Where We Belong (26 page)

I looked down to see Rigby staring up into my face. I could tell she wanted to know what my problem was. Why didn’t I just go fishing? Maybe there were certain spots where the fish liked to hang out. Maybe Rigby came down here all the time with Paul. Maybe she knew where he usually liked to go.

“Which way, Rigby?”

It might have just been me, but she seemed happy I asked. She headed off right away, upstream. I followed her, puffing up the hill. Trying to look down, so as not to trip on the brush poking out onto the trail. And to look up, so I wouldn’t snag a tree with the pole. Both at the same time.

“Wait up, Rig,” I called.

She did.

About five minutes of brush-popping later, we came out into a clearing, dappled with sunlight through overhanging trees. The stream gave way to a pool, much deeper than the rest of the stream and about five times wider. I set down the tackle box and rod, stepped out onto some huge, smooth rocks. Got down on all fours. There was a bare downed tree half under the water, and I steadied myself on one of the branches as I leaned out over the pool.

More than a dozen rainbow trout skittered by, the ripples of the pool bending their images.

I made my way back to Rigby.

“Good dog,” I said.

I spent probably ten minutes just getting a hook onto the end of the line. Because I’d forgotten how Paul had taught me to tie the knot. I kept doing it the way I thought was right, but then I’d pull hard on the hook to make sure it would hold. And it would pull right off again.

I looked over at Rigby, who was lying beside me, front legs outstretched, eyes half closed in the dappled sun. Her eyebrows were gray now, too, her muzzle grayer.

I started the knot over.

“So you put the end of the line through…”

For one insane moment, I swear, I held it out for her to see. Like she would show me which loop to put the end of the line through. The way she knew where Sophie was, where the campground was. Where to find Paul’s best fishing spot.

I caught myself and hit myself in the forehead with the heel of my hand.

“Right,” I said. “
That
magic, you’re not.”

But just holding the half-done knot out to her had made it more slack. And I saw the other place the end of the line could go through. I watched it open up.

“Of course. I remember now. First twist it a few times. Then through
here
. Then through the loop it makes. I think that’s it, Rig!”

I pulled it tight and pulled hard on the hook. Careful not to stab myself. I pulled almost hard enough to break the line, but the knot held.

I pressed two split-shot sinkers onto the line the way Paul had shown me, biting them to get them to clamp down tightly.

I threaded four salmon eggs onto the hook, then walked carefully out onto the slick boulders. I swished the rod back behind my shoulder, ready to give it a good snap. A nice long cast like I’d done at the lake. When I jerked the rod forward again, it hung up. I’d snagged on something before I even finished my first cast.

I climbed back down off the rocks and followed the line until I could see it was hung up in a tree. I couldn’t reach up high enough to untangle it. I tried pulling the limb down, but the line snapped.

I sighed and walked back to Rigby. And sat.

“Great,” I said. “Lost a hook before I even got it wet the first time.”

I tied another hook on the line, added two more sinkers, and threaded on four more salmon eggs. The tiny jar was more than half empty now. A handful more mistakes like that, and I’d have to figure out how to use some other kind of bait.

I crawled out onto the boulders again. Looked down into the water, and felt a little thrill when two trout slid by underneath me. I wondered if this was how a lion felt watching a herd of zebras trot along the plain.

I opened the bail on the reel and let the line drop straight down.

At first, nothing. All those trout, and not one seemed to notice. A ray of sun lit the pool where my baited hook had landed, and the salmon eggs looked illuminated, like tiny bright red light bulbs.

I looked to be sure Rigby wasn’t going anywhere. Even though I knew that was the sort of thing she would never do.

I could hear Paul’s voice saying, “Trust her.”

I took a deep breath and tried.

When I looked back, a rainbow trout was just inches from my bait. Holding perfectly still. Looking at it pretty much the way I was looking at him. Then he swished his body and came closer. Stopped. Waited.

He reached out and pulled at a salmon egg, then spooked away when the hook moved. I swear, I wasn’t breathing at all. A mosquito bit the back of my leg, and I couldn’t even slap it.

The trout came in again and swallowed the bait, hook and all.

I tightened the line, and he took off, bending my rod forward. He disappeared under the fallen tree. My rod stayed bent, but I couldn’t feel him pulling. I tried to reel in, but the line was stuck. He must’ve wrapped it around a branch.

I pulled. I waited.

Finally, I knew I was sunk, so I just gave up and broke the line.

I slouched back off the rocks to start all over again. I stared into the salmon-egg jar and knew I needed to get away from that downed tree. I got the hook all baited and ready, and then closed and latched the tackle box.

“Come on, Rigby. Let’s see if we can figure out how to get to the other side of this stream.”

It wasn’t hard. At the far end of the pool, the stream narrowed. It was only a foot or two deep. So I waded right through it, careful not to slip on the wet stones. Rigby splashed along behind me.

We hiked back up to the deep pool, now on the other side, where the slickrock sloped right down into the water. I wouldn’t be able to hide as well there. But I wouldn’t get my line caught. If I hooked one, there would be nothing to snag on as I pulled him out.

This time, I used an artificial worm. And I looked behind me before I cast. It was a long way back to the closest tree. So I gave the rod a good backward swing and cast it nice and far. Right out into the deep center of the pool.

I took up the slack in the line and looked down at Rigby, who was sitting on the slanted stone.

“I feel optimistic again,” I said.

I made a mental note to see if I could find a flashlight in Paul’s house, so we could leave much earlier in the morning next time. He struck me as the kind of guy who would have a flashlight, in case the power went out. He probably carried emergency road flares in his car trunk, too. Not like anybody in my family. We just hoped for no disasters. We didn’t actually prepare or anything.

I lay back on the rock with my head on Rigby’s side and tried not to fall asleep. Maybe I did, though. Or maybe no time went by at all.

It wasn’t a tug I got on the line. It was a full-fledged fight, right from the start. I sat up fast, and my pole bent nearly in half, and I wondered if it was possible for a fish to break it. But then I decided the line would break first.

I remembered what Paul had taught me. Don’t hurry, but go steady. No slack on the line. I just kept reeling when the fish came up out of the water, and dropped him onto the slickrock a good ten feet from the edge of the pool. He didn’t come off the hook.

Rigby reached her nose out to sniff him, to get the measure of him. But she didn’t try to touch him or get in my way.

I took him by the bottom half of his mouth, the way Paul showed me. But I couldn’t get the hook out. And I felt bad, like I was hurting him by trying. So I just held the hook, so it wouldn’t pull on his mouth, and broke the line. And put him in the creel, in shallow water. Later, before I cooked him, I could take the hook back. It wouldn’t hurt him by then.

I used the same artificial worm, because the fish hadn’t swallowed it, and cast again into the deep part of the pool. But this time, I sat up and faced forward, staring. Ready. Because this time, I believed, something would happen.

I swear, it wasn’t ten minutes later when I reeled in another one.

I thought, This fishing thing is great. It’s like magic. I’d just keep dropping the hook in and pulling them out. Every ten minutes. All morning. Or, anyway, until I’d caught the daily limit, which was five. And then I’d feel bad that I had to stop. Almost like I couldn’t stop. Kind of the way I felt when I was building that last card house, and I got to the fifty-second card.

I thought, Damn that limit thing, anyway. I thought, I wonder if anyone would notice. I wondered how often anybody even checked. Even though I knew I’d probably decide to do it right.

I needn’t have gone to all the bother of wrestling with myself about it. I didn’t catch another thing all morning.

I was napping when the phone rang.

It was about four-thirty in the afternoon. The phone startled me out of a dream, and I woke up on my feet, panting. Still scared, even though I knew by then it was only the phone. I tried to remember the dream, but it was gone.

I didn’t know if I should answer it. I’d forgotten to ask Paul if I should answer his phone if it rang.

I moved closer, watching it, startled by every ring.

On the fourth, I picked it up.

“Hello? This is… the Inverness residence.”

“It’s Paul.”

I let out a boatload of breath I hadn’t even known I’d been holding.

“Oh, thank God. Because I didn’t know if I was supposed to answer your phone.”

“That was fine,” he said. “Just what you did.”

“How’s your brother? Did they do the surgery?”

“Yeah. He’s out. He’s in recovery.”

“How does it look?”

He didn’t answer right away. In fact, he didn’t answer for quite a while. So that’s how I knew.

Finally, finally, he said, “Bad.”

But it didn’t even need saying by then.

“I’m sorry.”

A chunk of quiet. On both ends of the phone.

Then he said, “Remember when you said you could stay all summer if you needed to?”

“Yeah. I still can.”

“Good. Because I want to stay down here. Until…”

But then he didn’t want to say until what. I pretty much knew, though. There was really only one “until” it could be.

“How long, do you think? I don’t mind. I like it here. A lot. I just wondered. You know. My mom’ll ask. So… just so I can tell her.”

“They’re saying two to four months. But probably more like two and less like four. I’ll come back a couple of times, so Rigby doesn’t think I forgot her completely. And, look… I know she’s okay. I mean, she’s healthy. She’s seven and a half, but she’s in good shape. But if anything happens, call me right away. I’ll come back up. If you have to take her to the vet, or she’s acting funny, call me so I can get back. The last thing I want to do is miss the last days with my dog.”

It bothered me that he would say that. I mean, I knew why he said it, and I knew he had to. I just wished it hadn’t been like that. I wished it hadn’t been there to need saying.

“She’s fine. She’s in great shape.”

“I know she is. I’m just a little gun-shy right now. Life seems very impermanent.”

“She’s fine.”

His tone changed, like he’d shaken himself out of a dream. “You have to let me pay you now. If it’s going to be a couple of months.”

“No. No way. Don’t even bring it up again. We’re friends.” A long pause. Then I said, “I’m sorry you’re having to go through all this.”

“Thanks.”

“You can call. You know. If you ever just want to talk about… things.”

Another long pause.

“You know, I just might take you up on that. It’s not the usual me. But it’s not impossible. I’ll keep you posted. I’ll call again soon.”

I could tell he’d done all the talking about heavy stuff he could manage for the time being. So we just wrapped it up quick and got off the phone.

I looked around his house and got hit by this rush of relief that I didn’t have to leave the place anytime soon. It was the kind of place you could get used to.

I fetched the two fish out of the refrigerator and put them back in the creel basket, and then at the last minute decided to cover them up with ice cubes for the walk.

I put on my sneakers, even though they were still wet.

“Come on, Rigby,” I said. “Let’s go see Sophie and my mom and bring them some dinner.”