Playing Hurt

Clint

deflection





I’m on the path just behind the cabin, still hoping I’ll get one more glimpse of Chelsea, when the cabin door flaps open.

She’s wearing a sundress that makes me remember Willie Walleye Day … and kissing her that night for the very first time. From this distance, her voice sounds like the bells on wind chimes. Chattering on about Brandon, I think, as I pick up a few stray words here and there.

She stands beside the SUV, waiting for her mom to unlock the doors. I’m pretty sure she could never look any more beautiful than she does right now, standing in the soft evening light … because I can tell, by the way her head keeps turning toward the nearby docks and walking trails, that she’s searching for me.

Her mom’s on the driver’s side of the SUV when Chelsea finally swivels enough to catch a glimpse of me on the trail. A sly smile spreads as she raises her hand, as if to push hair out of her face. But her hand twists, her fingers flap toward me, and I realize she’s trying to wave at me without her mom noticing.

Tomorrow, I mouth, and even though I’ve got to be too far away for Chelsea to read my lips, I swear she nods her head once—as if to agree—before slipping into the SUV and pulling away for the night.

I’m whistling as I wander down the dirt path toward the lodge. Whistling, of all the crazy things. But I can’t quit. As I’m walking, I realize I’m jiggling the decoy poles a little so that the bobbers will knock together, jingle. Add a little percussion to my song.

I quit when I see her.

She’s swinging her legs from the edge of the dock, a fishing pole at her side. Leaning back on her palms. Wavy chestnut hair going all crazy down her chest. “I finally decided to come out with you,” she says.

“Kenzie,” I say, “I was—” But I don’t have any idea how to finish my sentence. I just sigh, close my mouth.

“Never mind,” she says, shaking her head. “Dumb idea, anyway.”

“No,” I insist, because I feel like a jackass for embarrassing her. “Let’s go—come on. I’m free for the night, now, my—my group decided not to—ah—” Everything I say is stupid.

She stands, grabbing up her pole. “Forget it.” She walks to the edge of the dock, her sneakers thunking against the boards. She pats my arm, stares at my soaked hair, smiles. “You’re awfully wet for never having gotten into your boat,” she observes, nodding her head once toward the Minnow.

I just stare at her, not sure what to do next.

“Don’t worry,” she says with a laugh. “I’m not going to tell Earl about you and your—client.” She wiggles her fingers as she says the last word, framing it in air quotes.

“There’s nothing to tell … Kenzie!” I shout.

But she walks toward the lodge, deaf to my lies.