The bubbling sound of water flowing over a few scattered rocks reached Nikki’s ears before they were in sight of the creek that hot Sunday afternoon. She carried a quilt. Tag had the rods and reels in one hand and a cooler with water and beer in the other. Although it had been years since she’d been to the clearing, she wasn’t surprised to see that it was still free of willow and mesquite saplings.
Many years had passed since she’d gone fishing, but it had been at this very place, and it was only a couple of weeks before Quint died. Even though Wilma had thrown a hissy about her son going outside when he was so sick, her dad, Don Grady, had stood up to her. If Quint and Nikki wanted to go fishing, then that’s what they would do. Quint had slept on a quilt they had brought along for most of the time. She remembered the sun rays coming through the trees and putting a halo around his bald head. Looking back, she knew that was the day she had finally given up hope and realized her brother wouldn’t be with them much longer.
“Evidently Mr. Johnson liked to fish,” Tag said. “I found this place a couple of weeks ago when I was walking the fence line to see if there was even one stretch that was worth saving.”
“We used to have parties over on the other side of this creek when I was in high school.” She flipped the quilt and it fell in front of a fallen tree.
“Why on that side?” Tag removed a plastic container of worms from the cooler. “From the looks of this old log, Mr. Johnson spent a lot of time down here, time he could have used to put up a decent fence and repair the barn roof.”
Nikki sat down with her back to the log, took a worm from the container, and baited her hook. “We stayed over there because we knew Eli Johnson wouldn’t come across the water to fuss at us. And if he did, it’s only about a hundred yards from the creek to the road back there, so we could outrun him.”
“Why’d you come here?”
“The water is spring fed, so it’s always cold. We’d cross the Red River to Terral, Oklahoma, where they grow lots of watermelons. We’d steal three or four, bring them here, and put them in the water to chill. Then we would split them open and have a feast.” She tossed the line out into the water.
“I can’t believe you stole watermelons,” he chuckled.
“Don’t tell my mama, but I drank beer on those nights too.” She wiggled around until she was comfortable but kept a firm hold on the rod. “Some of us actually fished and if anyone caught anything, we’d build a fire up next to the edge of the water and cook it.”
“I should’ve known you’d fished before, the way you baited that hook.”
Nikki’s red and white bobber danced out there on top of the water. She took a deep breath. “My dad knew Eli Johnson, and I used to come here with Daddy to fish when I was a little girl, back before Quint got sick. Last time we were here was just before my brother died. Guess it kind of brings back memories.”
“I’m sorry, maybe we could load up and go up to the Red River,” he said.
“No, they’re good memories. It’s just that when we were in high school, I was still struggling with everything,” she said. “I’m pretty much past that now.”
“Want to talk about it?” Tag laced his hook with two worms and tossed it out a few feet from hers.
“Nothing to talk about, really. Mama was always sick with something, supposedly, and Daddy was gone much of the time. He drove a truck out of Dallas through the week, but he got to come home every Friday night. Saturday, he’d try to do something with me and Quint. Fishing when the weather was good. Hiking sometimes in the fall, but it was always away from the house and Mama’s constant nagging. Then Sunday morning we’d go to church, and afterwards I’d make our dinner and he’d have to go back to Dallas for his next run.”
Tag sat down beside her. “I think Eli used the log for a bench, but it makes a better backrest. I can’t imagine not having a dad around all the time.”
“It was a way of life for us. We couldn’t wait until Friday nights. When he left on Sunday, Quint and I cried. But not where he or Mama could see it. It would make him sad, and Mama would think we were sick and want to give us some kind of awful medicine. So we’d go to my room and cry together.”
Tag leaned over slightly and touched her shoulder with his. “Anyone ever tell you that you had a dysfunctional family?”
“Oh, yeah, I knew that the first time I brought a friend home with me after school and Mama told me we’d have to stay outside until her mama came to get her.”
“That’s harsh,” Tag said.
“I didn’t ever do it again.” Watching the bobber was mesmerizing.
They were silent for a while and then she said, “Daddy came home for a whole week when Quint got bad and died. Then he left on Friday, as usual, and never came back. Mama got divorce papers in the mail the next month, and I haven’t seen him since the funeral. But I got to give him a little credit. He set up an account for her, and money goes into it every month. She lives as comfortably as when he used to come home every weekend.”
“Wow, that must’ve been a lot for you to process—losing your brother and dad at the same time.”
She turned to answer him and could see genuine care in his blue eyes. Just that much was a comfort. “I’ve never told anyone that before, not even Emily.”
“Why?”
She couldn’t tear her eyes from his. “It sounds like I’m a victim, and I don’t want to be like my mother. Even though he’d had all he could probably stand and left me to fend for myself with her, I wanted to be like him. That sounds crazy, doesn’t it?”
“Not to me,” Tag answered.
“She told me I was like him when I moved out of the house right after graduation. I thanked her and then closed the door behind me as I took out the last load of my things,” Nikki said. “I took her words to mean I was strong enough to leave and if I had that much strength, I could make it on my own.”
Tag scooted toward her, laid his fishing pole down, and cupped her face in his hands. His lips found hers in a sweet kiss of understanding and appreciation. When it ended, he picked up the rod again and stared out into the water.
If all that didn’t run him off, Nikki thought, then he was one determined cowboy.
After hearing her story, Tag realized what a safe and love-filled environment he’d had the privilege of growing up in. No wonder Nikki was so independent and untrusting. He suddenly felt the need to call his mama and dad and thank them for all they’d done for him. He had been such a wild child, and he regretted all the nights when his mother probably lay awake wondering where he was.
“I guess I’ll have to pay for my raising someday,” he muttered.
“What was that?” Nikki asked.
“Just thinking of my own family and how I can’t expect to have an easy life of parenthood. Everyone has to pay for their raising,” he said.
“Your poor babies,” she giggled. “Speaking of which. How’s the jaw since the stitches came out?”
“Little tender yet. Dr. Richards said it’ll still take a while to heal since the cut was so deep. And I do get to ride again. ’Course, the next ranch rodeo isn’t for two weeks. Last day of this month to be exact. You going to be there to see me ride?”
“Probably, unless Emily needs me over at Longhorn Canyon. That’s the day before the kids come in for the summer. I told her I’d help out with whatever she needs since it’s her first time to be a bunkhouse supervisor,” Nikki answered. “I don’t think there’s a fish in this creek anymore. We haven’t even had a nibble since we got here.”
“We need a beer. Can’t expect to catch anything if you aren’t drinking a beer. Fish come around when they catch the wonderful smell of cold beer,” he teased as he opened the cooler and brought out two bottles. He twisted the lid off both of them and handed one to her. He took a sip, then set it to the side and reeled in his line.
“Givin’ up?” she asked.
“Nope, just sharin’.” He held the top of the hook with one hand and poured beer over the worms with the other. “Give the fish a little taste of something good instead of plain old worms.”
“You’re crazy,” Nikki laughed.
There’d been so much sadness in her eyes when she talked about her family, and now one silly stunt with a few drops of beer made her eyes glitter again. Tag was suddenly floating on air for doing that for her.
“Been told that lots of times,” he chuckled. “Can’t deny it. Won’t admit it.”
“That old Fifth Amendment thing, huh?”
“Yep.” He tossed the line back into the water, and immediately the bobber sank. “See, crazy works.” He got so excited that he knocked his bottle of beer over.
She grabbed it before it spilled even a single drop. “Don’t waste beer just because you’ve got Moby Dick on the line.”
“Thanks,” he said as he brought in a nice-size catfish. “A couple more of these and we’ll have us a fish fry. You’re invited even if you don’t catch anything.”
“Well, thank you for that, but my bobber is doing a cute little two-step out there.” She motioned out to the creek with her bottle and then took a long draw. “That’ll give me the strength to get it in. Want to bet who’s got the biggest fish?”
“Sure. Loser has to kiss the winner.”
She hauled in a bass about half the size of his catfish. Tag removed the fish from her hook and put it on the stringer with his. Then he took it to the edge of the creek and staked it in the soft mud and rinsed his hands. When he returned, she was in the process of baiting a hook and pouring a little of his beer on it.
“Hey, now, you got to use your own beer.” He plopped down on the quilt beside her. “It don’t work if you use someone else’s.”
“Bull crap,” she said.
“Before you throw that line in the water, you owe me a kiss. Mine was bigger.”
She laid the rod and reel down, threw a leg over his body so that she was sitting in his lap, and removed his old straw hat. Then she drew his face to hers and kissed him—long, hard, and with so much passion that he was panting when it ended.
“Damn, lady, I hope that all my fish are bigger than yours today,” he said between short breaths.
“After that kiss, you’re calling me a lady. What constitutes a lady?” She shifted her body until she was back at her original spot. She tossed her line out in the water and took a sip of beer.
“You do, Nikki,” he said. “If you look up the word ‘lady’ in the dictionary, I’m sure you’ll find your picture beside it.”
“And where would I find your picture?” she asked.
“Beside the word ‘rebel,’ but I think it’s beginning to fade.” He smiled.
“And how does that affect you?”
“Some days I’m good with it. Some days not so much. Guess I’m still on the fence.”
She watched her bobber go down and reeled in a catfish, not as big as his, but a good size. “A barbed-wire fence can get pretty uncomfortable.”
He took the fish off and put it on the stringer. “I know it all too well. The barbed wire is biting into my butt pretty good.”
“You deserve it,” she told him as she put another worm on her hook and slung it out to the middle of the creek.
“You are a tough lady,” he said as he poured some of his beer over the worms on his hook and then finished it off.
“Had to be to survive. Don’t know how to be any other way now.”
He watched both bobbers as they moved down the creek in the current, not touching but close to each other. Remembering what his granny had told him when he was making a difficult decision about not being able to ride two horses with one ass, he began to imagine himself crawling off the barbed-wire fence.
“But which side am I on?” he muttered.
“You’re talkin’ to yourself again,” she said. “Look at that. It’s like there’s a magnet in our bobbers drawing them close together.”
“I know the feelin’,” he said, giving her a meaningful look. “How about you?”
“Little bit, but to be honest, I had a bad experience with a relationship last spring. It was getting pretty serious when I found out he was married, and his wife was pregnant,” she said.
“And he’s still alive?” Tag chuckled. “Did you have that pistol back then?”
“Oh, yeah, but I couldn’t take a daddy from a baby, even if he was a sorry daddy,” she said. “Just thought you should know before we take this any further. I’m not sure why I feel like I can talk to you like this, Tag. It doesn’t have anything to do with chemistry, but more friendship.”
“It’s because we’re both troubled souls,” he whispered.
“Maybe so. I need closure, and you do too,” she said.
“You got it, darlin’. I’ve never talked to anyone about serious things like I have you, so thank you for that,” he said. “And anytime you need to talk about anything, my door is open.”
“Thank you. Mine too,” she said.
Later that night, Nikki sat on the end of the sofa next to Goldie and replayed the whole afternoon in her head. That song about living like you were dying came to her mind.
“Well, Goldie, he’s been fishin’. Now all he has to do is stay on a bull named Fumanchu for at least three seconds and go skydiving, then maybe he’ll have the rebelliousness out of his blood,” she said.
Telling Tag about her early years and about Quint brought back the emotions of those last hours with him there in the hospital. Quint knew he wasn’t going to get better, and he accepted it. But not Nikki—she had held out hope for a miracle right up until the moment when he breathed his last. She was holding his frail hand when that happened, and she sobbed into her father’s shoulder. When the undertaker came for his body, the two of them had gone home to tell Wilma that Quint’s race was finished.
Nikki closed her eyes at the painful memory. Wilma had yelled at them for letting the undertaker take him to be embalmed. She’d wanted him cremated so that all those germs would be destroyed forever, and she wouldn’t get leukemia.
Why do you trust that cowboy enough to talk to him about our family? The past should be buried and forgotten, not hung out on the line like underpants for the whole world to see. Wilma’s voice was very real in her head.
Exactly what was it in the past that her mother wanted to bury? The whole town knew that she had problems. Simply seeing her in the Walmart store in her outlandish garb was proof of that. A heavy feeling settled in Nikki’s chest, and she knew that she had to talk to her mother, face-to-face.
Well, are you going to answer me or just sit there like your father and ignore me when I talk to you? Wilma had said that many, many times to both her children.
“Tag might be a renegade like you say, but he listens to me and tries to make me feel better,” she said out loud. She wiped a tear from her cheek and put a finger on the goldfish bowl. The fish swam right to it as if she understood that Nikki was having a tough time. “Goldie, I’m going to Mama’s tomorrow evening. It’s time we had a serious talk that has nothing to do with her medicine or her schedule.”
She could have sworn that the goldfish smiled at her.