Reclining in the prominent prow of the green drift boat, Luke watched his father steer them down the untamed Suiattle River. The twin wooden oars rose, shedding water droplets that sparkled in the early morning sunlight, before plunking back into the cold body of the river. Gliding toward a promising logjam, the borrowed aluminum boat parted a thin layer of pale mist and stalled in a stretch of slow water. Within easy throw of a familiar fishing-hole, Luke leaned to one side and made a crude cast with his father’s old rod. The spinner flashed ahead of a gossamer bow of silver line before the barbed lure pierced the milky surface of the glacial-fed water.
“Where’s the damn fish you promised?” Luke asked.
“They’re out there, Son,” Abe said. “I could see the Lord’s hand in that cast. With a little more faith—”
“Just shut up and row, old man.”
Abe pursed his lips before dipping the oars into the water that washed down from the hidden heights of Glacier Peak.
As Luke slowly reeled in the line, the tip of the rod suddenly jiggled. He snapped the rod back, sending the silver jig’s treble-hooks zinging through the air a few inches from his father’s face. Exploding with frustration, Luke hurled the rod onto the floor of the boat with a bamboo-on-metal clatter, and proceeded to fill the surrounding peace with curses that would impress even the surliest logger.
“Bet a freaking foreigner made that shitty rod,” Luke said, knowing that his father had made it as a boy while living out on the Sauk Prairie, just south of the river.
Zipping up his jacket, Luke slumped back in the prow. I never should a come out here. My buddies find out I’m hanging with this old fart and they’ll ride my ass for a month of Sundays.
“Reel the line in and let’s try another hole. Ain’t caught enough for supper let alone what Mother’s expecting to put away in the freezer. If you’d have a little more patience—”
“Not my fault the fish ain’t bitin’. Nothing you got’s worth a shit anyway.” Luke kicked the discarded rod before reaching into the cooler to retrieve a beer. Here’s one thing we got in common, long as he’s buying.
Without acknowledging his son’s outburst, Abe reached over and picked up the old cane pole. Reeling in the line, he carefully leaned the rod beside him. Then with a practiced rhythm, he rowed the boat into a slow-moving channel and stowed the oars. Getting a beer of his own, he sat back to enjoy the view along the riverbank, where Sitka willow and black cottonwood passed in a slow procession. The fall breeze steadily blew down the valley and the tree leaves quaked between silver and fading green, like a ticker tape parade with confetti that never fell.
The more his father relaxed, the more Luke’s annoyance grew. “You treat that stupid rod better’n you do me.” He watched as his father ignored the comment and continued gazing at the bank. My old man won’t even admit the salmon’s nearly gone—or that it’s cheaper to buy it in a can ‘stead a wasting our time out here. Still, least my family ain’t stooping to welfare like them Cousins.
A low thunk followed by a harsh scrape signaled a submerged rock, and Luke lifted his head as the prow scattered another gray tentacle of river mist. This was a lot more fun when I was a kid. Back then I didn’t know no better. Then again, back then I didn’t have to….
His thoughts drifted, returning to memories of times when he and his family still lived beside the river: five years old again, he played along the bank with his father; twelve years old, he picnicked with his family, hearing his mother’s laughter; at sixteen, swimming with his boyhood companion, a gregarious wolf-hound mix named Brodie. What happened to the good times with my family—what happened to me?
The fire, that’s what… and a boatload of dumbass mistakes ending with my biggest—Lina. If it weren’t for her, Holly and me would still be together….
The boat lurched, redirected from below, and Luke reached out to steady himself. The boat’s bare metal passed the river chill to his hands and the resulting shiver cleared his mind. Noticing his father staring at him, Luke blushed as if his private thoughts and failings were on full display.
“I should a stayed in town and got laid,” Luke said, enjoying his father’s grimace. The comment did nothing to relieve the empty feeling in his chest. Chicken-shit. Holly’s gone. Accept it and move on. He wrapped his arms around his chest. Not ‘til we’re together again or she says to my face she don’t want me no more….
Abe retrieved the oars and pulled, halting their progress. Behind the row of trees on the quiet bank, Luke spied a familiar ridge. Covered by evergreens, the low hillside signaled they would soon reach the mouth of the Suiattle and join the greater flows of the Sauk River. The ridge also marked the riverfront of their former homestead.
Luke’s eyes narrowed when he noticed the lone man sitting on the bank with a large black dog that began to bark in excitement. The man stood and waved before climbing the bank and disappearing into the thick underbrush. The dog remained, staring at Luke, until seconds later, a whistle sounded and the dog vanished as well.
“I hate that prick,” Luke said, spitting toward the far bank. “He ought a go back to wherever the hell he came from.”
Leaning to the side, Luke whipped his empty beer can starboard, skipping it with a spin across the water’s surface. The red-and-gold whirligig slowed, took a lazy sip from the milky river, and then flipped upright to bob like an aluminum cork as it floated behind. Sagging back onto a bright orange flotation pillow, he saw the melancholy return to his father’s eyes. Abe shook his head and then drew back the corner of his mouth in a frown.
“Thought our river runs cheered you up,” Luke said.
“Things is changing,” Abe replied.
“No shit. None’s for the better either.”
“That’s just the point. I spent my whole life making that place back there a home for our family. Now look at me, ain’t no difference between me and some migrant-worker, except the color of my skin.”
“Stop it,” Luke said, unable to meet his father’s eyes. Grabbing another beer, he glared at the far bank.
“I understand a man wanting to mend his ways by leaving a big city,” Abe continued. “It ain’t a place for God-fearing folk.”
“That bastard’s still gonna take what he wants, ‘til nothings left for the rest of us.”
“Russ says Renshaw’s got another home in Seattle. That ain’t very Christian-like, not when folks like us has lost everything and don’t even got one home.” Abe sighed, looking down at his hands. “Guess a man can’t know the Lord’s mind. And like the good book says, ‘judge not less ye be judged.’”
“That prick’s the one judging us by flauntin’ all he’s got in our faces. Just proves it all comes down to cold hard cash. How far’s faith got you, or anyone else? Nowhere, less you’re a preacher at one of them TV churches.”
“Now, Son—”
“Well? He got no right stealing our place. Shit, you had no right selling us out either. I would a bought it.” Luke’s face twisted with anger and frustration. But I didn’t help by tuckin’ tail when it counted. If I hadn’t, maybe we wouldn’t be drifting out here looking at what we lost…watching some outsider build his dream right over ours….
“Where would you find that kind a money, short of—” Abe went silent.
“Short’a what? You was gonna say ‘short a stealin’?’ You’ll never give me a break, will ya?”
Growling in exasperation, his father took a long draw from his beer.
“What’s done is done,” Abe said in resignation. “We’ll make do with what the Lord sees fit. Gotta pay the bills, even if that means swallowing our pride and helping Renshaw build his damn cabin. How you think that makes me feel? Russ says Renshaw even forbid me from drinking on the place. Who’s that man think he is, telling me the way things is in my own valley? I was pissing beer before that man was even born.”
Abe hurled his half-full beer can toward the far shore; it spun out a pale liquid stream before plunking below the water’s surface. Luke’s eyebrows rose while his father’s face flushed with guilt.
“Good to see you still got some balls after all. Maybe we should put that Renshaw in his place again,” Luke said, thinking of the first time he had met the man. Bet I can convince the deputy to look the other way a second time for one of his buddies, long as—
“You leave things well enough alone. I don’t need no more calls from Sheriff Hooper ‘bout you. Besides, I ain’t gonna stop drinking except maybe when Mister Renshaw’s around. He’s only there on weekends, so I just keep on doing like I always do.”
Taking up the oars, Abe pulled angrily against the current and worked the boat through a section of shallow riffles. As they passed into deeper water, he rubbed the stiff joint of one knee and pulled the collar of his coat tighter around his neck.
“Why don’t you row a while so’s I can fish?” Abe asked, as his belly grumbled from hunger.
“You’re doing fine, old man,” Luke said, watching the familiar riverfront fall away. Lina’s right. I should do something to get our place back ‘stead a sitting on my ass whining. I’ll get Chad to help and then….
“At least let’s find something we can both enjoy talking about…,” Abe said.
The drift boat continued downriver in silence while Luke began scheming to get his family back on their feet—and back onto their old homestead. He felt a glimmer of hope that he would finally be released from the rut in his life.
Then I’ll be free to find Holly.