sleep around. He's got Juney.
He's a good guy. But he needs to see me without the Artie fence…moat…walls…guards on the walls…hot boiling vats of oil on the walls.
I've let down the drawbridge.
Jessica? For real?
No and no. Even if it wasn't me…not her. He doesn't know what he needs. He never has. He thinks of Juney and he floats along. His hair looks great, I'll give her that…but no I won't. His hair always looks great.
I wipe my nose and sigh and give him the doe eyes like he's made me see the light. I rub the bare shoulder and yeah his hungry starving eyes lose their righteous glint for a few flickering seconds, and he clears his throat and tells me to get downstairs, and he gets out of there and the film on my potential blockbuster snaps off the reel.
I've got a lot of fishing to do.
Chapter 9
Marcus is right about the water. A plan unfolds accordion-like pages, endless scenarios. I'm getting my old job back, that's a given. They say you can't go home…maybe I never really left. It's The Truman Show …my life. Chicago was an illusion.
I wish.
"Bedilia," Dad calls, his gloved hand closing on a beautiful shimmering fish which he holds for my perusal then drops into the basket at his side.
I give out a "Whoot," from upstream, and Marcus does the same further up.
I sigh as I look at him…Marcus, not Dad…standing in the lazy current, the brightness creating an arch around his…I fumble to put my pole under my arm and dig my phone out of my bra. I snap a picture of Marcus, and he's looking at me.
I make the slightest move, he looks. Possibly afraid I'll drown and take out Artie. But I'm not shy about the picture taking if he even gets what I'm doing.
I have a collection in a file on my phone. I need an update. Waders and a wife beater…I'm freaking freezing, but he's already told me he runs hot.
So it's back to fishing and letting my plan unfold, and he's making his way to me now. Least I like to think so.
"Hey," he says, lifting the lid on his basket to show me two fat ones. We're very close, and I look up at him, and it's a little like looking straight into the sun, but I don't squint.
He does. He squints behind his dark glasses. I love the way the sides of his eyes have that crinkle. I love his shoulders, roundy but straight across. His lips…they could eat the corn off my cob any day. That's gross, but you get my meaning.
He smirks at me a little and walks around me shaking his head. Yeah, whatever. Deal.
Chapter 10
Dad wanted to cook the catch right here at the picnic site which is no surprise, he loves to do that, so he fusses around and makes the fire and puts his two beauties on the grill. He's telling me all about purchasing Billy's.
"You're the one who told me I need to think about my future," he says as he carefully seasons the fish.
"Sure but...did you announce this at the station? Two years?"
"I'm ready pumpkin face," Dad says.
My eyes jet Marcus's way already knowing he's smirking. He loves when Dad calls me that. He knows I love-slash-hate it because I don't have a round face. It's heart-shaped, and he turns me into an adolescent girl when he says that, not the sexy siren I'm trying to be here as I crunch handfuls of potato chips.
"Hey…want to see a natural arch?" Marcus says bringing Artie the last of the fish cleaned and ready.
"Get over yourself, Stover. I'm not looking down your throat," I say.
"Suit yourself," he says walking off. He's put on a dry t-shirt, and he wears his jeans again. My very favorite nearly disintegrated ones.
"Don't take too long," Artie calls.
"Back to the law?" I ask trying to catch up to Marcus and zip my jacket while I continue our conversation from this morning. "I thought you gave that up when you joined the department."
He isn't ruffled by my question. "Nose is red," he says flicking the bill on my cap.
"I hate that," I say like a girl, holding onto my sun-sensitive nose that defies sunscreen.
He laughs. "Don't be a
He's a good guy. But he needs to see me without the Artie fence…moat…walls…guards on the walls…hot boiling vats of oil on the walls.
I've let down the drawbridge.
Jessica? For real?
No and no. Even if it wasn't me…not her. He doesn't know what he needs. He never has. He thinks of Juney and he floats along. His hair looks great, I'll give her that…but no I won't. His hair always looks great.
I wipe my nose and sigh and give him the doe eyes like he's made me see the light. I rub the bare shoulder and yeah his hungry starving eyes lose their righteous glint for a few flickering seconds, and he clears his throat and tells me to get downstairs, and he gets out of there and the film on my potential blockbuster snaps off the reel.
I've got a lot of fishing to do.
Chapter 9
Marcus is right about the water. A plan unfolds accordion-like pages, endless scenarios. I'm getting my old job back, that's a given. They say you can't go home…maybe I never really left. It's The Truman Show …my life. Chicago was an illusion.
I wish.
"Bedilia," Dad calls, his gloved hand closing on a beautiful shimmering fish which he holds for my perusal then drops into the basket at his side.
I give out a "Whoot," from upstream, and Marcus does the same further up.
I sigh as I look at him…Marcus, not Dad…standing in the lazy current, the brightness creating an arch around his…I fumble to put my pole under my arm and dig my phone out of my bra. I snap a picture of Marcus, and he's looking at me.
I make the slightest move, he looks. Possibly afraid I'll drown and take out Artie. But I'm not shy about the picture taking if he even gets what I'm doing.
I have a collection in a file on my phone. I need an update. Waders and a wife beater…I'm freaking freezing, but he's already told me he runs hot.
So it's back to fishing and letting my plan unfold, and he's making his way to me now. Least I like to think so.
"Hey," he says, lifting the lid on his basket to show me two fat ones. We're very close, and I look up at him, and it's a little like looking straight into the sun, but I don't squint.
He does. He squints behind his dark glasses. I love the way the sides of his eyes have that crinkle. I love his shoulders, roundy but straight across. His lips…they could eat the corn off my cob any day. That's gross, but you get my meaning.
He smirks at me a little and walks around me shaking his head. Yeah, whatever. Deal.
Chapter 10
Dad wanted to cook the catch right here at the picnic site which is no surprise, he loves to do that, so he fusses around and makes the fire and puts his two beauties on the grill. He's telling me all about purchasing Billy's.
"You're the one who told me I need to think about my future," he says as he carefully seasons the fish.
"Sure but...did you announce this at the station? Two years?"
"I'm ready pumpkin face," Dad says.
My eyes jet Marcus's way already knowing he's smirking. He loves when Dad calls me that. He knows I love-slash-hate it because I don't have a round face. It's heart-shaped, and he turns me into an adolescent girl when he says that, not the sexy siren I'm trying to be here as I crunch handfuls of potato chips.
"Hey…want to see a natural arch?" Marcus says bringing Artie the last of the fish cleaned and ready.
"Get over yourself, Stover. I'm not looking down your throat," I say.
"Suit yourself," he says walking off. He's put on a dry t-shirt, and he wears his jeans again. My very favorite nearly disintegrated ones.
"Don't take too long," Artie calls.
"Back to the law?" I ask trying to catch up to Marcus and zip my jacket while I continue our conversation from this morning. "I thought you gave that up when you joined the department."
He isn't ruffled by my question. "Nose is red," he says flicking the bill on my cap.
"I hate that," I say like a girl, holding onto my sun-sensitive nose that defies sunscreen.
He laughs. "Don't be a
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