Corbin and Billy pushed away from the shore of Hackburn’s Lake. The cooler at their feet contained a Styrofoam container of fresh worms for the bream to bite and bottled waters for the two fishermen to drink.
“Before I go after any bream, I want to see if any bass are biting,” Billy said.
“Sure,” Corbin said as he fiddled with the boat motor. “But if you want big bass, Braswell’s Pond is the place to go.”
Corbin pulled the cord, and the motor sputtered to life. He quickly steered the boat to a weedy part of the lake where bass occasionally hung out and let the boat drift quietly into position.
“What lure do you want to use?” he asked Billy.
“A plastic worm.”
Corbin glanced up at the sky. It was cloudy, and the water was murky. “We’d better use a darker color, maybe the purple one. I’ll put it on a hook so—”
“Can I try?” Billy asked.
Correctly rigging a plastic worm on a hook so that it performed properly in the water wasn’t easy. It wasn’t just a matter of piercing the artificial body and tossing it overboard. It required a special hook that enabled the fake worm to duplicate a real worm’s underwater movements.
But Corbin didn’t argue. He handed Billy a worm and a hook, then watched. The boy held the hook correctly, maneuvered the worm onto it, then held the finished product up in the air.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“That if I were a bass, I wouldn’t look any further for an early supper.”
Billy knew two different knots to attach a lure to his monofilament fishing line. Corbin silently approved the boy’s choice.
“Where should I cast it?” Billy asked him.
Corbin pointed to a spot past the reedy area. “See if you can get it in there, let it sink, then work it across in front of the brush.”
On his first cast Billy sent it too long and started to quickly reel it in for another.
“No, give that one a chance,” Corbin said. “Use it to practice your retrieve.”
Bass fishing wasn’t passive. The lures had to be continually cast out and brought back to the boat.
“Try to picture what the worm is doing underneath the water,” Corbin said. “And then imagine a big bass pouncing on it like a lion on its prey.”
No bass pounced on Billy’s first cast and retrieve. Nor the second, third, or several others. Corbin was pleased that Billy didn’t complain.
“Ready to move to another spot?” he asked.
“No, I want to try to the right. I thought I saw a swirl over there a minute ago.”
Corbin moved so he wouldn’t be in the way. Even so, Billy’s line shot close to his left ear.
“Careful,” Corbin said.
“Sorry, Pops,” Billy replied with a grin. “I don’t want to catch you.”
The line hit the water, and Billy let it sink before beginning his retrieve. Suddenly a fish hit so hard that the force jerked the rod out of Billy’s hand. Corbin tried to grab it as it skidded across the bottom of the boat past his feet. His hand ended up caught in the space between the reel and the line, causing the rig to dangle on his wrist. Billy jumped up, and the boat tipped precariously to one side.
“Sit down!” Corbin roared.
Wide-eyed, Billy plopped into the bottom of the boat. Corbin dislodged his wrist from the rod, which was bent double by the pressure from the fish. As soon as his wrist was free, the line skimmed out as the fish dominated the drag on the reel. Corbin tightened the drag slightly, but it kept going out.
“Get beside me,” he said to Billy.
The boy carefully moved onto the seat right next to Corbin, who handed him the rod.
“It’s all yours. You’ve hooked him good or we’d have lost him already.”
As Billy fought the fish, Corbin tried to remember the weight limit of the line on the reel. It would be a shame if the line snapped because it wasn’t strong enough.
“Who do you think it is?” Billy asked, pulling back on the rod and managing to turn the reel a few times as the fish rested.
“I don’t know,” Corbin replied. “It fights like General Lee.”
General Lee was a legendary bass Corbin caught several times in Braswell’s Pond before Billy was born. Long since dead, the fish was the standard by which he evaluated all big-time bass. After fifteen minutes passed, the fight settled into a stalemate.
Corbin kept a close eye on Billy’s hands and arms to see if he showed any signs of tiring. “How are you doing?” he asked.
“If you’re asking me to give you the rod, I don’t want to,” Billy replied.
Corbin laughed. “All right. I’ll keep my mouth shut.”
Finally the fish began to weaken. Billy cranked on the reel, slowly pulling the fish toward the side of the boat. Corbin reached for the landing net and held it over the spot where he guessed the fish would surface. When it did he leaned over and scooped it up in the net, which sagged from the size and weight of the bass. It was a monster fish. Corbin was about to swear but caught himself. The hook had pierced the corner of the fish’s mouth. The plastic worm was gone.
“Hand me the tape measure,” he said to Billy, who’d already opened the tackle box.
“Here’s the tape and the scale.”
“Hold the net.”
Billy put his hands around the pole for the landing net. Corbin could tell it took all the boy’s strength to keep it steady. Corbin held up the fish so he could measure and weigh it. Multiple scars received from a long life were visible on its body.
“Ten pounds, seven ounces,” Corbin announced. “And he’s fifteen and a half inches around the middle.”
The fish had a gaping maw of a mouth. It was so large Billy could put his fist inside it. He then gently touched the torn place where he hooked the fish.
“That will heal up in no time,” Corbin said. “And he’ll be mad and hungry for a week.”
“What’s his name?” Billy asked.
“We’ve never caught this fish before, so you get to name him.”
Billy thought for a moment. “Do you think he’s the biggest, best fish in the lake?” he asked.
“No doubt.”
“Okay,” Billy replied. “I want to call him Pops.”
Corbin and Billy both held the fish as they released it back into the water. After fanning its gills for a few seconds, it slowly swam off.
An hour and a half later, Corbin listened to Billy excitedly tell Ray the fish story while they sat at the kitchen table. Cindy was resting in the bedroom.
“Why did you want to call him Pops?” Ray asked when the boy finished.
“When I saw him, it seemed like that was his name.” Billy shrugged. “I couldn’t think of anything else.”
“You should have seen him,” Corbin added. “He was a beast. He had scars from suckers, parasites, maybe even a boat motor.”
“That explains it,” Ray said. “You and that fish sound like twins.”
Roxy felt like she was drifting in space, untethered to anything stable. She drove home from lunch and stared at the four walls of her townhome. The sense of security she felt in Peter’s presence evaporated as the distance between them increased.
Unable to stay cooped up inside, she put on her exercise clothes and went out for a second run. This time she didn’t push herself for training purposes, but set an easy pace that she could maintain as long as she wanted. She ventured beyond her usual routes into new territory and tried to enjoy the new sights. As she cooled down in the kitchen, her phone vibrated. It was an unknown number.
“Ms. Gage?” a male voice asked. “This is Dr. Willard Sellers.”
“You need to call my brother—” Roxy began.
The chemist interrupted her. “No, I tried to reach you at the law firm a few minutes ago and found out you’re no longer employed there. I hope this doesn’t have anything to do with the conversation I had yesterday with Mr. Daughbert. Initially it wasn’t clear why he was contacting me, but when I connected the dots, I realized the two of you were acting at cross-purposes in the Colfax Fertilizer matter.”
“That’s a mild way of putting it.”
“So there’s a direct connection between your leaving the firm and Mr. Daughbert’s contact with me?”
Roxy couldn’t see any need to deny the basic facts.
“Yes, but it’s not your fault. I stepped out of bounds. It was inadvertent but that didn’t change the result.” Roxy hit on an apt analogy. “It was like a chemical reaction that can’t be stopped once it starts.”
“I’m very sorry this happened.”
“And I appreciate that, but it may work out for the best. I’m just not sure about my next step.”
“Of course.” The chemist was silent for a moment. “I told Mr. Daughbert I wasn’t in a position to render an opinion for his client.”
“And he wasn’t happy about it.”
“He was somewhat abrupt.”
Roxy didn’t want to prolong a conversation that was becoming more painful by the second. “Thanks again for calling,” she said. “It was very thoughtful.”
“If I can ever be of assistance in the future, don’t hesitate to contact me.”
The call ended, and Roxy stared at her phone. She would never forget the unexpected role Dr. Willard Sellers played in her life.
Sunday morning Corbin attended the service at the Hopewell church. He sat with Jimmy and his family in the middle section of the sanctuary. It was the first time since his wedding day that Corbin had walked through the doors of a church with a sense of positive anticipation. He noticed a few sideways glances in his direction as they settled into their seats.
“Do people suspect I’m here because of AA?” he asked in a low voice.
“If they do, it’s not because I told them. Would it matter?”
“Maybe.”
“Well, it’s probably because you’re a new face. Church folks are like cows in a pasture. Anyone unfamiliar arouses their curiosity.”
Corbin chuckled and relaxed. With his guard down, he was surprised how much he enjoyed the service, and mentioned it to Jimmy as they stood to leave.
“Yeah, church is way better when you’re not mad at God,” Jimmy said. “And it gets even better when you no longer believe he’s mad at you.”
“That makes sense.”
“Care to join us for lunch?” Jimmy continued.
“No, thanks. I’m going to swing by and see my son and his family. They’ll be interested to find out where I’ve been this morning.”
“Good choice.”
Cindy stayed home from church. Ray and Billy were leaving the sanctuary when Corbin called.
“Can I pick up lunch and bring it to the house?” he asked.
“Dad?” Ray responded. “Where are you?”
“In town. Would you like some fried chicken from the Chicken Box?”
Billy, who was standing close enough to hear the conversation, began to vigorously nod his head. “I want three legs, Pops,” he said in a loud voice. “And they have those potato things with orange stuff on them.”
“Billy is asking for three drumsticks and an order of potato wedges with the Cajun seasoning,” Ray relayed. “But we need some healthy sides too.”
“Everything they serve is heart healthy,” Corbin replied.
Ray was puzzled by his father’s Sunday morning exuberance. He stepped a few feet away from Billy. “Don’t get mad,” he said in a low voice, “but have you been drinking?”
“No. I went to church with my AA sponsor and really enjoyed it.”
Ray almost dropped the phone. “Okay, grab some chicken and come over,” he said. “But don’t rush. I need to give Cindy a few minutes’ notice. Oh, the broccoli casserole at the Chicken Box is good and so are the collard greens. You might also see if they have okra and tomatoes.”
“I don’t like okra,” interjected Billy, who’d inched closer. “It’s slimy.”
Ray was quiet during the short ride to the house. Several people at church had given him the cold shoulder, and the only explanation could be ongoing animosity caused by the newspaper article about the Colfax case.
Billy broke the silence. “Pops has been different since he banged his head and had to go to the hospital,” the boy said.
“How so?” Ray asked.
Billy didn’t immediately respond. Having brought up the subject, he now seemed at a loss for words. “I don’t know,” he said. “Just different.”
“Good different or bad?”
“Good,” Billy said. “I mean, Pops and I get along great, but sometimes you and Mama and Aunt Roxy act mad at him. But he’s trying to be nicer, and I think you should be nice to him too.”
“Okay,” Ray replied. “I’ll do better at lunch.”
Cindy’s eyes widened when Ray told her Corbin was on his way to eat lunch with them after attending church. “Where did he go?” she asked.
“I didn’t ask, but it may have been Hopewell. That’s where one of his AA meetings is held.”
While Cindy got dressed, Ray and Billy straightened up the house. It was a pointless exercise, since his father wouldn’t notice, but Ray knew Cindy cared.
As soon as Corbin came through the front door, the aroma of freshly fried chicken permeated the atmosphere. Billy followed his grandfather into the kitchen like a starving puppy. They unloaded the dinner, spread it out on the kitchen table, and sat down.
“Ray says you went to church this morning,” Cindy said to Corbin.
“At Hopewell, and I plan on going back.”
“Let’s pray and eat,” Ray said.
“Pops, will you pray?” Billy asked.
Everyone looked at Corbin, who closed his eyes and bowed his head. “God, thank you for this food and for my family. I really mean it. Amen.”
By the time Ray finished eating a single chicken breast, Billy had deposited three pristine chicken leg bones on his plate and polished off most of the potato wedges.
“This is the best food I’ve eaten in a long time,” the boy said, licking his fingers.
Cindy raised her eyebrows. “Use a napkin, and if all it takes to make you happy is fried chicken, maybe your father can bring it home more often.”