?” I heard the old man ask her a short time later.

  “I’m having fun,” she said, then lowered her voice. “But I have one little problem.”

  “Oh?” the old man responded. “Tired of being in the boat?”

  “No.”

  “What then?”

  “I drank that soda,” she began, her voice getting softer with every word, “and now I have to pee.”

  “Oh, boy,” the old man muttered.

  I had been holding my breath to listen. At the “oh, boy” I busted out laughing. “That. Was. Priceless,” I said.

  “It’s not my fault,” Sara groaned. “I was thirsty.”

  “There’s, uh, no way you can hold on till we get home?” Dad pleaded.

  “I don’t know. I’ve been trying not to say anything for a while now.”

  “This could be tricky,” Dad said. “I don’t suppose you’re wearing a bathing suit underneath.”

  “No. Why?”

  “That rules out that option. Let’s take it in, Jake.”

  “Aye, Captain.” I steered, seeing a spot of shoreline that wasn’t too rough for a landing.

  All said and done, it was at least a ten-minute pit stop. The old man helped her from the boat and went off a ways into the woods ahead of her, clearing a path like a moose crashing through the pucker brush. After checking the perimeter of the designated spot for dangerous animals and other potential frights, he came back to the shore to wait.

  “Don’t make her feel any more self-conscious,” he told me, very quietly and very seriously.

  “I’m only kidding.”

  “Well, save it.”

  “Are you guys whispering about me?” rang out from the shadowy woods.

  “No,” Dad called back.

  “I hear noises out here!”

  “It’s nothing. Don’t worry.”

  “Never mind, I think it’s just a little chipmunk!”

  “See, nothing.”

  “Chip, chip, chip, chip,” we heard her saying.

  “Stay focused,” Dad called.

  “I’m trying but it’s really awkward! The chipmunk is watching me!”

  “Maybe next week,” I said quietly, “we can head out before sunrise.”

  It was early afternoon when we coasted back onto our beach. Kate came around the shop soon after we landed, and Sara ran to her, bubbling with excitement and trying to convey the details of her first fish. When she’d calmed down, Kate had carried on thanking my old man for taking her. They went back and forth while I unpacked the boat, talking about Sara and what a delight she was, Kate saying she hoped it hadn’t spoiled our fun having Sara along and not wanting to impose and all that sort of crap.

  I brought the gear into the shop. I had no use for standing around talking with them. And I couldn’t believe the old man ha
d caved like that with our summer Sunday routine.

  6

  My old man joined me in the shop when the girls left. I was organizing my tackle box as he entered, and sort of gave him the cold shoulder—like that would show him.

  “Boy, that was quite the experience,” he tried to joke.

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “Need any help?”

  “Nope. I’ve got it.”

  “C’mon, kid. It wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  “I guess not.” I shrugged.

  “I couldn’t say no to her, Jake. You should’ve seen how excited she was.”

  “It’s fine. Whatever.”

  “Kate’s working the breakfast shift over at the Star now. Sara would’ve been alone all morning.”

  “It’s fine,” I repeated.

  “I know it’s not the same.”

  “No.”

  “I doubt she’ll even want to go again, judging by her reaction today.”

  “She’ll find something else to get her nose into. I’ll bet twenty bucks on it.”

  My old man watched me quietly for a while. I was replenishing my container of crawlers from the big pail.

  “How long are you planning to stay pissed?” he asked.

  “How long do you think they’ll stay?”

  “That I can’t say.”

  “Not long, hopefully.”

  We were quiet again. I could feel him watching me, but I did not look up from my project. It didn’t feel like I was in the wrong.

  “I was hoping,” he said after a while, “you would warm up a bit once you got to know them.”

  “It’s nothing personal.”

  “Look, I understand you’ve had your toes stepped on a little, and I am sorry for that. But these are good people, Jake. I wouldn’t have them here if I thought otherwise.”

  “I’m sure they’re fine.”

  “They’ve been bounced around a lot the past couple years. Kate needs a chance to get her feet under her. And I think Sara …”

  I stopped what I was doing. The way he’d said Sara’s name disturbed me. I knew my father’s mannerisms and tones better than anyone else in the world, and in the matter of a few words I could tell the difference in him, that his attitude toward them went beyond a business deal or even friendly assistance. If I didn’t know him so well, I would have braced myself for, surprise, this is your long-lost sister.

  “What’s the deal with them?” I said, turning quickly. “You’re not telling me everything.”

  “There are a few details,” he said slowly, “that don’t exactly make for pleasant conversation. I was hoping to leave them out, and have you trust my judgment on this.”

  “What, you think I can’t handle it?”

  “I wouldn’t say can’t. I would prefer you didn’t have to, though.”

  “What is it? I mean, what the hell?”

  “It’s not a good story, Jake.”

  “The cat’s half out of the bag now. You might as well get it over with.”

  “Yeah,” he nodded. “I guess so.”

  I stared at him as he leaned back against the workbench beside me and crossed his arms.

  “I guess most of it stems from a bad relationship between Kate and Sara’s father.”

  “A nasty divorce?”

  “No. They never got quite that far. A nasty split, yes. It’s been a roller coaster from what I’ve heard, from both Kate and Buck. Usually if you get the same story out of different people at different times, you can start listening to what they have to say. Well, I met with Kate a few weeks ago. Everything matched up. She seemed genuine. So I made my decision.”

  “What’s Buck got to do with them?”

  “You’ve seen Kate.” My old man smiled ironically. “You can guess his interests.”

  “Right,” I nodded.

  “Needless to say, Sara’s father wasn’t too pleased when Buck started getting friendly with Kate. That’s what they were fighting about that time, and it’s happened more than once, but it’s not the point. The real issue is that there’s a child involved in this mess, and unfortunately, Sara’s father has proven to be a very unstable and abusive man. He and Kate have had more than their share of go-arounds, but once it started spreading to Sara, Kate had to get her away from him.”

  “So …”

  “It’s a horror story.”

  “No exaggeration?”

  “No.” He lowered his voice further. “Listen to me. That string bean of a girl has had a grown man throw her around. At one point, a while back, he broke her wrist. You’ll notice there’s a little scar on her right wrist where they did surgery. Called it an accident on the stairs. All Sara could do was take it. She’s a brave little thing, in my book.”

  I stood there quietly while his words set in on me. The subject had never been anything to me before, and because I knew so little of it, I couldn’t understand why in that moment something that was so completely foreign and outside of my life felt so suddenly real and urgent to me. I could picture it happening—that ninety-pound girl unable to defend herself. I leaned back against the bench beside my good old man. It was like watching an unpleasant news story in my head, only I couldn’t change the channel.

  “Now you see,” Dad said, reading my face.

  I nodded, still thinking. Then I asked the most naïve question possible, although I’d meant it more as a statement than a question. “How could someone even do that?”

  “I don’t know,” Dad said. “I don’t believe a rational man could.”

  “I could see with Kate there’d be jealousy and all that crap involved. But with Sara it’s just …”

  “Sick.”

  “Yeah, that.”

  “Well, don’t dwell on it. There’s not always sense to be made when it comes to people.”

  “No.”

  “You’ll find there’s an ass for every seat in this world. Folks do damned lousy things to one another.”

  This world had typically held very little bearing on my own day-to-day existence. We kept to our own business. We went fishing on Sundays.

  “Did he go to jail for it?” I asked.

  “Not that I know of. Not for that, anyway.”

  “He ought to. He ought to rot in there with a big old boyfriend.”

  “Easy,” the old man laughed lightly, sounding more like his normal self again. “That’s not for us to decide, no matter what we think. It’s just another side of the problem.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean this soap-opera BS happens all the time. A guy like that can manipulate Sara quite easily, considering that no matter what he does, she still has feelings for him because it’s her father. That’s when it comes down to Kate. If she doesn’t do anything, nothing will change, and she and Sara will both suffer for it.”

  “But that’s stupid.”

  “It’s not us in it.”

  “Why can’t she just stay away from him for good?”

  “She’s trying, Jake. You don’t just build a new house in a day. And there are plenty of complications involved legally. Even when they do get away for a while and things start to calm down, he shows up again, worms his way back into the picture. Around it goes. That’s been their life for the past few years. Kate changing jobs, apartments. Sara changing schools.”

  “What a nightmare.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “I’m so glad we live out here the way we do.”

  “So am I. And I’m glad to try to help them, if I can.”

  “You think Harper will find them out here?”

  “I doubt it. He probably wouldn’t come onto someone else’s property, even if he did find the place. Cruel men aren’t always stupid men.”

  “He wouldn’t dare mess with you.” I smiled. “He’d be good and sorry then.”

  “Easy, now,” Dad said.

  “I hope he does come here,” I said, and I felt my voice changing a little. “Then you can kick his ass good and hard. See how he like
s it.”

  “Jake …”

  “I’m serious. You should. I would if I could.” I didn’t even know the guy.

  “That won’t fix anything.”

  “I hope Bucky hurt him good in that fight,” I said. For some reason I felt the urge to take my old hammer down from its hook over the bench. I wanted to squeeze something solid, something that made sense. The wooden handle felt good in my grip.

  “Hey,” Dad said with his hand extended, “give me that.”

  I complied after a few seconds of squeezing. “You won’t let him come here, will you?”

  He placed the hammer back on its hook. “Absolutely not.”

  “If he does, you’ll take care of it.”

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  “I hate the thought of him,” I said, looking at my good old man. By the way he was looking back at me I couldn’t really tell whether he was pleased or displeased with me.

  “Why don’t you go for a swim,” he finally said. “It’ll do you some good.”

  “I haven’t been all too friendly.”

  “No.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “I taught you better, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I wish I didn’t know now.”

  “I understand.”

  “Roll with the punches?”

  “That’s all we can do.”

  “All right.” I breathed deep. “I’ll go for a swim.”

  “It’ll cool you off.”

  “Are you coming out?”

  “Maybe later.”

  I felt a little better just from thinking about the water. A good swim on a warm day could do a lot of good.

  “One more thing,” Dad said before I went out.

  I stopped in the doorway.

  “Keep this conversation between us. I’ve never been known as a gossip and I’ll be go to hell if I’ll start now. This is their private business. Keep it that way.”

 

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