Floater Part 3: On the Water
I Have A New Project
This is the third of a five part series. Part 1 is here, and Part 2 is here.
It rained today, alternately pouring, then misting. We had one of those storms that moves slowly across the state, cycling from southeast to northwest; picking up energy over land and dropping rain as it cools. I spent the day relaxing with the happy thought that apple harvest, while certain and soon, was at least not today.
I want a boat. Nothing special, or large, just a boat I can use to fish the bay. So I spent a fair amount of time wandering around sites that sell plans for boat builds. At one point Mary looked over my shoulder and saw what I was scrolling through.
“You want to build a boat now? Don’t you have enough projects going?” she asked.
I wouldn’t normally have spent much time on a question like that, but today, at ease and cheerful, I decided to not only answer her pointed query, but persuade her of both the need for a boat and its infinite ability to add to our future happiness:
“Dear, dear, dear, I know you did not grow up on the water and have little care for it. But for me, nothing could be further from the truth. I grew up with rowboats, ski boats, canoes and sailboats. None of them were anything special but they got you out on the water. There was really not a summer’s day that went by when we, my brother and I, did not get into one boat or the other and have a small adventure. I mean, there was one time when we drove a rowboat along the shore of the lake and came to an area thick with bull rushes. Somehow we found a little path through the bull rushes and made our way back to a small inlet, maybe the size of two football fields, where the water was so clean you could see the fish swim along, and along the overgrown shore we saw wild chickens. Another time we took a ride up a small river and saw wild horses grazing in the tall grass. And we found places to fish, where we could pull up a fish almost as soon as the hook hit the water. We even setup nightlines sometimes, and hauled in huge catfish, and there was the time when my brother Jim caught a fish so big that it towed us over a mile before the line broke. It was hilarious too, at times. One time my Dad took us out to fish on a Wednesday morning and told us a bunch of barbershop jokes that I did not yet comprehend, though they did. When we got home and sat down for lunch I decided to amuse Mom with them, and you can imagine how that turned out; my brother was so mad at me because he thought Dad would never tell us jokes like that again, and he was right, sure. And of course there was the time when we took a boat up the river all the way to the Canadian National rail lines, and they left me on the track and threatened to leave. I came this close to being run over by a train, and he made me promise not to tell, which I kept, and then he told the story on my wedding day, as my best man. You see, boats have always been a part of my life, and nearly ended it. So yes, we must have a boat. But just a small one, one to fish the bay with, and you of course will be the beneficiary of my efforts with delicious fish dinners.”
”Whatever,” Mary replied, either thoroughly persuaded or whittled down to unenthusiastic agreement, it didn’t matter. She was now ‘on board’.
I saw us then, two boys with their summer brush cuts, sitting in a rowboat, moving along the shore. Fishing, we were always fishing. Rain on a steel roof can be very pleasant, and today, unhurried by work or worry, my eyelids closed and a heavy, warm sleep fell over me.
I approached the house, but not on the bridge this time. I headed for a side door. It was open. There was a small landing, and to the left stairs led deeper to a sublevel, where there was a light on. I heard voices; they were not friendly. Straight ahead a couple of steps led to the first floor, but it was so dark I could see nothing past the last step. Neither option was good. I hesitated, and finally turned back.
I saw Mary next to the sofa. “Are you ok?” she asked. I closed my eyes, unable to muster an answer. “You were making a lot of noise,” she added. I woke gradually and sat up.
The afternoon rolled along. I never fell back asleep, but never completely shook the sleep off. Towards supper time the sky finally lifted and lightened, a small breeze came up. I decided to take this break in the weather, which may or may not hold up, and put the turkeys up for the night.
When I opened the barn door I was not surprised to find Caz there, again. “What a lovely day we had,” he joked.
“It was alright for me, caught up with some well deserved rest, I’m not complaining,” I answered.
“Ah right, you never do, right, complain I mean, you just float along,” Caz stated, not menacing, but challenging.
“Well, I’ve never liked hearing complaints, so I make as few as possible, just get on with it,” I answered, immediately aware of how ridiculous this sounded.
“Right, right, get on with it. OK,” Caz started, “so I withheld the fact that this was my brother, on the beach. That’s where I left it earlier. Not as easily said as done, keeping a secret like this. I had to unburden myself at that moment, my head was whirring, trying to understand what I had seen, my brother, my niece, and I was dripping wet with sweat. Well, you have the idea I guess. So the long and short of it is that I told my partner. He was at first extremely empathetic, as you would expect if you knew him, a very decent man, but when he heard my plan to withhold the knowledge that the body belonged to my brother he was, how to put it, amazed and not in a good way. “Why would you do that, why,” he kept asking. And of course he was right, but I had my reasons, I have my reasons to this day. How my brother died was extremely personal to me, extremely difficult to understand or talk about. I begged him to stop questioning me, and then I leaned on him to keep it between us. At first all he would say is “then you shouldn’t have told me Caz!” but I finally got him to agree to 24, 24 hours and then I would own up, tell the truth.”
“On the ride back to the office, he asked me why he’d never heard of this brother. ‘I don’t like lying,’ I said. Which is true, and I have a hard time telling the truth about him.”
With the turkeys locked in their roost I wandered back to the house. There was a break in the western sky and the last of the day’s sun lit up the hills across the road.
“What do you see?” Mary asked.
“It’s always such a sight,” I noted. Mary came up behind me and gave me a hug.
“I think those turkeys have become your new best friends,” Mary said.
“You’re jealous?” I laughed.
“You’ve been quiet lately, I’m a little concerned,” she replied.
“Caz gives me lots to think about,” I replied.
“You saw him again?” she asked in disbelief.
“No, no, but we talked,” I half confessed.
“What does a retired state trooper make you think about?” she asked.
“Fishing, the past, you know, this and that,” I replied, hoping to put the conversation to bed.
I felt her looking at me, wondering what I meant, but not knowing what to ask next. We stood together in the driveway between the barn and the house and watched the last of the day fade away to dusk.