Billy took in the memory. “I can still see him with his fishing hat, the cigarette never leaving his lips, down to the ash. He’d bring this old boom-box and play Willie Nelson tapes all day. He’d eventually snooze off and I felt like I had the entire lake to myself.”
“Sounds a little like my pop. Except we were more of an ice-fishing family up in Canada. If you fell asleep, your ass would be frozen to the lake until spring.”
“You would’ve liked him. Complex man. On one hand, he was this gruff, foul-mouthed guy, who grew up on a farm with very little education. But he was also the most ferocious reader I’ve ever met. He’s the one who helped me discover books, which led to my writing. He loved science, especially astronomy.”
They spent a few moments in silent remembrance, before getting to the business at hand. Chuck explained that Lake George allowed for two-story fishing, which meant they could fish for both warm-weather fish like perch and bass, but also cold-water fish such as trout and salmon. Salmon would be their target, since it was Lindsey’s favorite and he wanted to score points with his girl by catching her favorite meal. Who said chivalry was dead?
Chuck continued, “The salmon leave for streams in the fall to spawn. But they return to the lake in the spring, and hang out in the more shallow water.”
“I thought salmon died when they spawned?” Billy questioned.
“In the Pacific they do, but in the Atlantic they return. They move offshore into deeper waters when the water temps hit fifty degrees, but we had a cold winter, so we should be in good shape.”
Good enough for Billy. He baited his hook and cast the line.
Chuck looked mildly impressed. “Well done, Santiago.”
“The Old Man in the Sea … nice.” Now Billy was the impressed one.
“I’ll bet you thought Canadian hockey players only read the comics.”
“No—I actually thought you were all illiterate.”
He shook his head. “I should use you as bait.”
Billy wasn’t sure he was kidding. “So you’re a Hemingway fan?”
Chuck cast his line. “Ernie was my kinda guy. Did things his way, on his terms, and took no shit from anyone.” He then proceeded to quote him, “Man is not made for defeat. A man can be destroyed, but not defeated.”
Billy didn’t see that coming. He also thought it could have been the “Whitcomb family motto” this past year.
The afternoon turned a peaceful quiet. And Chuck was right—as the day went on, Billy felt his troubles leaving town. No wedding frustration, or nightmares from their previous visit. Part of him wanted to stay out here forever.
Other than a few checks of the phone, it seemed to be doing the trick for Chuck as well. He looked as relaxed as Billy had seen him. Although, “the spot” was not living up to the hype, as neither of them had even a nibble, much less had caught a fish. Which was fine by Billy, who thought that a fish biting his line would only interrupt the glorious monotony of this lazy, sunny Friday.
Like his grandfather, he felt himself starting to nod off. That’s when he felt a slight tug on his line … then another. The third one felt like it was going to sweep him right out of the boat.
Chuck quickly came up behind him and held him steady, like they were teammates in a tug-o-war.
Billy pulled back on his line, feeling as if he’d hooked a cement block. “I’d say you got a whopper, but I think it’s more like a double whopper with cheese,” Chuck said, sudden excitement in his voice.
Billy had caught a few small fish during his trips with his grandfather, but nothing like this. He didn’t know what to do, and was more interested in not going overboard than reeling in the fish or whatever was on the other end of his line.
Chuck calmly provided instructions, “Keep firm tension on the line. If there’s slack, the fish will have a better chance of throwing the hook.”
It was a balancing act. Billy struggled to keep the tip of his rod up, while reeling in a smooth, consistent motion. But Chuck warned that too much tension could snap the line.
The fish continued to thrash under the water. For a moment, Billy thought he really was Santiago from The Old Man and the Sea. When he read the book, as Santiago hands bled, and he grew so weary he almost passed out, Billy had wondered why he didn’t just let the fish go. Why go through all that trouble for a stupid fish?
But in this current battle, he felt a competitive spirit take over his body; one he thought he’d never meet again once his football playing days were over. He needed to bring this fish in no matter what. It was as if he had something to prove to himself.
Chuck continued to hold him steady, but Billy noticed a difference in Chuck’s demeanor. He was normally in attack mode—whether it was the way he played hockey, or how he went after those from Operation Anesthesia who tried to harm his family—it was his nature.
But as the fish continued to fight, he turned more patient and strategic. Billy kept battling the beast—it now felt like there were two of them on his line. It was as if it was getting stronger … or maybe Billy was growing weaker.
“It’s going to make a run for it, let him go,” Chuck said.
“What do you mean let him go? I’m bringing this fish in—there’s no way I’m giving up now.”
“I don’t mean let go of the pole—just don’t fight the run, or yank back. All that will do is break the line.”
The struggle lasted for another half-hour. The fish would speed away. Billy would set the drag, and hold on for dear life as the fish made its run. And the process kept repeating. There didn’t seem to be any end to the gamesmanship.
But with each ensuing run, Billy noticed that the tug was weaker, and less violent. And there were now longer intervals between runs.
“It’s tiring itself out,” Chuck said with a confident grin. “Now let’s bring this bad-boy in.”
The pain in Billy’s hands had turned numb, but he kept following Chuck’s instructions. He lifted the tip of his rod with a firm motion, pulling the fish closer. He then dropped the rod tip down and reeled in the line. “Be patient … slow,” Chuck continued to caution.
Just when Billy’s arms felt like they were going to fall off, Chuck grabbed him by his elbows and they made one last pull, raising the large, still-thrashing fish out of the water, and into the boat.
Chapter 22
Billy stood unsteadily on the dory, flanked by Chuck, and the large lake trout they’d just caught.
Chuck decided to take a picture to send to Lindsey. Billy held the fish up, while Chuck snapped the photo. When he inspected his masterpiece, he sent a disappointed look Billy’s way. “Do you ever smile? The fish looks happier to be in the photo than you.”
“I tend to take a more measured approach to happiness.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“I guess I’m a lot like Santiago.”
“It was a trout, not a gigantic marlin—now you’re getting cocky.”
“I mean Santiago went through hell to get that fish, but what happened after that? He gets attacked by those sharks on the way home and he’s left with just a carcass of his prize. That’s how my life usually works—think you’ve won, and then the sharks come after you.”
“Aren’t you the life of the party. I hope you were more fun back when you were drinking.”
“I wish I could remember. So now that we have photographic proof of the feat, what do we do? Throw it back?”
Chuck looked at him like he was crazy. “Hell no.”
“What if it’s Puck’s mom?”
“It’s not, and it’s going to be lunch.”
“I told you—I don’t eat fish.”
“Good—because it’s not your lunch.”
They motored the boat toward land, but not in the direction of Chuck’s cabin. When they reached shore, a middle-aged man on a dock greeted them. He had stringy white hair streaming out of a Yankees cap, and a shaggy salt-and-pepper goatee. He appeared to be properly dressed for a holiday w
eekend, in tank top, shorts, and flip-flops.
“Argh—who goes there?” he said like a pirate.
Chuck held up the cooler that contained the fish. “I bring gifts.”
“Gold and women?”
“Trout.”
“Much better—come ashore.”
Chuck handed the man the cooler, as Billy struggled out of the boat. Even now on solid ground, he felt like he was still bobbing.
The man studied the fish with great interest. “It must weigh thirty pounds. You went all the way out to the deep water in your dory?”
“Nah—I told you my spot is where it’s at.”
“But trout this size stay in the deep water, especially this time of year.”
Chuck grinned. “Never underestimate ‘the spot’.”
“This baby would land you some nice prize money in one of those contests.”
“Well, you’re going to have to settle for lunch. And I wasn’t the one to catch it—Santiago over here did.”
Chuck then introduced Billy. They shook hands and exchanged real names, his being Jay.
Jay tried to hand the cooler back to Billy and Chuck, but Chuck put up his hand. “I told you—it’s a gift.”
“That’s very generous of you. And I will accept it as full payment on the cabin. You’re welcome.”
“Oh no you don’t … I will be paying you for that, whether you like it or not.”
Chuck explained to Billy that Jay and his wife, Tilly, star in a television show called Cabin Fever in which they fix up old log cabins—or in his case, ones that were burned to the ground—into upscale cabins. It started as a local show on public access TV, and now is a hit on HGTV.
Billy’s TV watching consisted of old movies and Seinfeld reruns, and he avoided the news at all cost. But he did recall Dana talking about this Cabin Fever show. Frankly he was surprised she watched anything besides the Wedding Channel these days. Is there such a thing? Probably.
Jay and his wife had lived on the lake since before Chuck owned his cabin, and did so year round. He and Tilly would look after Chuck’s place while he’s away, but happened to be out of town the one time he really needed someone to be watching over it. Which was probably a good thing.
“As I told you before … and before that … it’s on the house. Or rather, the network. All we ask is that we can feature it on the show … and you deliver me a thirty-pound trout. So we’re all settled.”
Chuck tried to argue some more, but it went nowhere. “Let’s go see Tilly and get this fish cleaned up,” Jay said, already stepping toward the house.
They entered—an upscale log cabin, of course—and followed Jay into the kitchen area. “Lunch is here,” he called out.
“That’s no way to talk about Chuck,” Tilly said back with a smile.
She looked like an aging hippie in a tie-dye tee and a pair of Birks. Her graying hair was in a long braid that reached to her lower back. She gave Chuck a big hug, and it looked like she wanted to do the same to the fish. “You caught this?”
“That would be Billy,” he said, and introduced them.
“Well, aren’t you a handsome devil,” she said, holding her look on him, and making Billy uneasy. “I see doubt in your eyes—you must be getting married.”
The comment caught Billy off guard. “Um … yes … is it that obvious?”
“First time?”
“Second.”
“The first one must have done a number on you.”
“Cheated, left, stole my kids, tried to ruin my reputation.”
“That’ll do the trick.”
Jay interjected, “Second marriages are a triumph of love over historical evidence. It’s what true romance is all about.”
“If I recall, your second marriage didn’t turn out so well,” Tilly said.
He flashed a wide smile, and kissed her on the cheek. “But the third time has been a charm.”
“He’s actually marrying Dana, my sister-in-law,” Chuck said.
Tilly looked surprised. “I thought Dana was one of those wild colts that could never be tamed. Congratulations, cowboy.”
Jay laughed. “You better buckle up, Billy—sounds like you’re in for a wild ride.”
He just hoped he didn’t get tossed out of the saddle.
Tilly took the fish out of the cooler and set it in their oversized stainless-steel sink. “Will you boys be staying for lunch?”
“We need to get back—just wanted to stop by to make sure everything’s in order for the party tonight,” Chuck said.
“And he tried to pay us for the cabin again,” Jay added.
“That’s not going to happen—I hope you told him that.”
“I did … on several occasions. But sometimes it’s like talking to a mule.”
Tilly turned to Chuck with an anticipatory look. “So what did Carolyn think of the new cabin?”
“I think she liked it, but anything new these days takes some adjustment for her.”
The answer didn’t thwart her enthusiasm. “I know one thing that won’t take her long to adjust to—she’s going to fall in love with him at first sight. I know we did.”
“Should I go get him?” Jay asked, but he was already on his way. Billy had been paying attention lately to couples, especially married ones that seemed to be in synch with each other. And these two definitely were.
He wasn’t gone long before Billy heard the floor scratching and the bark.
Carolyn had been campaigning to get a dog for the past year, without much luck. And sure, the idea might have originated out of guilt or bribery, but once Billy laid eyes on the furry fella, he knew they were right—she would fall immediately in love with him. As they all might.
He was smaller, probably a pup, with a distinctive coat of black and white, with rust colored markings above his eyes, sides of mouth, and front legs. He had a white horseshoe shape around the nose and a white “Swiss cross” on the chest.
“It’s a Bernese Mountain Dog,” Jay said, as it scurried to Chuck who squatted down and comfortably petted the sides of his face and snout. It was like they were old friends.
“He’s just a puppy, but will grow pretty big, somewhere between 80 to 120 pounds. But he’s a total sweetheart, non-aggressive—great around children,” Tilly added.
“And let me tell you why we knew he was perfect for Carolyn,” Jay said, as the dog had moved to Billy to get some more love. “Tilly and I were emceeing this event for orphaned dogs up in Rochester a few weeks back. And we learned that this little guy would get nails in his feet and keep running. Got tangled in a barbed wire fence one time and didn’t even miss a beat.”
“It’s like he can’t feel pain,” Tilly exclaimed.
“We looked at each other, thinking the same thing—he and Carolyn are meant to be.”
“We weren’t sure you’d allow her to have a dog, but we figured that since we rebuilt your cabin for free, you couldn’t say no, right?”
“Does he have a name?” Billy asked, as he stroked the dog’s belly to its satisfaction.
“I just call him Dude—figured Carolyn could name him whatever she likes.”
A smile spread across Chuck’s face. “I was skeptical at first, but how can I say no? She’s really going to love him.”
“We sure fell for him—Jay’s gonna be in tears tonight after we give him away. We both are.”
Chuck looked at his watch. “Our plan is to have a cookout around six, then do a little surprise party for her graduating kindergarten with a cake and small gifts.”
If Carolyn, with her off-the-charts intelligence didn’t pass kindergarten, Billy figured there should be an investigation. But these days they were looking for any excuse to make her feel special and wanted.
“So if you guys can bring … Dude … around 7:30 or 8 to surprise her—that will be a perfect topper to the night.”
Jay held up a bottle of Wild Turkey, one of Billy’s former downfalls. “Once she goes off to sleep, this will be the pe
rfect topper.”
“Sounds like a foolproof plan, we’ll be there,” Tilly said.
Billy and Chuck just looked at each other and traded a knowing glance. When it came to Carolyn, there was no such thing.
Chapter 23
Dana drove the twenty-six miles to Saratoga Springs, but it wasn’t to meet with a designer.
She pulled up to the red brick building on the campus of Fawn Meadows. The name always sounded to her like a place that deer would nap after a picnic lunch.
She did the usual check-in at the front desk, in which she’d provide them her ID, even though they all knew her from her previous visits, and then she was given a pass.
She took the elevator to the third floor, the top one—only the penthouse was good enough for Tom Boulanger, even in a place like this. Although, she once overheard a nurse saying the higher you’re up in this place, the less likely you’ll ever leave. But it was no secret that her father would spend the rest of his life here.
She passed the third-floor nurses station without even a hello, and went directly to his room. It was nicely furnished and decorated, sort of like an upscale Manhattan apartment.
When she entered, her father was at a desk in the far corner of the room, sitting next to his longtime nurse, a plump British woman named Roxanne. She would spend hours with him—if patience was a virtue, then Roxanne must be the most virtuous person to walk the earth, Dana thought. Her father on the other hand, was not.
She was huddled over an old-fashioned typewriter, her father providing her his thoughts, like he were dictating his novel to her. Dana had never seen the final product, and she doubted it amounted to anything.
It was hard to believe that Roxanne could make out the meaning of his occasional grunts, often minutes between them. Dana got the idea this was an exercise in making him feel better about himself. An important man whose secretary was waiting on him hand and foot. And even if by some miracle he could string a few sentences together in his condition, she was sure that it was the work of fiction, since his public persona was nothing but a big lie.
The Carolyn Chronicles, Volume 1 Page 10