by Sarah Gay
Annie clenched her teeth and nodded. If only Paxton didn’t look and smell so blasted good this morning. She was hoping to concentrate solely on Mr. Famous. Her puppy needed this as much as she did to complete the research for her manuscript. Writing and Mr. Famous were the two things she identified herself with. They are what brought her the most happiness. She could do this. She smiled at Kate and Paxton. “Well then. I’m ready.”
Mr. Famous must have been spiritually connected to Annie during training. He followed her lead, remaining focused on her every command the entire session. Kate excused them with a doggy biscuit and a high five.
“I’ve never seen such marked improvement in such a short amount of time. Annie, good job.”
“Thanks, Kate, but I can’t take the credit,” she said, scratching Mr. Famous’ tummy. “It was all my sweet pup.”
“Annie, it may be a great time to walk the dogs in the park,” Paxton added. “You could have his model behavior consummated today.”
“Consummated?” she questioned with raised brows.
“To bring to a state of perfection, or fulfillment.”
Annie scrutinized his masculine square jaw and week of facial hair growth. The draw to him was growing stronger. She needed this feeling to go away, now. She could have him sealed and sent away today. “Absolutely. I would love to.”
“My car is right outside.”
She nodded her acquiescence as she followed him outside. Before Annie could open the car door, he was there.
“I am capable of opening a car door, I assure you,” she said. “And you call this a car?” she motioned to the massive red Ford F-150.
“Size is relative. And it’s more for my own protection. I see you pulling your phone out of your pocket,” he said motioning to her hand now holding her phone. “If you happened to trip into my car, let’s say truck, you may want to sue me for damages. So, in reality, you’re helping me out by allowing me to assist you. Can I see that?” he said, eyeing her phone.
She slowly raised her hand to allow him a glance. “Sure,” she said.
Within an instant, he had pocketed her phone into his thin windbreaker.“Thanks. These things are so dangerous. Might as well be a bomb. I’ll hold onto this.”
“Excuse me?” she said as he closed her door.
By the time he was seated, Annie had become preoccupied with Mr. Famous, who was clawing his way into the back seat, where Charlie stoically sat upright and motionless.
Annie saw something familiar on the floorboards of the back seat. “Do you fish?” Annie questioned, contemplating the latched, red-rusted metal box. “You have the biggest tackle box I’ve ever seen. Why so old-school?”
“That was my great-grandpa’s. He taught me how to fish. He told a different World War II story every time we ventured out to the water’s edge.”
“Do you miss him?”
“My great-grandpa? He’s still alive and kickin’ at one hundred and three. He and I used to fish quite a bit. Do you fish?” he said with eagerness.
“To be honest, I don’t get the fascination. But I wouldn’t mind learning more about it. I’m baffled by a little something I’m reading. It doesn’t resonate with my soul.”
“The Old Man and the Sea?”
“How did you know?” she said, scrunching her eyes with suspicion. “Do we have a mutual friend?”
“Other than Moby Dick, isn’t The Old Man the ultimate fishing story?”
“Wow, my dad would love you.” It wasn’t until she finished her statement, that she grasped the meaning of her words, and regretted them the moment a smile turned up his lips. “What’s with the smirk?”
“I wasn’t smirking. If you want to do some research on fishing, we could go to the river instead of the park. The Russian River holds a multitude of distractions. The Steelhead run is ramping up, with the first Russian River natives returning from the ocean. Bait fishing recently became legal for the season. It’s a great time to go.”
“What’s a steelhead?”
“A rainbow trout that’s not landlocked.”
“Same fish. Why does that matter?”
“Good question. Just does. Steelheads hatch in a river and travel to the ocean. Then, after a few years, they return back to the river where they hatched, to spawn.”
“Fishing it is,” Annie responded with excitement.
“The tug is the drug.”
“What?”
“Steelheaders’ mantra. You wouldn’t understand. Yet.”
Chapter 9
Paxton drove his ominous Ford truck into the dilapidated strip mall parking lot. “First stop, fishing license.”
“I need a fishing license?” Annie questioned, looking up at the “Bait and Tackle” store.
“Yes. It’s $15 for a day, or $850 for a lifetime license.”
“That lifetime license is tempting, but maybe not today.”
“And you need a Steelhead Report Card.”
“A report card? Is someone going to grade me on my fishing skills?”
Paxton laughed. “Government regs, to gather info.”
“They want to gather info on me?”
“Don’t worry, Facebook knows more about you than the State of California ever will,” he said, opening the door.
The middle-aged, balding man behind the “Bait and Tackle” counter, surrounded with colorful fishing knickknacks, reviewed Annie’s license with suspicion. “Brown hair, brown eyes,” he said slowly, holding the license up in the air, comparing the photo to Annie’s face.
“We’re here for a fishing license, not a concealed weapons permit,” Paxton said brusquely. “And give me a bag of fresh cured roe.”
Annie smiled. “I have an excellent colorist, and, unfortunately, the DMV doesn’t allow, ‘a rare hazel with streaks of green and gold.’ Something about word count.” She tipped her head to the side, and crinkled her forehead.
“Fishing?” the small man said to Paxton. “Her?”
Paxton responded in kind. “Can’t think of a more enjoyable day. Sucks for you in this stinky armpit, with dead fish as your companion.” He picked up the printed license and roe. “Have a nice day.”
If Annie had turned around, she was sure she would have seen a friendly hand gesture directed at Paxton.
“I see you as driving a black BMW, not a red Ford,” Annie said.
“Why do you say that?” he questioned, helping her into her seat.
“Psychologically speaking, people who surround themselves in red are typically out for fun. Whereas, people who surround themselves in black are interested in power and prestige. I’ve seen how you don’t take anyone’s crap, or allow others to bully.”
“So quick to judge. Maybe all I want out of life is to have fun. You haven’t heard me talk once about my job. For all you know, I could be a fishing bum.”
“You’re right. I don’t know anything about you. Pray tell?”
“Tell what?”
“Anything.”
“Okay. When a man goes fishing with an associate, they spend the entire day not saying one word to each other, and, by the end of the day, they’re best friends.”
“I see. You require incentive for information.” Annie retrieved a caramel candy from her purse. “These are so simple, yet other-worldly,” Annie said slowly.
Paxton shifted in his seat. “Is that homemade?”
“Yep.” She nodded her head. “I made these a few days ago, with the cutest little kindergartener. The recipe only calls for six ingredients. You start with two types of sugar, add cream, milk, butter, and vanilla.” Annie unwrapped the cellophane with exaggerated rustling of the wrapper. “Less than an hour later, pure perfection melting on your tongue.”
Paxton twisted his lips. “Did you happen to bring more of those?”
“Perhaps,” she responded, mid-bite. “Yummy. I can never eat too many of these. In fact, I may need to eat every one of them, right now.” She pulled three additional caramels from her bag.
/> “So, you were schooled in the art of torture?”
“Isn’t every little girl?” she said playfully, twisting a lock of her hair.
“My great-grandfather deserves the credit for my enlisting in the military. I was at an ugly place. My life wasn’t a life. It was void of any happiness. I think your friend, Audrey Hepburn, would call it the mean reds— where anger and depression collide, in the raw. Having no real reason to live, I thought, I could sacrifice my life for my country.”
“The military accepted you into their program, while you were in that emotional state?”
“Seems risky, but I hid my depression well. And, in time, and with a competent therapist, I found reasons to live.”
“Do you mind me asking what caused you to drop into that downward spiral?”
“Later,” Paxton said, parking his truck. “We have some fishing to do.”
Annie grabbed the bag of roe, as Paxton managed the fishing pole and tackle box. They took a narrow path between two rustic looking cottages, and descended the steep hill to the river. The squirrels chirped loudly, gliding from tree to tree above their heads through the densely-forested area, exercising their freedom of speech, boycotting the arrival of their unwelcomed guests. Mr. Famous tried his best to respond in kind, alerting the squirrels that he would fight to the death to protect his owner.
Annie and Paxton made it to the water’s edge with a few scratches. The silty river ran higher than Annie had ever seen it. Annie remembered the feel of these sharp pebbles on the bottoms of her feet, like walking over a carpet of Legos. At least today, she was wearing shoes.
Charlie stayed at Paxton’s side, as Mr. Famous attempted to jump over his back.
“What’s he trying to do?” Annie questioned.
“Conquer the Alpha,” Paxton chuckled.
“Mr. Famous has no clue that he’s a little peanut.” Annie shook her head. “So, these are fish eggs? Like the roe used in preparing sushi?” Annie asked, tapping the bag.
“Yes. And you can’t wake them. They were processed with sugar and krill. It stirs up those steelheads like no other.”
“They eat their own young?” Annie questioned, wide eyed.
“No, but when a steelhead smells and sees the bright roe floating downstream, he searches out the rogue egg, and destroys it by biting down quickly until the egg bursts open, popping it with his mouth. When the roe has been decimated, the steelhead spits the lifeless egg out. Destroying the loose eggs prevents predator fish from catching the scent, thus protecting the steelhead’s young.”
“You earned this earlier, talking about the mean reds,” Annie said, holding out a caramel to Paxton.
He had just opened the box of roe and was sitting on the gravel shore, digging around in it with his bare hands. “Would you mind?” he said, nonchalantly motioning to his mouth.
Annie knelt down to place the piece of candy into his open mouth. He looked up at her with a crooked grin, a loose string of caramel linking her fingers to his mouth. Her heart warmed
He moaned approvingly. “Other-worldly for sure. Don’t be stingy with the rest.”
“Quid pro quo,” she teased.
“I don’t mind that definition of quid pro quo. You’ll have your information. But first,” he said, placing the fishing pole into Annie’s hands, “I’ll help you cast to where they are most likely to be.”
“So where do I cast?” Annie said, wrestling to keep the fishing pole upright.
“See that big rock? About 20 yards upstream?”
“Let me convert that to feet,” she said, using her fingers to count. “Got it. The rock jetting out about two feet off our side of the shore?”
“Yes,” he affirmed. “That could be our ticket. Looks like it has some bubbling crevices.”
He reached his arms around her, taking hold of her hands, and placing them correctly on the fishing rod. He smelled like freshly cut pine, the scent that accompanies a shopper walking through the lumber section of a home improvement store.
She closed her eyes. She was suddenly transported to the Henry Cowell redwood forest. The dewy ferns tickle her legs as she strides amongst the giants. She plants her feet wide apart to look up at the collinear ancestors of this land. Annie strokes the trunk of her colossal friend. The red giant has been here, soaking in the sea fog for over a thousand years. She presses her fingers into his wrinkly, knotted bark.
“Annie, why are you massaging my fingers?”
She released immediately. “Sorry. Have you been to Santa Cruz?”
“Ya.”
“I was just reminded of the redwood forest there. I believe you were a tree in your past life.”
“A tree? You are comparing my stature to a giant redwood?”
“Perhaps. Or, it could be that you smell like you roll in fresh woodchips every morning?”
“Where do you come up with this stuff?”
“So, you do roll in woodchips every morning?”
“Maybe you’ll be lucky enough to find out someday. Too forward?”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to call me Mr. Forward again?” he asked, closing the space between them.
She was relieved that his body was still behind hers, preventing him from seeing how blushed her cheeks had become.
“Let’s fish.” He held his hands firmly over hers, now grasping tightly to the rod. He lifted the rod back over their right shoulders and released the fishing line with the sacrificial roe.
The target near the ominous rock was hit with precision.
“Now we adjust the line, to allow the roe to bob close to the bottom, and float slowly back to us.”
Annie felt a slight tug. “I feel something! I feel something!” she shouted, jumping up and down.
Paxton laughed. “And now you lost something. When you feel that tug, you need to pull quickly, but gently. Give her some slack, then start bringing her in, nice and slow.”
“Her? I like to think of the fish as a him.”
“Men are reeled in?”
Annie tilted her chin up and looked back at him with a wide grin.
“I agree with you,” he said, shaking his head. “Completely.”
Annie felt a slight tug once again. She did exactly as Paxton had instructed. She yanked quickly, then allowed slack.
“You got him,” Paxton said, assisting Annie wind the line.
“That was amazing!” Annie proclaimed, as Paxton scooped the floundering fish into his net.
“The tug,” Paxton began.
“Is the drug,” Annie finished. “I get it.”
“I knew you would,” he said, nodding his head slowly. “And this is a hatchery reared and marked steelhead, so you can take him home. You caught yourself your first trout. How do you feel?”
“Scared,” she said, honestly. She looked into his steady eyes, wanting nothing more than to feel his lips on hers again. If she had said, she felt as if she were melting like a scoop of vanilla ice-cream, when the brownie, hot and fresh out of the oven, was placed next to her on the plate, she would also be telling the truth.
“Scared?”
“Of cooking it,” she lied.
“I happen to be a master fish taco chef.”
“Sounds great. You can have it.” She grabbed Mr. Famous, and started back up the path. She needed more space between them.
Chapter 10
Annie sat in the passenger seat of Paxton’s truck, watching the evening sky transform from a pale blue and pink, to a misty gray. It was customary for a morning fog to consume the town. An evening mist like this one was less frequent. Annie stepped out of the truck, and closed her eyes, as the gentle mist sprayed her face with refreshing tears falling from a veiled heaven. Annie smiled, tipping her face to the heavens, and relaxed her arms at her sides.
She breathed in the scent of cedar and pine, moments before her lips were warmed, parting gently. Annie opened her eyes as Paxton pulled her closer, deepening his kiss. She thought momentarily of pulling ba
ck, but her mind flew to a lush Coral island off the mainland of Australia.
The island breeze brings the salty sting of the ocean against her cheeks. The sailboat rocks from the splash of an orca returning to the sea, after leaping across the crescent moon.
Annie pulled back suddenly. “Do you have a pen and some paper, by chance?”
“Excuse me?”
“Paper, pen,” she insisted, frantically waving her hands.
Paxton rummaged through his glove compartment. “Why the sudden need for a pen and paper?” he asked, handing her a notepad and pencil.
“I never know when, or how, a storyline will appear in my head. But when it does, I need to write it down immediately, or I may not remember. I’ve received inspiration on a bus, in a motorboat, at the pool. I don’t ask for it. My best stuff just comes to me spontaneously.”
Annie scribbled the love story of a female marine biologist and the local town drunk, who had lost his recent wife in a car accident last year. He owned the island she was trying to protect. Could she be his deliverer from the booze, and the guardian for all marine life currently endangered in the Coral waters? Could he be her soulmate?
“So, does the ex-Navy SEAL get the girl?” he questioned with a smile.
She set the notepad and pencil in her lap. “I never write about the military, too depressing.”
“I get that, but it ripped me out of my despair. It saved me.”
Annie pulled a piece of caramel out of her bag and placed it on the dash.
Paxton took in a deep breath. “This is the first time that I’ve been fishing in five years.”
“I thought you loved fishing?”
“It was my passion. I would fish every day. I guess you could say I was a bit of a fishing addict. My dad, and his brother, started a dot com company, then sold it at the height of the dot com craze. I’m embarrassed to say that I was unappreciative. My parents decided to take a family trip in our plane to Oceanside. My sister begged me to come, but I chose to go on a fishing trip to Alaska instead.” Paxton cleared his throat, and blinked away a tear. “The plane went down somewhere off the coast, near Santa Barbara. Pieces of the crash washed up on shore for weeks.”