“Bull,” she says under her hands, “you bolted at the first opportunity.”
“Was Benson ok?” I asked, afraid of her answer.
“His nose is probably broken. I think you finally got what you wanted, though. I’m pretty sure you got rid of him,” she says, and I feel panic rising in my chest. “He seemed heartbroken, Danni. I think he’s falling for you. Tommy was there with me last night, he saw it, too. Don’t mess this up, just be happy,” she says, reaching her hand out and squeezing mine. “You’re so afraid that the next person you love is going to get taken away, too. Just try,” she says, and I know she’s right.
“So, Tommy, huh?” I ask, elbowing her side. “He chased you around all throughout high school, and you friend-zoned him so hard.” We both giggle at the memories.
“Guess he finally wore me down. It helps that it’s like…” and she holds her hands apart and mouths the words, “this big.”
“Oh my God, eew, I don’t wanna know that about Tommy,” I say, covering my eyes and laughing.
She stands up and grabs her keys, and I walk with her to the door. “I’m heading to see L.J. this morning. Do you want to come along? And don’t worry about Jackson; I gave him a piece of my mind this morning.”
“Don’t be too hard on him. I get where he’s coming from. I was Jackson not that long ago. Part of me still is,” I say.
“I meant the things I said,” she says, walking off the porch, “and I know you know I’m right. Sure you don’t wanna come?”
“I’m going to shower and drive into work. I also got a fisherman to catch,” I say, throwing her a wink.
* * * *
The State Park entrance is guarded with a canopy of oak and maple trees shading the check-in station. Hydrangea bushes curve around the small, one-manned building, and the bees zip back and forth from flower to flower, darting out of the way of my car. Jerry sticks his arm out of the window, waving me through and smiling. I can’t remember a morning where Jerry wasn’t sitting behind the glass window, checking in visitor tags and smiling behind his fluffy mustache. “Morning, Danni-Rose, you beat your daddy in today,” he shouts to my slow rolling car.
“Really?” I find myself checking my cell phone for any messages from Dad saying he would be late. I notice a missed call from Liza, and make a mental note to call her back as soon as I get to my office, fully aware that she probably forgot to mention something during the tongue-lashing I received from her. “Well, all right, make sure you bust his chops for me when he rolls through.” I grin and follow the curved road up the hillside to my office.
The deer are out in the wet meadow, popping their heads up in the air as I drive past, ears perked and alert, before darting into the cover of the woods. Dark clouds roll in behind the log structure that holds the offices of the park employees. I scan the parking lot, looking for my dad’s army-green Warden’s truck, and my eyes come up empty-handed.
As I open my car door, the bottom falls out of the sky and sends a rush of rain water spattering the empty parking lot. I run to the heavy wooden doors, pushing my full weight into them with my hip, and forcing them open. The air inside is warm and dry, and I’m thankful for the immediate shelter from the storm rolling in.
I lean my head back against the door, willing the pain in my heart to go away. I can’t stop replaying last night through my mind. The way Benson poured his heart out to me, the way his skin moved against mine in my bed sheets, but most of all I can’t stop thinking about his taillights driving down my road, and the way I let him leave.
In my office, I pull out my cell phone, frowning as my call to Liza ends in a voicemail. She’s probably hanging out with L.J. The front door opens, and I pop my head around the door frame, seeing my dad shaking water from his hands and boots. Lightning cracks behind the windows, followed by the rumble of thunder off in the distance. “We got a little shower, huh? Guess if you’d been here on time, you might have stayed a little dryer.” He responds to me by raising an eyebrow.
“Well, I may have been on time if your mama and I hadn’t had an unexpected visitor this morning,” he says, walking into his office and throwing his rain jacket over his desk. I sit in my chair, looking over the calendar for this week. The kindergarten class is scheduled to be here tomorrow for a nature walk, and then I have a meeting with the landscapers later this week. The new cabins on the east side of the park are in need of adult shade trees, and hole #9 on the golf course has a small sinkhole that needs filling. I begin an email reaching out to my plant distributer, when my dad clears his throat in the doorway.
“What’s up, Dad?” I ask.
“What happened last night, Danni-Rose?” My hands freeze over the keyboard. His face is unreadable, and while I have no qualms about confiding in my father, his naturally authoritative nature causes me to pause.
“What do you mean?” I ask, and he responds again with his signature eyebrow raise. He’s pulled information out of many poachers that way, as well as any white lie I tried to get away with as a teenager. I give a sigh and close my laptop.
“I took Benson to see L.J. Seeing it is different than hearing about it, and I thought it would make more of an impact. Jackson found out about it, and he and Benson exchanged . . . words.” My dad’s face remains passive, and his voice is silent. Another trick to lure more information out of me, and I fall for it every time.
“Jackson lost his temper a bit, he was drunk, and Benson was only defending me,” I relent.
“I see,” he says, walking in and leaning against the corner of my solid oak desk. I lean back in my chair, waiting for the words of wisdom to tumble from his mouth. “What are you going to do?” he asks, and my forehead creases.
“That’s it?” I say, and my dad smiles.
“I’ve raised a very smart, capable woman, Danni-Rose. I could give you a lecture about making responsible decisions, staying away from trouble, and staying focused on family and work. But I’ve watched my daughter hide behind those things for too long now.” He stands and squeezes my shoulder. “Benson came to see your mother and I this morning,” he says, and my eyes widen. “He sat across from me, at my very own kitchen table, apologizing for any trouble he may have caused you, and for crimes of every fisherman that ever graced these waters. He also promised to do something about that. He didn’t have to come speak to us, but he did . . . because I believe he truly cares for you. And while it is quite difficult to watch my little girl become a grown woman, it would be even more difficult to sit back and allow her to miss out on living a full life. I’m more proud of you than words can convey, but no more coddling, Danni. You’re making a mistake. And I don’t mean just with Benson, but with yourself,” he says, reaching down to kiss my cheek before he walks out of my office.
“I was going to fix it . . . later today,” I say, shouting across the hallway. I open my laptop up, attempting to finish my work as quickly as possible.
“Then you better get going, kiddo. Benson was heading to the mechanic to pick up his boat as soon as he left our place,” he says. The panic I feel causes my breakfast to feel unsettled in my stomach. I stand, slamming the laptop shut for the second time this morning, and grab my keys before bolting out the door.
“Be careful! Roads are wet,” my dad yells, just as I close the office building door.
The town is unusually busy for a rainy Monday morning, and I’m cursing under my breath for everyone to get out of my way. “Why do we have so many red lights!” I shout to my empty Jeep. I see the gaudy lime-green siding of Billy’s Pit Stop, causing me to sit up straight and graze my eyes over the car bays and parking lot. There isn’t a trace of Benson’s truck or fishing boat.
“Ma’am, I’ma need you to pull over to the back of the line.” A man covered in thick grease and oil, wiping his hands on a ratty cloth, points to a line of cars waiting to get their oil changed.
“I’ll only be a second,”
I say, half apologetically, pushing through the doors of the mechanic shop. The receptionist at the front desk is smacking on a large wad of gum, and her face is anything but welcoming.
“Oil change is gonna be about an hour wait, but you’re welcome to sit in the lobby with the other half of the town,” she says, pointing her finger to a group of disgruntled towns folk flipping through magazines.
“No, I need to know if Benson Howell is here, or was here?” I ask, and she stares at me blankly, the sound of her gum chewing like nails on a chalk board. “Please.” I tap my hands on the counter top impatiently.
“Good lookin’ fisherman? Red boat and truck?” she asks, and I bob my head up and down quickly.
“Left here about thirty minutes ago,” she says.
“Damn it, I mean thank you,” I say, and sprint to my Jeep. My phone is buzzing in the passenger seat, once again signaling Liza calling. I ignore it, and fly through every stop sign to get to his hotel, praying I’m not too late.
A sickening feeling settles in the pit of my stomach when I pull into the hotel, not a fishing boat or truck in sight. How could I have been so stupid? Of course, he’s gone, why would he wait around for me after everything that I’ve said and done.
As I drive through the town toward home, I can’t help but scan the shops and curbs of the street, searching for evidence that he could still be here. But I already know he’s left this town and moved on to the next. I can’t blame him, I’ve been trying to push him away since the moment I laid eyes on him. I can feel his absence all around me.
Beau leaps off the porch, hearing me pull into the dirt driveway, seemingly having made a full recovery in just a matter of days. I notice a white envelope shoved between my screen and front door and beneath it an entire sleeve of neon yellow tennis balls. Beau walks up onto the porch, and I notice a ball missing from the stack, and a fresh one, streaked with dirt, clasped between Beau’s teeth. He was here. I rip open the envelope, my heart battling the confinement of my chest. The hotel emblem is centered at the top of the crisp white sheet of paper. His handwriting is small and thoughtful. Already, a tear finds its way from the corner of my eye onto my cheek and I make my way to the porch swing.
Danni-Rose,
The happiest I have ever been, were in the moments
that you allowed me to know you. I will
never forget you . . .
Help me keep my promise to Beau.
Love always,
Benson
Beau leaps onto the porch swing, dropping his new ball into my lap and nuzzling the sheet of paper. I rub the wiry hair between his ears while salty tears fall onto my lips, for once wishing the fishermen would return to my town.
Chapter Thirteen
Benson
Despite the sun bearing down on my back, there is a chill rolling off the water and into my boat. The threatening autumn temperatures are as cool as Jess’ attitude toward me. He hasn’t said a word all morning, which is not only uncharacteristic but it’s also unnerving. I’m pissed at myself too, but there isn’t much I can do about it now.
“I can’t fish with you being so damn quiet,” I say, my back turned to him.
“You can’t fish no ways,” he says, throwing his hands toward the lake and the end of my empty fishing pole. “Don’t be placing blame on me because you lost all your senses on how to be a fisherman. Eighth place? That ain’t Benson Howell.” I haven’t hit eighth place since I was fishing in high school tournaments. The reminder of last week’s humiliating loss causes me to scowl. It isn’t just Jess taking notice, it’s my competitors, the sponsors. All of them notice the difference, and I can’t shake it. I reel in the line, the only thing hanging from the bait is a slimy string of weeds. I clear the hook and sling the green mush back into the waters. “Let me guess, fish took your bait . . . again,” he says, rolling his eyes and opening the tackle box. “Damn ridiculous. Where’s your focus?”
“So I’m having a bad couple of weeks. You can’t talk to me like I’m your friend when I’m not making you any money?” I say, instantly regretting it. None of this is his fault, he’s along for the shit show of a ride I’ve been providing lately.
“If it weren’t for me, the truck sponsors would have dropped your amateur ass back in Alabama, and nobody wants to put their sunglasses on a crooked nose. You make more money because of me, so I don’t mind collecting every now and then. I work around here, too,” he says, slamming the tackle box closed. “Don’t be pissed at me because Red screwed the mojo out of you.”
“Shit. I know, man. I didn’t mean it. Not all of it anyways.” I look over my shoulder, and Jess rolls his eyes and flicks his wrist in the air, waving my apology away. A few minutes of silence passes by. “But she was more than just a screw.”
“Well, I don’t see her out here trying to coax you back into humanity. And I don’t see anything she’s done for you besides cause you to get popped in the face. I’m tired of seeing you mope around like some pussy-whipped schmuck.”
“Watch it, asshole.”
“All I’m saying is, you knew Red—”
“Danni.”
“Whatever. You knew her for a few days, man. She isn’t worth your career or your pro status. And from what I could tell, that chick was harder to break than the Hoover Dam,” he says, walking over and handing me a new crank bait. “Now quit messing around and fucking fish.” He slaps me on the back, and walks over to his camera, messing with settings.
I wait for my instincts to kick in, closing my eyes, and welcoming the cold breeze chilling the water tops. The boat bobs slightly over small waves in the water. With my eyes open, I scan the banks . . . “Where are you?” I ask quietly to myself. The only thing catching my attention is the number of fishermen surrounding the same area. “We gotta get out of this inlet. They aren’t here,” I say to Jess, a grin finally spreading across his face.
“Where to, boss?”
“Head toward the south lake, there was a spot underneath the causeway bridge that looked promising,” I say, ignoring the annoying sense that I should have done more research that has been chewing at my brain. Instead, I’ve spent the past couple of weeks downing whiskey, and listening to Jess bitch about how I need to get my head in the game. His idea of getting me laid to take my mind off things isn’t helping. My head may be here in this boat, but my heart is back in Alabama . . . and that’s what’s causing me so much trouble. The image of Danni laughing in the passenger side of my truck, the feel of her skin against my chest, the way she bites her lower lip when she’s nervous . . . all of it swirls in my mind on constant replay. There’s no amount of whiskey that can wash her away.
I hear someone whistle off to my left as a familiar blue sports boat eases over to ours. “Hey Howell, tough week last week, huh?” Randy and I have been competing in tournaments together for years now, his passive-aggressive comments do nothing to help my mood. His shit-eating grin might as well be him waving around the first-place trophy he took in Georgia. It’s bad enough that nothing feels natural or right anymore, it’s even worse to have everyone around you flaunting the benefits of your failure in your face.
“He’s still ahead of you in the rankings,” Jess hollers, covering his comeback with a smile. A gentle laugh shakes in my chest, and Randy’s grin falters.
“Catch anything today?” he asks, knowing the answer. He’s been trailing me all morning. In fact, there aren’t many tournaments that I don’t see his blue boat off in the distance, waiting to see what I’ll do next.
“Day isn’t over yet,” I say.
“I don’t know, Howell, looks to me like you left your luck back in Bama. See you at the weigh-in station,” he says, and I only reply by narrowing my eyes at him.
The motor fires to life, and I sit back in my seat while Jess glides the boat through the water, dodging other fishing vessels. “Son of a bitch,” Jess mumbles under his breath.
“Ignore him, he’s been chasing my sponsors all year.”
“Well, one of us has to worry about it,” Jess says, with an edge to his voice.
I feel my head tilt back when he kicks up the speed, causing me to lean forward and check the speedometer out. The lake is a busy one, typical for any lake town during the warmer months. My mind flashes to L.J.’s lifeless eyes staring at me, but not really seeing.
“Slow down, man,” I call out, my request being ignored. “Jess!” I yell, and he looks over his shoulder at me with a confused expression. Playfully, he pushes the gear shift forward, immature delight in his eyes. “What the fuck, man, slow down. There are people everywhere,” I say, standing and walking to the passenger seat of the boat.
“These people are used to it, they know to watch out for us,” he says, refusing to ease back, and pushing the boat to its limit. I anxiously stand to my feet, hands on the dash, looking for anything or anyone that could be a target.
“I’m not fucking around, Jess. This is dangerous,” I say. The look on his face tells me he thinks I’ve lost my mind. How many times have we pushed this Bass Cat as fast as she would allow us. How many times have I ignored the rules of the waterway, ignorant to what could actually happen if we made contact with someone in the water. It’s life changing and it’s devastating. And now that I’ve seen it up close and personal, I’ll never be able to forget it. I slam my hand down on top of Jess’, his eyes wincing when I make contact. The nose of the boat tilts into the air as I slow down, half the speed he was traveling at.
Jess jumps to his feet. “You fucking drive then. I’m sick of this shit.” He walks to the back of the boat, not another word coming out of his mouth.
The shade of the causeway drops the temperature another ten degrees as I pull the boat over to the rocky edges. The depth gauge reads thirty-seven feet, but I know there has to be a shallow bank along the edges somewhere. With the hot summer temperatures only faintly behind us, the bass would have been under this bridge all season, looking for cooler waters. As I ease around the bend, the gauge continues to rise. Twenty-four feet . . . Eighteen feet. I toddle along the edges until I hit eight feet of water, killing the motor and looking at the plant life along the bank edges.
Break The Line Page 10