Gator
gnashed his teeth, looked up and put the stink eye on her. She
quieted right down. Soon, she was seated on the blanket next to
him, leaning her head against his shoulder and rubbing her hand
over his thigh.
“Hey...I think I got a bite!”
Gator grabbed his pole and reeled up the tiny bit of slack in
the line. The rod tip bent down slowly and didn’t pop back
up. He gently pulled the rod back and felt the tension in the
line grow until it almost snapped. “Damn. I’m hung
on the bottom.”
Lindy Beth turned toward the bayou. “That’s your last
hook, too.”
“I know.” Gator looked at the rowboat. “Row
out there and get it for me, will ya?”
“But I can’t swim!”
“You’ll be in the boat, silly. Now, come on.”
He reached down and helped her stand up. “I’ll hold
the anchor rope so you don’t drift away. When you get out
to where the bait’s hung up, slip the oar under the line
and gently lift up. Ain’t nothing to it.” He helped
her step into the boat.
“I don’t like this, Gator,” she said. The boat
wiggled under her weight, and half an inch of brown water sloshed
in the bottom.
“Look, if you’re gonna be a fisherman’s wife,
you gotta be tough. If you’re tough enough to go fishin’,
tough enough to clean fish and row the boat and help me unsnag
a hook, then you’re tough enough to be my baby’s momma.
Maybe even tough enough to be my wife.”
Lindy Beth’s eyes grew wide and a smile turned up one corner
of her mouth. She took a deep breath and sat in the rowboat. “I
can be tough!” she said with an energy that seemed more
about convincing herself than anyone else.
“Good, ‘cause I can’t do it without you.”
He shoved the boat into the bayou. “Besides, somebody’s
got to hold the fishing pole.”
“Why can’t you do this part?” She wrinkled her
nose at him.
“Too late now. Better grab the oars.”
Lindy Beth was already drifting toward the center of the cove.
She took an oar in each hand and rowed the boat backwards.
“That’s it. Keep going.”
When she got close to where the bait was hung up, the rope attached
to the back of the boat grew taut. The boat swung around so the
bow pointed toward the middle of the bayou. “Whoa! This
is making me dizzy,” she said. She leaned over the back
of the boat and fiddled with the rope. It was tied to a metal
handle that was bolted to the stern. “Is the rope on here
good enough? This plank is half rotten.”
|
