Page 43 of The Sky in Summer
“Turn around,” he says, already dusting off the pebbles and dirt from my ass. He lingers.
“Did you plan that fall, brother?” Nobel says. “This spot has some kind of an effect on the Lyon men.”
“I didn’t but would have if I’d thought of it.”
We resume the trip down. Our arrival on terra firma grabs the fishermen’s attention.
“Hi!” Dove calls. “Layla, you okay?”
She knows my name. Who told her?
“I’m good. Just a bruised ego!”
With a wave of a hand, she dismisses my embarrassment and begins to reel in her line. Gaston and Sam keep at it but send smiles and waves.
Once on steady ground, we walk to the river’s bank. A wide quilt has been laid out. Big pillows sit ready for sunbathers.
“Hi! You must be Layla. I’m Dove.”
She holds the pole to the side and leans in for a cheek kiss.
“Hi. At least you won’t forget me. I’m the one who crashed on approach,” I say.
“It will never be as dramatic an introduction as my Nobel’s!”
“It was important to make an impression,” he says.
“Your ass made a good one in the mud.”
“And you loved it! Come here, baby. I want my weekly kiss.”
“Weekly! You better be nice to me, or it’ll be weekly.”
“We brought beer,” Aargon says.
“Mon deux!”
Gaston must have heard the B word over the river’s song. No wait. He’s hooked one!
“A fish! I have a fish on the line!”
We drop our towels, and the cooler gets left where we stood. Everyone goes where the action is.
“Now what?”
“Bring it in, Grand-Pere! It’s a big one!” Sam yells.
Gaston becomes the old man and the sea. Well, the river. But it’s a sight. His face is as happy as a boy with their first catch. He winds the reel toward himself, and by the struggle it looks like he has Jaws on the line.
“Go, Gaston! You did it!” Dove calls while jumping with joy.
Her unveiled enthusiasm is catchy, and we all start jumping with her.
“You are my Jeremiah Johnson!” Aurora hollers.
Robert Redford’s old movie character pops in my mind. Every man I have ever known loves that film.
He’s biting his bottom lip as the struggle begins to ease.
