Page 147 of The Backup Plan

It doesn’t take long for her to get settled in the boat before I start the small outboard motor and head us out to the middle of the lake. It’s quiet in that early-evening way—sun’s low, water’s glassy, and the air is warm but forgiving.

I let up on the throttle and the boat shimmies, causing her to grip the sides of it.

“This feels unsafe,” she says.

“It’s a boat,” I say. “Not a bull.”

She eyes the tackle box suspiciously. “Why are there worms?”

“Bait.”

“They’re alive.”

“That’s how the fish like them.”

I swear to God she actually squeaks. “Absolutely not.”

I laugh so hard I nearly drop the rod I’ve picked up. “You don’t have to touch them.”

“I am not touching them. That’s not even an option.”

“You went to medical school, handled cadavers and blood and guts, and you won’t touch a silly worm?”

“I have to draw a line somewhere,” she says.

I bark out a laugh. “You’re hilarious.”

“No. I’m rational,” she says with a decisive nod.

I bait the hook for her, demonstrating slowly, and when I hand it back, she looks equal parts impressed and horrified.

“You did that without flinching.”

“I’ve had lots of practice. Now let me show you how to cast it.”

After a few demonstrations with my own rod, she casts horribly but squeals when the line splashes.

“I did it,” she shouts.

“That was perfect,” I lie.

“It was?”

“Absolutely. Natural talent.”

She knows I’m lying but she beams as she settles into the boat, body tense as if she expects to get a bite right away.

I guess I should have managed her expectations a little better, but the longer it takes the better for me. Because the view from where I’m seated isn’t bad at all.

We sit there, lines in the water, talking about nothing and everything.

“So when you’re about to get the ball from the snapper,” she says. “What exactly are you saying? It sounds like some random code a kid made up in a schoolyard.”

“I’m telling them which play is coming,” I say. “Sometimes I’m tossing in a few extra things to throw the defense off or to trick them to jump the line of scrimmage.”

“A false start, right?”

“Yes. Exactly.”