Storm on the Horizon

by Kathi Macias

  Chapter 4

  Not a whisper of wind stirred the brisk morning air as Kate and Jason sat side by side in the small rented fishing boat, bobbing gently on the chill waters of Panquitch Lake. The sun had just topped the majestic mountains behind them, and its welcome warmth began to penetrate the backs of their bright orange life jackets.

  Kate had always thought sunrise to be the most beautiful time of day—at the lake or anywhere—and today was no exception. As the distant chirping of birds in the towering cedars, which extended down almost to the lake’s shoreline, announced the beginning of a new day, she sighed contentedly. Nowhere else was she able to find the peace and tranquility that always seemed to await her at the lake.

  Dotted now with other boats full of early-morning fishermen, the lake was a haven to Kate, a refuge from the confusion and demands of single parenthood and a banking career. The occasional faint hum of a trolling fishing boat was the only interruption to her silent reverie. Her fears of the night before seemed to melt away in the light of the rising sun.

  She peeked over at Jason. While Kate dangled her fishing line halfheartedly in the water, not particularly caring whether or not she caught any fish, her son clutched his pole with a fierce determination, his brow furrowed in concentration, as if he were willing the fish to bite. They had been out on the lake for over an hour and already he had caught two, but Kate knew that, no matter how many fish he caught, he would never be the one to suggest going back—until his growling tummy got the best of him, that is.

  She glanced at her watch. Seven-thirty. She would give him another hour before heading in, she decided, closing her eyes and drifting off into her own private world once again. Myriad images danced through her mind, images of people she had loved—and lost. Her mother, her husband, her father. All beautiful memories, and all tied in to Panquitch Lake in some way. Is this what her life was to be, she wondered. Dreams and memories of the past? At twenty-seven, was it all over for her? Were escapes to the lake only futile, nostalgic attempts to recapture that which was lost to her forever?

  Jason’s shout brought her back to the present with a start. Her eyes flew open just in time to see her son tugging excitedly on his bowed fishing pole.

  “I’ve got one!” he yelled. “Mom, I’ve got another one, and I think this one’s the biggest yet.”

  “Take it easy, Sport,” she advised. “Remember what your grandfather used to say about reeling it in easy. You can do it. That’s the way. Good! Very good, Jason. You’ve got it.”

  Jason beamed as he hauled the glistening, flopping rainbow trout on board. Kate’s heart ached with pride and love as she watched him take the fish off the line and add it to the string holding the other two. How could he possibly be grown up enough to do all of that on his own? It seemed that just yesterday he had been a baby, dependent on her for everything.

  “Look, Mom,” he said, grinning from ear to ear. “I was right. It is the biggest one so far.”

  Kate nodded in agreement. “It certainly is,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t notice the catch in her voice. He was getting to the age where “mushy stuff” embarrassed him terribly—unless, of course, it was his idea.

  “Well, that’s is,” Jason announced, wiping his hands on his jeans. “I’m ready to go back and eat all three of these fish.”

  Kate threw her head back and laughed. Jason’s spontaneity never ceased to amaze and delight her. Just when she had been so sure she would have to drag him off the lake under protest, he decides he is through fishing and ready to eat. She hugged him and planted a kiss on top of his head before he could duck, then pointed at the engine.

  “You want to drive?” she asked.

  Jason’s dark eyes opened in wonder. “You mean it?” he asked. “All by myself? Can I really?”

  Kate shrugged, then nodded. “Why not? You’re the fisherman around here, not me. Just take it slow, and remember how it felt when I let you hold my hand and steer with me.” She winked at him. “There’s only one catch, though. We save the fish for dinner, and stick to pancakes and bacon for breakfast, okay?”

  Jason laughed. “You bet, Mom. And thanks—for everything.”

  Once again the picture of concentration and determination, Jason carefully steered the boat to the dock. As they hiked up the hill toward their cabin, Kate carrying the poles and Jason trudging along beside her with the tackle box and bait in one hand, his string of fish held proudly in the other, they both fell silent. It took all the energy they had to make the climb in the thin mountain air. There was little oxygen left over for conversation. By the time they reached the cabin, they were both huffing and puffing—and more than ready for a big breakfast.

  “I’ll go wash up and then start the bacon,” Kate said. “Why don’t you put the fish in the sink and we’ll clean them after breakfast? Meanwhile, you wash your hands, too, and after that you can set the table.”

  Jason plopped the fish into the chipped white porcelain sink, then called out to Kate, “Can we eat outside on the deck? Yesterday you said we could.”

  Kate returned to the kitchen, drying her hands as she walked. “That’s what I said, all right,” she agreed, as she searched the refrigerator for bacon, eggs, and milk. “So I guess we eat outside.”

  “All right!” Jason exclaimed, opening the cupboard and reaching for the plates.

  “Hold it,” Kate ordered, holding her hands up in front of her and turning them back and forth. “Wash first, remember?”

  Jason looked down at his own hands and grinned sheepishly. “I guess they are kind of dirty,” he admitted, turning and heading toward the bathroom.

  “Use soap,” Kate called after him, but he didn’t answer.

  By the time they sat down at the wooden picnic table on the deck, the sun was shining hot and bright, shimmering on the lake below. A few of the boats had come in, but most remained where they had been when Kate and Jason had headed for shore.

  “This bacon is great,” Jason said. “And these pancakes are the best ever.” He took a gulp of milk and smiled at Kate, a white mustache covering his upper lip. “You’re a good cook, Mom.”

  Kate raised an eyebrow. “Only good?” she asked. “Not great? Or wonderful? How about stupendous or…?”

  Jason laughed and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “The best cook in the whole wide world,” he said, stuffing another piece of bacon in his mouth.

  Kate laughed too, a warm, joyous laugh that bubbled up from deep within, a laugh she was sure that no one but Jason could bring forth from her ever again. But that’s all right, she told herself. As long as I have Jason, I don’t need anybody else—ever. Just the two of us; that’s enough....

  “Look, Mom, who are those people down there?” Jason asked, peering over the deck railing at the pathway slightly below their cabin.

  “I don’t know,” Kate admitted, looking down at the two people strolling silently past them. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen them around here before.”

  “Hello!” Jason called. “Hello down there!”

  The couple stopped and looked around just as Kate pulled back away from the railing. “Jason,” she hissed. “You don’t want them to think we were spying on them.”

  “Why not? That’s what we were doing,” Jason answered, waving to get their attention. “Up here,” he called out, continuing to wave. “My mom and I are having breakfast, and we were just wondering who you were.”

  Kate felt the crimson flush creep quickly up her face. Most of the time Jason’s impetuous nature was a delight to her. Occasionally, however, it proved to be more than slightly embarrassing. This was, without a doubt, one of those times. Resignedly, she edged back to the railing and forced a smile.

  “Good morning,” she called down to them. “How are you?”

  As the couple’s eyes seemed to focus in on Kate and Jason, the man slipped his arm around the woman’s shoulders in a protective manner. It seemed a tender gesture that contradicted the gru
ff scowl on his plump, middle-aged face. His eyes narrowed slightly and, although he didn’t speak, he nodded curtly in acknowledgment.

  The woman, reed-thin with skin lined from too much time in the sun, didn’t respond at all. The only sign that she was even aware of either Kate or Jason was the fear in her eyes. She seemed frozen, startled by the presence of other human beings. Kate had seen that look before, in the wild, frightened eyes of the many deer that foraged in the woods around the lake. As Kate wondered what, if anything, to say next, her son solved the problem for her.

  “I’m Jason Ames,” he announced. “And this is my mom. Who are you? Do you live around here?”

  Kate was suddenly aware of the sun glinting off the man’s almost bald head. His jaws clenched, but he didn’t answer. And then Kate saw the look on the woman’s face change as her attention was drawn to Jason. The fear had disappeared, replaced by a look of intense longing and sadness. Suddenly overwhelmed by an unreasonable, unnamed fear, Kate had to resist an impulse to draw Jason close to her.

  “I’m Millie,” the woman said, so softly Kate had to strain to hear her. And then she fell silent once again, as if the effort of those two words had drained her of what little strength she had left.

  “We’re the Simons,” the man growled. “Al and Millie. We just bought the old Brewster cabin down the way. Bought it for the solitude,” he added, his eyes narrowing even more. “We like to be left alone.”

  The conversation obviously over, he turned his wife abruptly in the direction of their cabin and resumed their walk, almost pulling her along with him. But as they walked away, Millie Simons glanced back over her shoulder at Jason—a poignant, wistful glance that lingered a split-second too long, a glance that sent chills down Kate’s spine as she reached out and grabbed her son, hugging him until he squirmed uncomfortably, holding him close as if his very life depended on it.