Chapters (69)
- Other Titles
- Contents
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- Part One
- ROWAN
- MAISY
- MAISY
- ROWAN
- ROWAN
- MAISY
- MAISY
- ROWAN
- MAISY
- ROWAN
- ROWAN
- MAISY
- MAISY
- ROWAN
- MAISY
- ROWAN
- ROWAN
- MAISY
- MAISY
- ROWAN
- MAISY
- ROWAN
- MAISY
- ROWAN
- MAISY
- ROWAN
- Part Two
- ROWAN
- MAISY
- MAISY
- ROWAN
- MAISY
- MAISY
- ROWAN
- MAISY
- MAISY
- MAISY
- MAISY
- ROWAN
- MAISY
- MAISY
- ROWAN
- MAISY
- MAISY
- ROWAN
- MAISY
- MAISY
- ROWAN
- MAISY
- ROWAN
- MAISY
- MAISY
- ROWAN
- MAISY
- MAISY
- ROWAN
- MAISY
- Part Three
- ROWAN
- MAISY
- ROWAN
- MAISY
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- About the Author
“Bertie’s?”
“Marilyn’s then.”
I realized he was asking about the cottage. Those must be the names of the actual owners. “Oh yeah. Yeah.” I nodded. “My dad knows her.”
“Figured as much. Bertie’s crowd is all button-down types, you know.” He smiled, touched the brim of his hat. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that. It’s good to meet new folks.”
I stared into the water, lifted my rod, pretended to check my hook. Black insects skated over the surface, looped around my legs.
“Fish bitin’?”
“I don’t think so.”
“My grandson pulled out a perch this morning. Close to the dock like you’re doing. Not much else, though.” He laid his oar across his lap.
“How do you know?”
“Know what, son?”
“If you got one hooked.”
“What? You’ve never caught a fish before?”
He was gaping at my face. Maybe at my split lip, still swollen. But then, with his finger, he patted near his left eye. People often did that when they noticed my spots. Touched their own skin in the same places where the white blotches were growing. To check, maybe. Or to feel if they were still normal. I could feel my cheeks go pink. “No, sir. I haven’t.”
“Oh, you’ll know, son. You’ll feel the pull. They don’t just sit there, all polite, waiting to be reeled in. They’ll fight you for their lives. Like they should, right?” He watched me for a second, then said, “Digging worms, I take it?” He pointed at my T-shirt. There was so much grime that it was hard to make out the picture of the donkey.
“Yeah. Playing around in the woods and stuff.”
“That’s what summertime’s for, isn’t it? Getting filthy and you couldn’t care less. Don’t tell my wife I said that.” A wink.
“Yeah.”
“Looks like the bugs made a meal out of you, though. Ran out of spray?”
I scratched my neck, and when I looked, my fingernails were filled with brown powder. Dried blood.
“Well, we’re just two over, if you and your dad need anything. I’m Jim Russell, and my wife’s Jackie.” He laughed, tapped his hat again. “Jackie Russell, you know, like those small dogs. No end to her energy. Always in a super mood.”