There would be no bugs for the fish to feed on this morning, at this time of year. The fish would be sulking on the bottom, waiting for the season and the sun to warm the water and the land and to get food moving again for them. We tied on big streamer pattern flies that looked like bait fish and leeches.
I remember watching Jonathan wading out into the bay at the mouth of the creek, moving slowly, trying not to make a disturbance on the water. I just stood on the shore for a while and watched. It was his first time with a rod in his hand since those years before the War. He got into position and I watched him hold the rod and reel out in front of him. Pulling out line from the reel, he was scanning the water coming out of the creek, trying to decide where to place his first cast. Making up his mind, he began the familiar rhythm of the cast and I was struck by how smooth and sure the rod moved after so many years away.
The heavy fly and line landed out across the surface of the water and he waited for the fly to sink before he began retrieving the line in slow pulls. I stood there watching, waiting for the sudden electric jolt of his rod with a fish connected. He just continued to strip the line and then he was casting again.
I had looked away for just a moment trying to pick a spot to fish for myself when I heard him shout. I looked out and saw the hard bend in his rod. He turned and I saw the smile across his face. Even in the low light that morning, I saw a face captured in the pure joy of the moment with no thoughts of where we had been, or where we might be tomorrow.
Jonathan sat on the worn seat of the pick-up truck, looking over his shoulder as he backed another boat trailer down the ramp at the boatyard. His father was up on the dock giving directions and shouting advice. They had been working long hours for weeks getting the boats ready for the summer clients. In his side mirror, he watched the wheels of the trailer ease down into the water and he stopped the truck and set the brake. He walked around and released the winch on the trailer to let the boat slide back. He threw a line to his father and pushed the long wooden boat back along the dock.
“That’s good, Johnny,” his father yelled. “I’ve got her. Why don’t you take her out for a quick run?” It was a welcome invitation to Jonathan to spend at least a few minutes out on the lake. “I left the keys in her,” his father said.
It was late May and the weather was looking promising for the coming holiday weekend. Sunny skies through the past week had seen temperatures up in the seventies. The McKendrys had been receiving calls all week from clients to make sure their boats would be ready for the weekend.
Jonathan watched his father climb into the truck and slowly pull the trailer up out of the ramp. He tied the boat off front and back, and then climbed in to prep the boat and start the engine. The old engine cranked several times before he choked it enough to get it to fire. It rumbled a bit unevenly for a minute and then began to settle. He released the lines and jumped in behind the wheel. He guided the boat back out of the slip and then turned her out toward the open lake. He gave her just a little gas to slowly cruise out along the shoreline of Round Lake.
The air was fresh around him and the sun shining down high overhead made it hot in the cockpit of the boat. He took his shirt off and threw it down on the seat behind him. The sun felt good as it warmed his shoulders and back. He stood at the wheel, looking over the windscreen, taking in the sights along the shore and the other boats out on the water. As he made his way out of the channel into Lake Charlevoix, a large sailboat was coming toward him off to his port side from the direction of Oyster Bay. She had a full spinnaker flying and was making good time running with the wind. He fell off to give her the right of way and watched as the big boat passed.
Along the beach, a few children ran into the water, braving the early season temperatures, as their mothers sat in beach chairs watching them. The rail bridge was open across the channel and the big hotel up on the hill was a flurry of activity with cars pulling up to drop off weekend visitors. Memorial Day was always one of their busiest times. Jonathan watched the uniformed doormen coming out to greet the cars and collect the luggage for the guests. His mother would be working long hours this weekend in the kitchen there.
He pushed the boat up to half throttle and ran in a big circle out across the lake. He knew he had to get back quickly to help his father. He navigated around the channel buoy and headed the boat down the center of the channel toward their boatyard. A break wall ran along to his left protecting the lawn of one of the homes. There was a group of people gathered on the fresh cut grass with drinks in hand, watching the boats come by.
A face in the crowd caught his eye and he looked closer. The man turned to watch Jonathan’s boat go by. It was Connor Harris. The two made eye contact. Jonathan showed no emotion, but continued to stare into the face of the man. He watched a subtle change of expression on Harris’s face. His smile slowly faded and a surprised look came over him as he realized who he was looking at. Jonathan remembered those eyes all too well, even after so many years.
The boat continued on and soon Harris was out of sight. Jonathan thought about whether he should be concerned with Harris back in town, or not. He certainly wasn’t afraid. He had faced much worse situations since their last encounter. He thought about Luke and whether his brother had seen Harris since the fight. He was more concerned those two would cross paths again. Emily came to mind again. He wondered if she still stayed in touch with Harris.
He hadn’t seen or talked to Luke since that first night down at the bar. He hadn’t seen Catherine either and he wasn’t going out of his way to try to find her. He heard one night from George there had been some trouble between Luke and Catherine and she had come home with a bruise under her eye. She said she had an accident down at work. George had been pretty upset about it.
Jonathan thought to himself he really didn’t know his brother very well anymore, but he found it hard to believe he would hit Catherine. The way he had been drinking though, who knows how he might be treating her.
Jonathan came along a row of boathouses. A fleet of small sailboats for the kid’s sailing classes was already out and tied up at one of the docks. Several big sailing and cruising yachts were already in their slips, ready for the summer season.
He continued on down into Round Lake. He saw their docks up ahead on the left. His father was waiting for him. He pulled into one of the slips and threw the lines to him. When the boat was secure, they walked together up into the big boathouse. The shady cool felt good.
“Who else do we need to get in today?” he asked his father.
“We’ve got three more, including the Alexander’s 35-footer. Can you call George to come by tonight to help us with it?”
“Sure, he should be back from Walloon after dinner.”
“Johnny, you know how much I appreciate your help around here this spring. I don’t know how I would have pulled everything together. I just seem to run out of steam.”
Jonathan walked over and sat on a stool next to the tool bench. “Pop, it’s just good to be back.”
“This may not be the best time, but I’ve been meaning to talk to you about school,” his father said. “I know you want to start this fall.”
“Yeah, I really do. I’m waiting to hear from the Navy on the money they promised and I’ve been getting my application for Tech together.”
“Johnny, you know we can’t help you with the money. I wish we could, but…”
“Pop, I know.”
“The thing is son, with Luke not around, I don’t have anyone to take over the business in the next couple of years. I’m not gonna be able to keep this pace much longer.”
Jonathan hesitated. He knew this discussion was coming. What he wasn’t ready to discuss yet was that he didn’t want to take over the business for his dad. He loved boats and the lake, but he didn’t want to run a boatyard and scrape around for the summer people year after year. “Pop, let’s just see what happens.” There was no reaction from his father.
“We better keep moving wi
th these boats, or we won’t get done before dark,” Jonathan said.
His father just nodded and walked out of the boathouse to the truck.
It was after dinner before they could get to the last big boat. Jonathan was down on their docks straightening out some lines and making sure all of the boats were secure when George came down through the boathouse and out onto the dock.
“Hey, buddy,” he yelled.
Jonathan waved. “Thanks for coming down. We got that cruiser out back to put in for the Alexanders.”
“Not a problem,” George answered. He walked out onto the dock and stooped down to help his friend untangle some lines.
“Guess who I saw today?” Jonathan asked.
George looked up. “I couldn’t begin to guess.”
“Our old friend, Connor Harris.”
“Oh, that’s just great,” George said. “I can’t believe that sonofabitch lived, and now we’ve got another summer up here to deal with him.”
“A lot of time’s passed. I’m just a little worried he and Luke are gonna run into each other.”
“Maybe Luke can finish the job on that asshole this time,” George said.
Jonathan laughed, but he could see George was really upset about this.
“You know, Johnny, most of the people who come up here every summer are the nicest folks, and God knows, we love their money, but every summer it seems like there’s a handful of assholes looking for trouble.”
“The trick is steering clear of the assholes, friend,” Jonathan said. “We better get up and help Pop with that cruiser.”
Later, they had the big boat positioned to back down the ramp. Jonathan was driving the truck and George was down on the dock with Mr. McKendry, holding lines to secure the boat off the trailer. Jonathan slowly backed down the ramp, pressing hard on the old brakes to keep control of the heavy boat. He heard a loud crack and looked back to see the boat beginning to slide. The winch strap had broken loose and the boat was going back into the water whether they liked it, or not.
Jonathan heard his father yelling at him, but he couldn’t make out what he was saying. He could see in the side mirror of the truck, the trailer wasn’t deep enough for the boat to clear bottom, so he let up on the brakes and let the rig slide faster down the ramp.
The big boat quickly gained momentum under its own massive weight and crashed back into the water. Jonathan jumped out of the truck and ran back to try and grab something on the boat. His father was yelling at George to try to secure the lines.
“Jonathan, get up here!” his father shouted.
“Pop, we’ll get her. Just relax.”
Jonathan’s father and George were running along the dock, trying to wrap their lines around a piling.
“Pop don’t. We’ll get it,” Jonathan yelled. Before he could get over to help him, he saw his father lose his balance and fall over the side into the water.
“Jesus, Jonathan, I’ll get the boat,” George called out. “You help your dad.”
Jonathan jumped down into the water. It was only four or five feet deep, but icy cold. His father was struggling to get to his feet. He had rarely heard him curse, but there was a whole stream of good ones flying at the moment. Jonathan reached him and helped him stand. His father started laughing and Jonathan couldn’t help but join him.
As they started to walk out together, he felt his father stumble and he reached to hold him up. He saw a vacant expression come across his face and saw him grimace in tremendous pain as he went limp in his arms.
“Oh my God… Pop!”
“Jonathan, what’s wrong?” George yelled.
His father lay limp in his arms, groaning in pain. The cold chill of the water was biting into his legs. He struggled to pull his father up onto the ramp and he laid him down as gently as he could next to the boat trailer.
“George, let the damn boat go. We gotta get Dad to the hospital now!” he screamed.
Another boat was coming in and George yelled something to them about securing the old Chris Craft for them, then he ran to help Jonathan.
By the time George got over to them, Jonathan was talking quietly to his father who was mumbling something unintelligible.
“We’ve got to get him in the truck,” Jonathan said. Both men were able to lift him and carry him up the ramp. They placed him across the bed of the pickup and George offered to drive while Jonathan stayed in the back with his father.
As the truck sped away, Jonathan held his father’s head in his lap. “Pop, we’re gonna get you some help.”
Somewhere around midnight, the doctor came out. Jonathan had been sitting with his mother for the past hours, waiting for an update on their father’s condition. It was old Dr. Webber, who had delivered both Luke and Jonathan. He was a good friend of the family.
“The old bird is still chirping, but he’s pretty weak. I think we’ve got him stabilized, but he’s had two more minor heart attacks since you brought him in, Jonathan. We’re going to have to watch him close all night. I can’t tell you we’re out of the woods yet.”
His mother thanked the doctor and walked over to a row of chairs along the wall in the waiting room. Jonathan watched her defeated figure sink low into the seat. She was still dressed in her uniform from the hotel. He felt the real fear he saw in his mother’s eyes. His parents had been married for over thirty years. He sat beside her and held her hand, sharing the sorrow and hurt she was feeling.
They called Luke earlier in the evening, but no one had answered at his house. Jonathan thought about his brother as he stood helplessly looking over at his mother.
“Mom, I’ll be back in a bit. I need to get some air,” he said. She looked up and nodded.
He felt the cool night air on his face as he walked out of the hospital. He got in the old truck and pulled out of the parking lot. He drove slowly through the dark streets of town with the windows open. Lights were still on in a few of the houses, but the town was mostly done for the day.
He found himself down at the intersection with Bridge Street and the lights of the main street in town still shone brightly, although the streets were mostly deserted. He looked down to his right and saw the neon sign out over the sidewalk for The Helm. He pulled the truck out onto Bridge Street and headed slowly down toward the old bar. There were plenty of open parking spaces and he pulled up and stopped. He sat for a few moments, both hands on the steering wheel, looking out through the windshield at the sign for the bar and flickering neon Budweiser sign in the window. The front door was wedged open and he heard music from the jukebox playing inside. He turned off the truck.
Luke was sitting at the bar. There were a few other people sitting against the far wall and two men playing pool at the back. Smoke hung heavy in the darkly lit room and the smell of stale beer and vomit was overpowering.
Jonathan walked over to the bar and sat down next to his brother. Luke turned and recognized who it was, then turned back to his beer without speaking. The bartender came over and Jonathan ordered a beer. Bud drew a cold draft from the tap in front of the brothers and placed it down on the bar.
Looking straight ahead, Jonathan took a long drink, then said, “Pop is pretty sick, Luke. He’s down at the hospital. It’s his heart and he’s pretty bad.”
He heard Luke sigh, then watched as his brother took another drink.
“Luke, do you understand what I’m saying?”
Luke turned and faced him and Jonathan looked into blurry eyes that were trying to focus. Luke nodded. His head was weaving and he held on to the back of his bar stool to steady himself. It looked like he was trying to find words, but then he gave up and turned back to his beer.
“Luke, why don’t we go get a cup of coffee? You need to see Pop tonight. I don’t know if he’s gonna get through until morning.”
Luke turned again and gathered himself full-up on the stool. “I don’t have a damn thing to say to the old bastard.” He picked up his beer glass and drained it. He slammed it down, then stood, th
rew some bills on the bar and walked out the door.
Jonathan looked around the bar and tried to imagine the life of Luke and Catherine that revolved around this place. A deep empty sadness bore through him as he thought about his brother and Catherine, and about his father lying unconscious in the hospital. He started to cry. They were tears held back for too many years and he didn’t try to stop them. He put his head in his hands and let the emotion and pain flow out of him in the tears that splashed down on the bar.
Old Bud came over and asked if he was okay, but he didn’t look up. He turned and walked out of the bar. Luke was nowhere to be seen. He got in the truck and drove back to the hospital. As he walked into the waiting room, he saw his mother sitting and talking to the doctor. From her expression, he knew his father was gone.
Chapter Nineteen
Sally sat at one of the small outside tables at the coffee shop, sipping from a large ceramic mug, looking blankly out at the traffic and people passing by in front of her. She had sat on her mother’s old porch for more than an hour before one of the new owners came home and saw her. The woman recognized Sally and had invited her in for a cup of tea, but she had thanked her and declined. The woman seemed to understand her need to be there and asked that she come back anytime.
She heard her name and looked up to see George Hansen standing beside her. He placed his hand on her shoulder.
“Can I join you?” he asked.
“Of course, George. How are you?” she managed.
The Seasons of the EmmaLee Page 19