Page 8 of Next in Line
I glance at my watch and am gutted when I see it’s only been four minutes. It feels like we’ve been at this for at least an hour. Is my watch broken?
More minutes tick by.
Or is it seconds?
Is there a weird wrinkle in time here on this lake where everything slows down? And flipping heck, why is it so quiet? This silence is excruciating. All I hear is the cold wind outside and the faint crackle of the propane heater every once in a while. No city or traffic sounds…nothing!
We’re all alone out here. The only other ice house is on the other side of the lake and probably wouldn’t even hear my cries over the wind.
“Let some—”
“Ahh!” I scream, my eyes going wide in horror as I realize Sam’s voice just made me jump like the dumb girl in all horror films.
“Jesus hell, what’s wrong?” Sam asks, turning to gawk at me with worry.
I shake my head aggressively. “Nothing.”
“You scream like that when nothing’s wrong?” he asks. I can feel his eyes on me, but I can’t bring myself to look at them.
“Your voice just…surprised me,” I chirp.
He’s staring at me now. He’s staring at me in that silent, easy way he has about him. “Were you doing some deep thinking there, sparky?”
“No,” I balk defensively, and then my brows lift. “Or maybe I was!” I look at him with wide, excited eyes. “I mean, my imagination was certainly taking flight. Do you think that’s deep thinking?”
“I have no fucking idea,” Sam replies with a laugh and a shake of his head. “But I know screaming like that is going to scare all the fish away…so maybe, try to deep think a little more shallow.”
I smile at that remark because at least he didn’t accuse me of being basic. After another moment of silence, I finally ask, “So this is it?”
Sam jiggles his line a bit, letting more slack down into the hole. “This is it.”
“You just…sit out here and wait?”
He nods. “They’ll come.”
“How do you know?”
“I don’t know…Marv knows. If Marv says they’ll come, they’ll come.”
“Is this like a fishingField of Dreamsmoment or something?” I ask curiously and then lower the timbre of my voice to sound deep and soulful. “If you fish it, they will come.”
Sam angles his shoulders to face me and watches me with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. He licks his lips as though he’s about to say something but then just as quickly turns back to his pole and remains silent. He’s so good at the silent.
I exhale heavily and try to figure out why I’m not good at silence. I wanted to come out here to be alone with my thoughts and reflect, so I shouldn’t need to fill the silence like this. What’s that say about me?
“A nice cold glass of Chardonnay would be really good right about now. I’m sure most fishermen drink beer, but I hate beer, and I don’t see why you couldn’t have wine too. It’s not a highbrow beverage like some people think. A gas station by my parents’ house sells really good Chardonnay three for ten bucks. And it comes with a twist-off top so you could drink it right out of the bottle if you wanted! And with how cool it is out here? You wouldn’t even need a bottle chiller. Just stuff it in some snow, and you’re all set. I feel like wine should be the official drink of ice fishing!”
I laugh awkwardly and turn my face away from Sam in mortification. My inane rambling needs to stop like immediately. Maybe if I turn the attention to Sam, that’ll help me shut the heck up.
“So why do you like ice fishing so much, Sam?” I ask, turning to him.
“Do you hate it already?” he replies with a smirk.
“No!” I exclaim, my chest rising defensively. “I’m just trying to learn more about the appeal, that’s all.”
He shrugs. “I grew up ice fishing with my dad. I was the only son, so it was kind of our thing to get away from all the estrogen in our house.”
“Does your dad still come out here with you?”
