Rebecca reeled the line in, held out the hook to JJ, and watched as he grabbed a slippery fat worm from the Styrofoam container and expertly guided it onto the hook.
“There!” JJ held it out to her, pride filling his young eyes.
“Thanks, JJ.” She surveyed his work, impressed. “You did a good job.”
JJ put worms on his hook and his dad’s, then they stood in a loose line on the riverbank.
“One, two, three!” Josh said, and they cast sure and true into the water. Rebecca marveled at the pure delight she felt as the line zinged through the air and landed with a satisfying plop into the Wahca.
“We don’t normally come here in the evenings. It’s so weird that we’re here, that we saw you!” JJ said, jiggling his rod as he talked. “We usually come Sundays after church, but this Sunday we gotta go to Aberville and fit me for some soccer cleaves. I start soccer camp Monday.” He puffed out his chest.
“Cleats, buddy. Not cleaves,” Josh said, not unkindly.
“Cleeeeeeeeats,” JJ pronounced, heavy emphasis on the T. “Got it, Dad. At least this time, we get to have some girl help with the shopping.”
Rebecca raised a brow at Josh, and he blushed.
“He means Aunt Lissa,” he offered, and Rebecca clamped a hand over her mouth.
“Oh, my goodness, I forgot about your older sister!” Rebecca remembered how Josh would gripe on and on as a kid about his sister Melissa Jamison, Lissa, who was two years older and so boy-crazy she’d become their private joke. She was also somewhat of a drill sergeant when she came stomping up to the river, scaring the fish and demanding Josh come home with her this instant for supper or a trip to Grandma’s house or wherever else he had to be right then. Rebecca had a flash of a pretty, spiral-curled, braces-wearing teen who’d been Josh’s worst enemy.
“You and Lissa survived childhood, huh?” She grinned at her old friend, and he grinned back. Warmth spread through her. It felt good to be here, to be with him again.
“It’s funny how you go from worst enemies to allies like that,” he said, snapped his finger. “She also keeps me on track with some of the mom things. She’s got four kids of her own, and she teaches third grade to boot. JJ’s pants get this high over his ankles or his nails get this long and it’s Aunt Lissa to the rescue.”
“I’m glad you have each other.”
“Me, too.”
“Though she can’t cook much. Not like Dad. He’s the absolute bestest cook in the whole entire universe,” JJ piped up, rubbed his belly with gusto. Choco the lab wandered over, sniffed at them all in turn, then did three spins and settled down for a nap on Rebecca’s blanket.
“Chef Josh? Wow.”
Josh patted JJ’s back with his free hand, the other still gripping the fishing rod. “I wouldn’t say chef, but the crockpot and I are on very intimate terms.”
“Dad says the crockpot is his BFF.” JJ nodded solemnly.
“I’m still in awe.”
JJ gave a shout, and his fishing rod pulled hard. Josh reached over, held it.
“You know what to do,” he told his son as JJ furrowed his brows, clamped down hard on the rod, and slowly, steadily began to turn the reel handle clockwise. Shortly, an eight-inch freshwater bass began to emerge from the waters, its grayish-green-and-white scales shimmering as it fought hard to survive.
But father and son had clearly done this before. Josh slogged into the water and grabbed the line and fish, JJ held steady, and together they maneuvered the fish and some water into the bucket.
“Well done!” Rebecca exclaimed.
“First catch of the evening. Kid: one. Grownups: zip,” JJ said and wiggled his brows.
“Just you wait,” Josh said and stuck his tongue out at JJ.
An hour later, they’d caught four more, one by Rebecca, who felt positively exultant at the achievement. Once she would have scoffed at catching just one, but twenty-odd years later, it felt like a huge victory, like she was saying “still got it” to life and anyone else who brought her down. If only Peter could see her now, she mused a little wistfully, then promptly pushed that thought away. If Peter could see me now, he’d probably think my outfit was ridiculous and I needed to wash my hands before touching him. A wry smile twisted. No thanks and good riddance.
“What are you smiling about?” Josh asked as they gathered their belongings to leave.
“Happy, I guess. It’s been years since I’ve done this.” Rebecca carefully wound her line and hooked it to a rung on the rod. She folded the blanket and shoved her tackle box back into the backpack, then zipped it all up neatly.
Josh knelt down in the soil, piling his and JJ’s belongings into a plastic grocery store bag. “You should do it more often,” he said,pausing to look over at her thoughtfully. “Why not?”
