There were already half a dozen men fishing from the pier by the time he started toward the steps, and he watched as one began to reel something in. It was too far away to make out any detail, but he took it as a good sign. He doubted whether he’d keep anything he caught; there was too much food in the refrigerator as it was. Nor was he in the mood to clean anything, especially since the knife in the tackle box seemed dull. But catching something was always a thrill.
Entering the shop, he saw shelves filled with snacks and drinks crowding the center aisles; along the back wall was a grill that offered hot food. Assorted fishing gear was perched on racks and hung on pegs; near the door was a cooler, with a sign advertising bait. Tru plucked out a couple of containers of shrimp and brought them to the register. There was a fee to fish from the pier as well, and after receiving his change, Tru strolled out the door, past a pay phone, and down the pier. Despite the overcast sky, the sun had broken through momentarily, glinting hard off the water.
Most of the people were clustered near the end, and assuming they knew more than he did, he took up a spot in their vicinity. Unlike the tackle box, the fishing pole was in like-new condition, and after baiting and weighting the line, he cast out into the water.
In the corner of the pier a radio was playing, something country-western. Strangely, Andrew was a fan of Garth Brooks and George Strait, though Tru had no idea how he’d ever encountered their songs. When Andrew had mentioned their names a few months back, Tru had stared at him blankly, at which point Andrew had insisted that Tru listen to “Friends in Low Places.” It was catchy, he had to admit, but nothing could touch Tru’s loyalty to the Beatles.
Whether consciously or subconsciously, Tru had selected the side of the pier that allowed him a view of Hope’s cottage in the distance. He reflected on their dinner and walk, realizing that she’d made him feel at ease the entire evening. For all their heady attraction, he’d seldom felt that way with Kim; all too often, he’d felt as though he was disappointing her. And even though they were now friends, there were times that he still felt as though he was disappointing her, especially when it came to the time he spent with Andrew.
He’d also been taken with the way Hope had spoken about her friends and family. It was clear that she genuinely cared for all of them. She was naturally empathetic, not just sympathetic, and people like that struck him as rare. He’d sensed it even when they’d spoken about Andrew.
Thinking about his son, he now wished he had postponed leaving for the trip, given that he wouldn’t see his father until Saturday afternoon. It was odd that the man hadn’t called to explain, but it irritated Tru only with regard to Andrew. He had awakened in the morning missing his son, and resolved to give Andrew a call from the pay phone he’d passed. It would have to be collect and the charges would be substantial, but Kim would let him reimburse her when he returned. With the time difference, and knowing Andrew was in school and had homework, Tru figured he still had a couple of hours to wait. He was already looking forward to his flight home on Monday.
Except…
Raising his eyes toward Hope’s cottage again, he smiled when he saw her trailing after Scottie as he trotted down the walkway, then the steps. At the beach, she bent over, releasing Scottie from the leash, and the dog took off running. There were no seagulls nearby, but he’d find them; of that Tru had no doubt. As he watched, he wondered whether Hope was thinking about him, and hoped that she’d enjoyed their evening together as much as he had.
She drew farther from the pier with every step, her image growing smaller. He watched her anyway, until he registered a light movement on his line. When he felt a tug, he jerked the tip of the rod upward, sinking the hook, and all at once, the pull on the line intensified. He lowered the tip and began winding the reel, keeping just enough tension on the line, and was struck again by how strong fish were, no matter their size. They were all muscle. But he played the game, knowing the fish would eventually tire.
Continuing to work the reel, he watched as a strange-looking fish eventually emerged from the water at the end of his line. He swung it to the pier, having no idea what to make of it. It was flat and oval, with two eyes on its back. Using the toe of his boot to keep it from flapping, he plucked a glove and pair of pliers from the toolbox and began to remove the hook, trying not to damage the fish’s mouth. As he was working, he heard a voice beside him.
“That’s a helluva flounder. Big enough to keep, too.”
Tru glanced up and saw an older man with a baseball cap, wearing clothes that were several sizes too large. He had a gap where his front teeth should have been and his accent, much heavier than Hope’s, was difficult to understand.
“Is that what it is?”
“Don’t tell me you ain’t never seen a flounder before.”
“This is a first.”
The man squinted at him. “Where you from?”
Wondering whether the man had ever heard of Zimbabwe, he simply said, “Africa.”
“Africa! You don’t look like you’re from Africa.”
By then Tru had removed the hook, and setting the pliers aside, he grabbed the fish and was about to toss it over when he heard the man speak up.
“Whatcha doin’?”
“I was going to let it go.”
“Can I have it? I ain’t had much luck yesterday or this morning. I’d sure appreciate some flounder for dinner.”
Tru debated before shrugging. “Sure.”
The man reached over and took the fish, crossing back to the other side of the pier, where it vanished into a small cooler.
“Thank you,” the man called out.
“You’re welcome.”
Tru readied his line again, casting out a second time. By then, Hope was nothing but a smudge in the distance.
He recognized her anyway, and for a long time, he couldn’t take his eyes off her.
Hope kept watch over Scottie, calling for the dog to come whenever he approached the dune, not that he ever seemed to listen. Hoping that Scottie would suddenly begin to obey was an exercise in futility. Of course, it fit perfectly with how her morning was already going.
Immediately after waking, she’d heard the phone begin to ring in the kitchen. Hope had to wrap the blanket around herself and stubbed her toe on the corner as she’d raced to answer it. She’d thought it might be Josh, but she remembered the time difference in the same instant she heard Ellen crying on the other end. Sobbing, actually—at first Hope had no idea what Ellen was trying to tell her. It was all Ellen could do to choke out a few words here and there. Hope initially believed that the wedding had been called off, and it took a while for her to decipher that Ellen was crying about the weather. Between sobs, Ellen informed Hope that it was supposed to start raining later today, and that storms were virtually certain over the weekend.
It struck Hope as a bit of an overreaction, but Ellen remained inconsolable, no matter what she told her. Not that Hope had the chance to do much talking. The phone call was more like listening to a weepy forty-minute monologue about the unfairness of life. As her friend went on and on, Hope leaned against the counter with her legs crossed and toe still throbbing, absently wondering if Ellen would even notice if she set the phone down to use the bathroom. She really, really had to pee, and by the time she was finally able to get Ellen off the phone, she had to ditch the blanket and hobble as fast as she could.
After that, as though some deity had it out for both Tru and Hope, her coffee maker went on the blink. The light came on but the water wouldn’t heat, and Hope debated whether to boil some water and pour it through the grounds. By then, however, Scottie was at the door and she knew that if she didn’t get him outside soon, she would have a mess to clean up. So, throwing on some clothes, she brought her dog to the beach, hoping to salvage the morning with a relaxing walk. But Scottie made that impossible. On two different occasions, he ran to the top of the dune and up someone’s walkway—either trying to find that cat again or purposely attempting to give her a heart attack—and she had to scramble after him. She supposed she could put the leash back on, but Scottie would likely alternate between trying to pull her arm off and sulking, and she wasn’t in the mood for either.