The Marriage Wish (11 page)

They left the house, Scott carrying her windbreaker for
her, and he carefully made sure her seat belt was fastened once she was seated in the passenger seat. Jennifer leaned her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes and listened to the music Scott had turned on. She was almost dozing when they reached his house.

Jennifer looked over at Scott as they walked down to the pier together, her hand tucked firmly in his, and was incredibly grateful to no longer be alone. When she saw the boat she smiled. It had been designed for one specific thing, fishing, and the sight of it brought back ancient memories from her past, and she was glad she had come.

“Watch your step.” Scott offered a hand to help her down into the boat.

The boat was designed to seat four. Jennifer moved forward to the middle seat.

Scott handed her a life jacket.

Once the cooler and the towels were stashed, Scott took his seat. He slipped the key into the ignition. The outboard motor started instantly. Leaving the motor idling, he got up to untie the mooring lines. “I’ll run us over to the Harbor Stop to fill up the gas tank, get bait, then we’ll head out to Westminster Bridge.”

Jennifer nodded.

Once they cleared the No Wake zone, Scott opened the motor up, giving enough speed to lift the bow out of the water. Jennifer deliberately left last night at the pier and forced herself into beginning to relax. And unexpectedly she found her spirits beginning to lift as the bright sun and sky replaced her sense of darkness with the vividness of a beautiful day.

After close to five minutes of running, they passed Courtline Point and were out on the open water. The wind picked up.

Jennifer swiveled around to face Scott.

“Do you need me to slow down?”

Jennifer shook her head. “You’re fine. The spray is cold even with the jacket.”

“We’ll be at The Harbor Stop in another four to five minutes.”

Scott cut the speed down to comply with the No Wake rule as they entered the protected cove. Jennifer turned back to the front, impatiently brushing her hands through her hair to get it out of her eyes. She should have tied it back before she left. It was going to take twenty minutes with a brush to get her hair untangled.

The Harbor Stop turned out to be a supply store built out on the water, floating on pontoons at the lake level. A series of docks had slips to hold fifty boats. Scott piloted the boat to the east side of the store so he could moor within reach of the gas pumps. Intent on watching his distance, Scott didn’t realize Jennifer had the forward mooring line in her hands, until, as the boat touched the dock with a gentle bump, she flipped the line over the tie point and brought the boat in snug to the dock. “Okay, Scott, you can cut the engine.” She gave the line four figure-eights around the north-south prongs of the tie point, adding an extra turn to each loop. The line would not slip.

“Thanks.”

“Sure.” She looked around the boat. “Do you have a bait bucket for the minnows?”

“Behind you on the left. It’s in the live well.” Scott replied. He stepped out of the boat onto the dock. He had missed something. The bow moor line she had tied was a duplicate of the stern line he had tied. Jennifer was not a novice to boats.

Scott took the minnow bucket and offered her a hand out of the boat. She took his hand without hesitation. “Thanks.”

Following Scott’s example she dropped her life jacket back on her seat. “Gas first or bait?”

“Bait,” Scott decided.

Leaving Scott to get the minnows, Jennifer wandered around to check out the store. There was a collection of paperbacks on the back wall. She paged through a mystery she recognized.

“Jennifer.”

She turned, surprised to find Scott beside her.

“Try these on.” He was holding a pair of sunglasses.

“Scott, I don’t need—”

He cut her off with a smile. “Try them on.”

Jennifer tried them on.

“What do you think? Do they fit all right?”

She smiled. “You made a good choice, Scott. They fit fine.”

“Good.”

He took the glasses. “Do me a favor and see if they have any chocolate cookies.”

Jennifer laughed. “Okay.” Her hands gently pushed his chest. “You’re suppose to be buying the bait, Scott.”

“Okay, okay.”

Ten minutes later, Scott offered Jennifer a hand back into the boat.

“How far is Westminster Bridge?”

“About ten minutes west of here,” he replied, stowing the minnow bucket where it would not shift. Jennifer clipped on her life jacket. She leaned forward to untie the bow moor line.

Scott started the engine. “Okay, Jennifer.”

She released the line and pushed them away from the dock. Once they cleared the No Wake zone, he opened the motor up, sending the boat skimming across the open water. Jennifer slipped on her new sunglasses. It had been a long
time since she had spent a day on the water. She was determined to enjoy this.

The lake was long, constantly branching, with a multitude of coves and inlets. Scott eventually turned into one of the side branches of the lake. The inlet was over three hundred feet wide at the opening, narrowing as it went back. Westminster Bridge was a railroad crossing, the concrete pillars farther down the inlet. “We’ll start in on this side and make the half circle of the inlet,” Scott explained, slowing the engine as he took the boat in toward the shoreline.

Jennifer nodded. There were fallen trees in the water beneath them, their massive root structures visible on the bank and the trees angling out into the water. The banks, however, appeared to drop off very quickly; there was no evidence to suggest they were actually floating over old trees the lake had swallowed up.

Scott dropped anchor once they were about fifteen feet from the shore. Jennifer slipped off her life jacket, draping it across the seat in front of her. Scott tossed his life jacket up front beside hers. Finding the right key, he unlocked the storage compartment where the tackle was stored. There were a dozen different rods, different makes, different reels. “Take your pick, Jennifer,” he offered.

“The blue one with the open-face reel.”

Scott lifted the rod out for her. He brought out the gray rod and open-face reel for himself, his birthday present from his dad.

Jennifer took a look at the rod. It had a swivel, hook and weight already. All she needed was a bobber. “Can you reach the tackle box?”

He passed it forward.

“Thanks.” Humming softly, Jennifer found what she
needed. Looping the line around the bobber, she slipped the metal spring back over the line to hold it in place.

She swiveled around to reach the minnow bucket. Jennifer closed her hand around one of larger ones. Smooth and slippery, it struggled to get free. She slipped the hook through the minnow’s back behind its front fin. Studying the shoreline for a moment, she shifted around. Her cast sent the minnow and the bobber out parallel to the shore.

Watching her, Scott nodded his approval. She was not a novice at this by any means. She would get the best coverage of the territory by going parallel to the shore, rather than toward the shore. With a smile, Scott sent his line sailing out the other direction.

They followed the south bank, making their way toward the concrete pillars of Westminster Bridge. Scott was pleased to see the strain from last night beginning to fade from Jennifer’s eyes. She was a born fisherman. She had a good eye for the water, a smooth cast, patience. She was clearly enjoying herself. She was also beating him hands down in terms of success. She had caught four bass, three of which were large enough to keep and dress.

Scott was enjoying watching her.

He needed to do something tangible to help her deal with her grief. It was the trauma of the loss that was so devastating. It was how Colleen had been born, how she had died that was the real problem he had to help Jennifer overcome.
Trauma.
The word kept coming back in his mind as he prayed. Jennifer was still caught by the event. When she had described those last few days when Colleen had fought for each breath, Scott had been able to see her there, sitting beside the incubator with her hand reaching inside and holding Colleen’s, praying for each breath Colleen needed to take. He could see the shock that would have crossed her
face when her last prayer for breath had not been answered. Colleen had died.

Trauma.

Scott couldn’t comprehend the shock of what it must have been like to have such a simple prayer not answered. Jennifer had fallen so deeply in love with Colleen. It was in her voice, her face, her emotions. To watch her daughter die… Scott shook his head, flinching inside at the pain the image created.

How could he take Jennifer out of the place she was in now to a place where the trauma could lessen? Maybe it was happening already. The movie theater and the shock he had observed. The long night of tears last night. She was finally coming alive and feeling the pain and the grief and facing the trauma. And she had worked up the courage to tell him. They all had to be steps in the right direction.

He was furious at God for having put them in this situation. It was going to take more than one day for his own emotions to accept what had happened. He’d find a way. She needed him to be past the anger. But she had been working against the anger for almost three years, he’d been feeling it less than twenty-four hours. He needed time and answers, too.

They reached the bridge. Scott used the trolling motor to take them out away from shore and back into the main waterway. He cut the engine when they were some twenty feet from the base of the pillars; they would drift in closer. “I’ve had some luck around the base of the pillars,” he offered. “It’s deep here, around thirty feet.”

Jennifer nodded. She cast her line out toward the first concrete pillar.

Scott watched her for a moment, before leaning forward to reach the minnow bucket and bait his own line. He cast
his line out toward the second pillar. The bait dropped into the water a few inches from the concrete pillar. The bait had no more than hit the water then his bobber was gone.

Jennifer smiled. “You weren’t kidding.” She turned to watch him bring the fish in. The rod bowed down a foot as the line strained. The fish was trying to go deep. Scott turned him back.

“Nice fish.” Jennifer commented as Scott brought him in over the side. It was a good-size crappie. Catching Scott’s line, she slid her hand down to grasp the top of the hook and hold the fish still. Sliding her hand down the body of the fish, she lowered the back fins so she would not get spiked. He was almost too large for her hand. The hook came out easily, he’d been snagged through the side of his mouth.

Jennifer swiveled around so she could measure the fish. “Ten and three-quarter inches. Not bad.”

Scott smiled. “He’ll dress nicely,” he agreed. He opened up the live well and Jennifer released the crappie in with the three bass she had caught earlier.

Jennifer leaned over the side of the boat to wash off her hands. Scott tossed her the towel. “Thanks.” She wiped her hands and draped the towel across the seat.

The next fish went to Jennifer. It was a sunfish, which surprised her, given the size of the hook she was using. She leaned over the side of the boat and released it gently. She looked up to find Scott watching her. “What?” she asked, confused by his look.

“You’ve got a soft heart.”

“Only for babies,” she replied, but her smile was beautiful.

They fished along the pillars for a while, then moved to the north bank, slowly propelled by the trolling motor. Jennifer had not said anything, but Scott could tell she was getting to the end of her energy reserves. They had been out
almost three hours. He was ready to suggest they head in when her bobber dropped below the surface with a jerk as the minnow four feet below the surface was hit.

She had a fighter. Scott pulled in his line to give her room to maneuver. Twice the fish turned in to the boat, then ran out again, forcing Jennifer to give up line or risk losing him.

The bass broke the surface on its third turn.

“Wow.”

“He’s a trophy, Jennifer.” Scott hoped her line would hold.

Jennifer brought the fish to the side of the boat on the fifth turn. Scott got underneath him with the net and brought the bass over the side of the boat. The largemouth bass slapped angrily against the confinement. Scott took a firm grip on his lower lip. “Okay, Jennifer.”

She slid the net free. “How’s he hooked?”

“It’s down in the side of his mouth.”

Jennifer dug out the needle-nose pliers. “At least he didn’t swallow it.”

Scott held the fish firmly as Jennifer went after the hook. “Can you reach it?”

She got a firm grip on the eye of the hook, pushed it down. “Got it.” She brought the hook out.

“Take him firmly by the bottom lip and put him against the tape, Jennifer. Let’s find out how big he really is.” Scott handed her back her prize fish.

He was heavy, cold. Jennifer laid him against the measuring tape on the side of the boat. “Twenty-one and a quarter inches,” she finally decided. “He’s the second largest bass I’ve ever caught.” He was a beautiful fish.

“Would you like to have him mounted?”

Jennifer looked at the fish in her hands. “No. This one gets to go free.” Leaning over the side, she lowered the fish down into the water. For a brief moment he remained motionless
in her hands, able to swim free, but choosing not to move. Then he was gone with a slap against her hand.

Scott handed her a dry towel. “What’s your record?”

“Twenty-six and a half inches. I caught him down on Lake Tahoe eight years ago,” she replied.

“You’ve certainly got another story to tell with this one.”

“You can say that again. He was beautiful.”

“I think that one is going to be impossible to top. Shall we head in?”

Jennifer looked regretfully at the water, but had to concede she was exhausted. “Yes.”

Scott nodded and moved back to his seat. Jennifer quietly began storing their gear in the lockers. She handed Scott his life jacket, then slipped on her own.

“Ready?”