Brando had paddled us into a cypress grove, and their leaves, no matter how scant, gave us some shelter. Their boughs were draped with Spanish moss like gray hair woven through the vibrant green, drifting down; in some spots the edges caressed the water.
Something touched my shoulder and I turned too quick, the boat rocking with the sudden movement. I laughed at what I found. A dragonfly flitted from spot to spot, its colors almost metallic when it caught the sunlight bursting through the gaps in the trees.
It came back again, finding safety on the pirogue, confident that it wasn’t going to be harmed by me. Slowly,oh so slowly, I lifted the camera to my eye, hopefully capturing its bug-eyed beauty.
“Dragonflies are wonderful creatures,” I said, watching its flight from our boat to a pointed stump sticking out of the water. “Forty-five miles an hour is how fast they can fly. They can hover like a helicopter, fly backward, upward, from side to side, and only use their wings thirty times in a minute. It takes mosquitoes and houseflies six hundred to a thousand times a minute to do the same thing.”
“There’s more to it.” He pointed with his chin in the direction of the stump. “To the dragonfly, I mean.”
I faced my husband, and we stared at each other for a second. Though we were in the bayou, the area he chose felt close to an emerald lagoon, with lighter green water that mirrored the reflections of all the cypresses towering above. I could see how these trees could be mistaken for monsters, reaching out with their long arms and hair of moss to claim some lost voyager in a macabre last kiss.
“You mean Elliott,” I whispered.
He nodded. It hit me with a blow to the heart and gut how difficult this was for him. And it explained why he wasted no time getting me in the boat. He didn’t want to cop out.
Fishing was something he and my brother had done together. Brando hadn’t fished in Louisiana since Elliot died. He had once told me that they had plans to travel and fish all over the world—but it was a dream that never came true.
“Some people think the dragonfly represents a lost loved one,” I said. “Other people see it as a symbol of a deeper meaning to life, mental and emotional maturity, and all that. What do you believe,mio angelo?”
“The first one,” he said. “This is going to be a good spot.”
“I think so too,” I said, reaching over to squeeze his hand.
He came forward and the boat rocked a little with his movement. He placed a warm, sweaty kiss against my lips.
“Tell me about your fishing trips with Elliott,” I said, once we had enough of each other and Brando had started to fiddle with our rods.
Elliott was a good fisherman, but it depended on the day, Brando said. Sometimes he’d bring in a catfish the size of my head, other days he’d pull in a snake and take off running like it was chasing him. Brando had to get it off his line for him.
He had me laughing so hard that tears started to fall. Then they started to fall for real, thinking of my brother and remembering how funny he was.
Brando wiped the tears, but my face was so full of moisture that it didn’t seem to make a difference. He seemed to understand, and perhaps me crying was a release for the both of us. It seemed to break up the tension and distribute it. What we were left with was wonderful memories and the feeling that Elliott was closer than the dragonfly.
A tug on my line made me gasp. “I think I got one!”
“Reel it in, baby. But don’t tip the boat!”
“Am I supposed to fight with this thing?” Pressure came from underneath the water, an echo of the fight in my own arm, and I fought against it.
“Depends on what it is.”
“What if it’s an alligator gar?”
Brando laughed at me. Truly laughed at me.
“What if I go over?” The muscles in my arms strained.
“I won’t let you. Whatever it is isn’t pulling that hard.”
He had somehow maneuvered closer to me in case I went over or sent us both into the water. It wasn’t a prospect that I savored. My camera was one thing. The main thing was alligators, not to mention leeches—oh, and the alligator gar, just as scary as its namesake. I didn’t even want to start in on the snake issue.
A few seconds of the struggle and finally I was set free. “Hot damn!” I said, pulling up the line, feeling as though I had won.
I hadn’t. Something black and long whipped around on the hook. I screamed and threw the pole in the water. It was a natural reaction, like pulling your hand back when you burned yourself.
“Whatthe hellwasthat?” I peeked over, using the back of my hand to knock the brim of the hat from my eyes.
“A piece of rubber,” Brando said, trying hard not to laugh. “Seems like you inherited Elliott’s on and off luck. So far, all we know is that it’s off.”
