Page 6 of Next in Line
Let’s do some ice fishing!
I wrench open the ragged shower curtain that Marv calls a dressing room and do a spin for Sam, who I belatedly realize is literally asleep on the log bench that lines the nearby wall. His head is propped against a cork board and his mouth is hanging open as he breathes deeply in and out.
Talk about anticlimactic.
He sent me in here with a mound of clothes like I was Julia Roberts fromPretty Womanon a shopping spree, and I guess I just expected him to applaud or something when I came out. Maybe a little ogling. But no, Mr. Fisherman is out cold with his mouth hanging open so wide, I can see his molars!
I clomp over to him in my new snow boots and clap my silicone gloves together in front of his face. He jumps out of his chair and lets out a weird gurgle of a shout. “He said we could fish here!”
“What the heck?” I exclaim, covering my mouth as I giggle. “Were you dreaming?”
“Don’t wake me like that,” he growls, clearly agitated as he runs his hand through his beard to wipe away his drool.
“How am I supposed to know how to wake you? I just met you!”
“Wake me like a normal, functioning human, maybe.”
“Maybe you should stop falling asleep in public places, gramps.”
He frowns at that last word. “Well hell, you’ve been in there changing for over twenty minutes. I got bored.”
“You try getting this stuff on! It’s not easy, and I can barely move in it.” I put my hands on my waist and spread my legs, trying to test out my range of motion in this giant red and white snowsuit. It’s not much.
Sam finally takes me in and nods thoughtfully. “You look prepared, though. This is appropriate apparel for winter sports.” Standing to his full height, he’s a good five inches taller than me, which is saying a lot because I’m five foot nine. He reaches out and flicks the big red ball on top of my stocking cap.
“Do I look like a fisherwoman?” I ask, unable to hide my beaming smile.
“Definitely.” He nods, looking down my body with an interesting look I can’t quite place.
“Were you seriously dreaming about fishing there just a second ago?” I ask, my giggle bubbling up through my lips again.
“No,” he barks back with a frown. Turning on his heel, he calls over his shoulder, “Let’s go…we’re losing daylight.”
I move to follow him and then freeze. He turns when he doesn’t hear me behind him. “What is it?”
My face contorts in dread. “I have to pee.”
Twelve and a half minutes later, I’m redressed, have purchased my fishing license and gear, and am outside looking around for Sam’s truck. Bearded guys always drive trucks, right? He’s like the ginger-bearded Brawny man, for goodness’ sake. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if he drove a tow truck.
“Where’s your truck?” I ask, my breath puffing out in front of my lips as I find Sam propped against the side of the bait shop.
“No truck,” he replies and points at the parking spot behind me.
I turn around. “Oh my gosh, a snowmobile? Bonus!” I crunch over the packed snow to awkwardly throw my foot over the seat and climb aboard. I grab the handlebars and smile at him. “Do you drive this out on the ice?”
He nods and strides over to the back of the sled. “It’s a lot safer than a truck.” He double checks the items he has strapped down on the back of the bench and then straightens to eye me one more time. “This is your last chance to back out. You feel how cold it is, right?”
“I’m not backing out!” I exclaim and grip the handles even tighter as I picture us gliding across a frozen lake. What freedom, what a rush! Wide-open air and smooth, cold ice. I bite my lip and look over my shoulder at Sam. “Can I drive?”
“Hell no,” he replies and hands me a shiny black helmet that he just ripped the tag off of.
“Did you just buy this?” I ask, looking down at the clearly brand new helmet.
He nods. “While you were changing for nineteen hours.”
“Was this before or after your grandpa nap?” I mumble under my breath as I pull my stocking cap off and replace it with the helmet. My voice is muffled when I state proudly, “Now I really feel like a fisherwoman.”
“You don’t need a helmet to fish there, sparky,” he states, then hooks his thumb to silently command me to slide back on the bench as he folds himself in front of me.
