Page 40 of Grown-Up Second Chance

“Sure.” He backed off.

I ran through a mental checklist. Tip on the ground, slowly lift it up. Go faster. Stop.

The line draped over my shoulders.

Joe was trying not to laugh as he walked over and untangled the line.

“Keep your eye on what you’re doing. The tip of the rod needs to be behind you before you stop. And then you need to immediately reverse the process.” He flipped the line out in front of me. “Again.”

I tried again and managed to get the pile of line behind me this time.

“Hopeless,” I said as he set up the line again. “I’m a klutz. Let’s do something else.” Like coffee. Coffee was safe. You could sit on opposite sides of a table. Far away from each other.

“You can do this. I know you can.” He lifted my chin and looked into my eyes. “Stop thinking so hard and trust your body. You’ve got this.”

The next five tries weren’t any better, but he refused to let me give up.

Tip down, lift, speed, stop, reverse.

To my surprise, the line unfurled behind me, then arced in front to land in the grass ahead of me.

“I did it!”

“You did!” Joe hugged me, and we high-fived. Scattered applause came from the watchers.

I grinned at them and took a bow.

“Are we done now?” I asked. “Please say we’re done.”

“You are … for today. We’ll practice more tomorrow.”

“But I’ve got it,” I protested.

He laughed. “Now you have to learn how to make the fly go where you want it to go.”

“Oh, that.”

“Yes,” he said. “That.” He rewound the line. “Let’s grab a thermos of tea and go to the river. Do you have your phone?”

“Yes, why?”

“I thought I’d do some fishing, show you some of the spots where the fish like to hang out. You could take pictures.” He looked at my feet. “Or if you wanted to wade out with me, we could do some casts together.”

“Don’t I need waders?”

“Water isn’t all that cold, and we won’t be in it that long,” he said.

“Sure.” Liz was off painting again, and Kathleen had set up the loom she’d brought with her, so I was on my own. Spending time with Joe was easy.

Except for those moments when he got way too close.

~ ~ ~

I sat on the bank of the river, watching Joe cast. The late afternoon shadows drifted over the water rushing from one place to another. It seemed to whisper as it moved along the banks, telling its secrets in a voice so soft I couldn’t grasp its meaning.

Birds I had no hope of identifying flitted from one branch to another, some as silent as their shadows, others declaring their territory in loud, raucous notes.

The greens of the newly-leafed cottonwoods faded back into the darker notes of lodgepole pines and spruces. The grass was high, and every so often a curious doe stopped by to check out the show.

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