Before dawn, Anne shook Sergio’s shoulder. “Get up!”
He rolled over. “Mamma mia! It’s not even light yet. Let me sleep a little longer.”
“We need to get there while the fish are still jumping.” She couldn’t wait to show him Lake Tawas, one of the most romantic places ever. Once he got there, he’d love it. “Come on!”
He got up and threw on his jeans and white dress shirt from the night before.
“That might get ruined. Here.” She handed him a T-shirt she’d bought especially for this day. He pulled it over his head without noticing the openmouthed fish, the dangling hook, and the Bite Me! caption. She smiled, handing him a mug of coffee to go.
Her mother’s garage was filled with gardening equipment, Avon boxes, and the family’s old snowblower. She handed Sergio two fishing poles and her pink tackle box. Then she draped binoculars around her neck and donned her hat with the hooks pinned onto it.
Sergio squinted. “Really?”
“Yes, really. It’s my lucky hat. If I don’t wear it, I won’t catch a thing.”
“But you look like an old man.”
“Don’t worry. No one you know will see us.”
He smirked and chuckled.
She looked up at the cloudless apricot-colored dawn as she closed the car’s trunk. “I sure hope the weather holds.”
Sergio yawned. “The news last night said sunny skies predicted.”
“In Michigan, there’s no such thing as a long-range weather forecast. It can be clear and seventy-five degrees, but then, within no time, the nimbostratus will rush in and ruin it all. Besides, the lake can get breezy. Better grab a jacket.”
“I’ll be fine.” He sipped his coffee.
She headed back into the garage and grabbed a fluorescent-green windbreaker from the rack. “Let’s take this just in case.”
“But it’s an XXXL.”
She threw it in the back. “Want to stop at Walmart and get you one that fits?” She glanced at his frowning face. “You’ve probably never even been to a Walmart.”
He didn’t answer.
They drove south and within a half hour arrived at the lake. Purple hyacinth lined the beach beside the dock. A frog jumped on the sandy shore. A goose led her five goslings single file on a morning swim.
“Isn’t it beautiful here?”
“It’s a big lake.” He didn’t sound very happy. “I can barely see all the way to the other side.”
“Yes, and it goes down that way for miles.” She hopped off the dock into the boat and set down the cooler. Sergio handed her the life vests, tackle box, and fishing poles. Then she reached for his outstretched hand. He grasped it with tight lips and climbed aboard, the boat rocking to and fro.
“You can swim, can’t you?” she teased, and sat on the backbench seat near the motor.
“Of course.” He landed on the seat facing her.
“Ready?”
He saluted her. “Aye, aye, captain.”
She tightened the hat strap under her chin, revved the motor, and took off across the gray-green lake, trying to avoid the blooming water lilies. Cattails rose above the water like Chippewa spears.
Along the bank, maple tree branches waved goodbye to them in the gentle breeze. The leaves blew upside down, which meant a storm was on its way. She wouldn’t mention that to Sergio, though. He wouldn’t believe her.
In the center of the lake, she cut the motor and smiled. “This is a good spot.”
“What makes you say so?”
“No reeds and deep water.”
He looked down into the depths.
“Want me to show you how to bait your hook and cast?” she asked.
“Sure.” He grimaced as she opened the cooler, took from the baggie a wiggly worm, and wove it back and forth onto the hook.
“Watch.” Pulling her arm back, she threw the line into the rippling water several yards away and handed him the pole.
“Hold it like this.” She placed his hands on the rod.
“I’ve got it.” Something splashed near the boat, getting him wet. “What was that?”
“A fish.” She baited her own hook and cast it out. “Now all we do is wait.”
After a minute or two he yelled, “I’ve got one!” and started to reel it in.
She looked at the top of his pole. “Might just be the current tugging on it.”
He kept reeling until the hook and the worm popped out of the water. “Nothing.”
“Too bad.” She sure hoped he’d catch a fish.
He reeled the line in all the way, pulled back, and let it go. He’d forgotten to loosen the gripper though, so it plopped back into the water in front of him. He pulled his arm way back, and this time he cast perfectly a few yards off.
“Wow! Babe Ruth. Hit it out of the park, baby.” The line was slack. “Reel it in a bit.”
Holding their poles, they sat in silence for a while. Purple dragonflies hovered overhead like miniature helicopters. To the west, white clouds began to billow on the other side of the lake. Anne smiled at Sergio. His mouth responded with half a grin, his foot bouncing up and down.
She needed to keep him entertained to help pass the time. “Last time Pootie and I were out here, she caught the ugliest fish ever. It resembled a catfish, but it had a hairy mustache and a beard, had to google to identify it. It was a dogfish! I swear I had heard it bark when she pulled the hook out of its mouth.”
Sergio laughed.
Anne’s line had slackened. She reeled it in and recast.
He did, too, but his hook got stuck in some reeds, and when he tried to roll the line back in, it snapped and broke. “Porca vacca!”
“Don’t worry, that happens all the time.” She fixed his line up, added another worm, and he recast.
“Fishing is similar to doing art. You gather up your materials: paints, brushes, found objects, canvas, tray or box. To fish you also have to gather the equipment: rod, reel, and bait. You can fish off the shore or a pier, or take the boat out into the middle of a lake or even into the ocean. To do art, you can dive in, sign up for a class, or find a mentor to guide you.
“With both you just need to go for it—get started, cast the line— but then wait and be patient. Maybe that day you will catch a fish or create a masterpiece, but maybe not. Either way, you showed up and tried. That’s what matters. You can always try again another day.”
“Look!” Sergio yelled. “Is that one of your great blue herons?” He pointed to a sandbar about half a mile away.
She raised her binoculars. A giant long-necked crane foraged in the reeds, feathered in pale gray, a bright-red marking on its head.
She whispered, “Oh my God, I think it’s a sandhill crane! I’ve always wanted to see one. They’re very rare here. I’d love to get closer, but we might scare it away.”
She handed the glasses to Sergio.
“Magnifico. Now what’s going on?” He handed the binoculars back to Anne.
Tiny black birds were dive-bombing the crane. “The little birds are trying to protect their eggs, but they’re no match for the big bird. Survival of the fittest.”
“Gross.” Sergio grimaced.
After a while, the crane unfurled its wide wingspan and majestically flew away.
“Wow.” Anne smiled.
“Interessante.”
Clouds began to gather and darken, moving toward them across the lake. The smell of rain filled the air.
Anne frowned. “We should go. Sorry we got skunked.”
“That’s okay.” He shrugged.
“Maybe next time.” She doubted there would be a next time.
She pulled the string on the motor, but it wouldn’t turn over. She kept at it a few times. “I’d better stop or the engine will flood.”
Light flashed on the far-off shore. “Was that lightning?” Sergio ducked as thunder pounded the sky.
The next time she pulled the engine’s string, it snapped off. “Oh, God! We’ll have to row back.” She looked down on the floorboards near the bow, but the oars weren’t there. Darn it! Mr. Halston had reminded her to grab them from the pole barn when she got the life jackets, but she forgot. She searched the water for another craft that might give them a tow, but the lake was deserted.
Within a few minutes, the clouds burst open, dropping raindrops the size of acorns. She pulled her jacket’s hood over her hat and handed Sergio the giant windbreaker, and he tugged it on.
“We’ll need to wait until someone comes and tows us in. It could be a while.” She hoped they wouldn’t need to spend the night out there.