Without You Here (2 page)

Anyway, he helped me make my first shot, which sunk one ball. I tried the second shot on my own and the white ball bounced up and banged into a couple of other balls. But none of them went in. I turned and stuck my bottom lip out, all pouty, at Wyatt. He shook his head like he was ashamed. But I could tell he didn't really care. When I stood by his side to await our next turn, he draped his arm around me.

We played four games before Jerry looked at his watch and said he had to get home. Lyle came and shook Wyatt's hand. "I'm clearly not going to steal this one away from you. Guess I'd better move on." He gave me a wink and went on his way.

I turned back to Wyatt and waited for him to ask the inevitable question: would I go home with him?

He studied me for a really long time. Too long. I thought he was going to chicken out. And then he said, "You feel like going fishing?"

Well that wasn't what I'd expected. "Fishing? Are you sure that's what you meant to ask me?"

"Yes, ma'am. I'm sure."

I felt a smile spread across my face. "I've never been, but I've always wanted to."

"Never been? Where're you from?"

"Carterville." It was another nothing of a small town, less than an hour south of Apple Creek.

"You're from Carterville and you've never been fishing?"

"Nope." My childhood was something of a prison. Although she was never diagnosed, I believed my mother to have been mentally ill. She suffered from extreme paranoia and depression.

He shook his head sadly. "Ain't it a strange world. Well do you want to go fishing with me tonight, or not?"

"Yeah. I wanna go. I'm just not a hundred percent confident you don't have something else in mind is all."

"Oh, I've got something else in mind," he said. "But first I wanna go fishing."

I latched onto his arm and bounced lightly on the balls of my feet while he paid our tab. Then he led me out to his truck. A beat up, old blue Chevy. I climbed in, figuring he'd just bring me back for my car later. He climbed in and then gave me a funny look.

“You do this often?” he asked.

“Do what?”

“Get into trucks with strangers.”

I grinned. He probably had a point, but I was feeling fearless tonight. “Why? You gonna do bad things to me, Wyatt?”

“Oh, definitely. But I just have to say, that, as a father—“

“You’re not my father,” I said as I slid my hand up his thigh.

His smile widened. “I’m right glad of that. But…if I was, my mind would be more at ease if you swore to me right now you’d never do something like this again.”

I scooted over, rested my chin on his shoulder, and softly said, “I swear right now I won’t ever do something like this again. Can you take me fishing, now, Wyatt?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He put the truck into gear and drove us out to a gravel back road. We followed it for a couple of miles and then turned off on a dirt road that could barely be called a road. It bounced and jostled us and deposited us next to a lake.

"What lake is this?" I asked.

"It's private property."

"We're trespassing?"

"Yep." He hopped out and slammed the door shut. There were no signs of life anywhere. No lights from a house. No vehicles. So I figured we had a pretty good chance of not getting caught. I got out and looked over the bed of the truck at Wyatt, who was pulling out a tackle box and two fishing rods. Huh. Guess we really were going fishing.

"Whose private property?" I asked.

"Some old guy named Kenny. He's got three kids who all want this property. I'm pretty sure he's determined he'd rather just never die than to give any one of them his land. Anyway, I fish out here all the time."

"Are you friends with him?"

He laughed. "Hell, no. I believe he'd shoot me on sight if he saw me."

I followed, feeling a little nervous. I really didn't want to be shot. But it was kind of exciting. And what a gorgeous evening. The sun had sunk below the horizon. The crickets and frogs were going full force and there was a whippoorwill out there making a lot of noise. Wyatt took long strides toward the lake and then cut off down a rough path through the woods. It came out at the end of the lake where the dam had been built up. It was less weedy, and therefore less snake-infested, than the other side of the lake.

He sat down and began fixing up the fishing pole. This involved attaching a hook and a small weight and a bobber--a round, red and white, floaty thingy. I did my best to sit down next to him, which was hard in those heels and that skirt. The skirt wasn't necessarily short unless you were trying to sit on the ground, and then it rode up quite a bit. I kept watching to see if he'd check out my legs. He didn't. Just went about fixing up the lines. Figured. Nobody ever checked out my legs. That was usually because I was with Lauren. She's my best friend. And she's gorgeous. Tall and lithe, with this perfect, auburn hair. And incredible legs. I myself often got distracted staring at them. Sometimes she'd come out of the shower with her towel wrapped around her and my heart would skip a beat. I'm not gay, but her hotness transcends sexual boundaries.

"Here you go," Wyatt said. He handed me a rod. "Now hold down that button there. Then bring the rod back over your shoulder like you're going to throw it. Look back and make sure you're not going to hook my ear."

I laughed and did as he told me and gasped. "What the hell did you put on my hook?"

"Cricket. It's all I had."

"You put a cricket on my hook?"

"Sure. Now you throw the line, not the pole, and about halfway, you let go of the button. Okay?"

I nodded, but suddenly felt like I had the first time I learned to drive a stick shift. Well, the first time someone
tried
to teach me. I never actually learned. "You do it first and show me."

He grabbed a cricket out of this small, wire cage that was full of the hopping critters, and speared it with his hook. Then he cast out his line. There was a buzz and a plop. And then he turned the reel once until it clicked.

I tried, but must not have let up on the button soon enough because the line plopped at the edge of the bank close to me. I reeled it back in.

"Maybe try standing up," he said.

I stifled a complaint and maneuvered first to my knees and then to my feet, wobbling on this terrain in my heels. Then I brought the rod back and flung the line, having somewhat better success.

"You're getting it," he said. "Reel it in and try one more time."

I did, and this time the line buzzed and there was the plop of the bobber hitting the water. I locked the reel and then struggled back to the ground, tugging at my skirt. It was then that I realized he was watching me, trying not to grin. "Enjoying the show?" I asked.

"Yep."

I laughed and scooted closer to him. I don't know what I expected, but there was a sudden sharp pull on my line and I jumped and squealed. "What do I do?" I asked, my voice pitched high. My heart was pounding.

"Well, your options are fairly limited."

I shot him a look and started reeling the line in. My pole was bent at the end. In a matter of seconds, I was lifting a small, silvery fish out of the water, and just about as excited as I'd ever been. I scrambled to my knees and swung the fish over. Wyatt caught the line and I lowered the rod.

"Here. Hold it under the belly with your thumb and fingers behind these fins."

I met his eyes. "Words can't express how awesome I feel about catching my first fish. But I'm not touching that little fucker. No way."

He smiled, his eyes never leaving mine. Then he grabbed my hand and shoved the slimy thing into it. "Now. Take the hook at the base and wiggle it loose."

My face was all scrunched up in disgust. "The hook that's in its mouth?"

"That's the one."

So I pulled up my big girl panties and did it. Then I looked at my fish. It was a gross little thing, but I was very proud.

"Photo op," he said. "Smile pretty." He held up his iPhone with the light on and snapped a picture. Then he showed it to me. I looked like me, but I felt like a little girl for a moment. There were a lot of times when I had moments like that. Moments when I got to experience things I should have gotten to experience as a child, but never did.

We went back to fishing and I ended up catching two more real quick. Then it got kind of quiet. And dark. And we were just sitting there with our lines in the water listening to the night sounds and looking up at the stars. I glanced at him and caught a far away look on his face. "What are you thinking about?" I asked.

He was quiet for a moment. Then, in his deep voice, he said, "Thinking about kissing you."

Well this just sent flutters all the way down to my feet. "Are you trying to decide whether to? Or are you imagining what it would be like?"

"Both, I guess."

I watched him for a long moment. "What's the big dilemma?" I asked. We were speaking softly because of how soft the night was.

"I've never kissed anyone but her."

"No one? Not even before her?"

"There was no 'before her.' There was only ever her. We grew up together."

Suddenly it hit me just how far out of my reach this guy was. If he'd spent his whole life with this woman, if he'd never existed in a world where she wasn't a part of him, then who was he? I mean, that was a challenge for him, not for me. But until he found out the answer to that question, he'd never be able to love someone else. Yet what was I thinking? I wasn't looking for love tonight. Just an adventure. He could do with an adventure himself. It would help him rediscover life. "What was your first kiss with her like?"

His eyes fixed somewhere out on the lake. "First time I kissed her, we were eight. Playing in the creek. I asked her if I could give her a grown-up kiss and she said yes. So I touched my lips to hers and tried to stick my tongue in her mouth. She screamed, 'Gross!' and shoved me away. Started dancing from foot-to-foot and wiping her mouth." He chuckled at the memory. "I just watched her like she'd lost her mind. Figured, oh well. I'd just try again another time."

I edged closer to him and put my hand on his knee. "What about your first real kiss?"

His eyes narrowed a little as he pulled up the memory. He still wasn't looking at me. "We were fifteen." He laughed and then looked at me. "Actually, we were fishing."

"You're proving consistent."

He smiled sadly and, for a moment, he was with me. His eyes roamed my face, just for a moment. And then he looked back out over the lake. "We were sitting on a fallen log with our feet dangling in the river. I remember I'd been really quiet for a while. Like for a couple of months. She'd changed. I'd changed. I remember feeling like that was an important time. Like we were either going to change together or we were going to move apart. And it scared me, so I'd sort of quit talking to her. I just followed her around and sort of...waited.

“And we were fishing and that's when she finally mentioned how quiet I'd been. She wanted to know if anything was wrong. And I just looked at her, sitting there in those Daisy Duke cutoffs with her long, tan legs; a little halter top over her breasts, which I remember watching develop with fascination and increasing lust. I told her, then. I felt more than friendship for her. I wanted her to be my girl and no one else's. I wanted to marry her. She laughed at me and told me I was too young to know who I wanted to marry. But then she told me she had feelings for me, too. That she'd had them for a while. That she loved me and wanted to be mine. So I kissed her, then. When I close my eyes I can still feel that kiss. It still rocks me to my foundation. Till the day I die I'll never forget it."

I watched him close his eyes and realized I'd never truly felt envy before. I envied both of them for what they'd had. I envied her for what she'd had. No woman could compete with that perfect memory. He belonged to her. From beyond the grave, she owned him, heart and soul and mind.

Yet, here he was. With me. And I could never hope to give him a memory like that. But I could give him a moment. He could give me a moment.

"Tell me about your first kiss," he said.

I sighed. "Nothing so romantic, I'm afraid. Same night I lost my virginity. First boyfriend. He was a senior and I was a freshman and I thought he was going to save me. He promised he was going to take me away for the weekend, but could I just give it up to him that night to tide him over. So stupid me, I rolled right over. That kiss...it was hurried and sloppy and just, so unsatisfying. Because he was just fulfilling that step before he got to the part he really wanted to do. I remember laying there with him rutting on top of me just thinking about what an awful kisser he was. And then it was over and he took me home and I never heard from him again."

He was quiet for a long time. Then he looked at me. I braced myself for the pity, but it didn't come. I'm not sure why. But I was so grateful for it. Sometimes you don't want sympathy, though you want to be understood. That's what I saw in his eyes. Understanding. I smiled. Finally he spoke, his voice low and quiet. "So tell me about your first good kiss."

I pursed my lips in thought. "Well...I'm not really sure that's happened yet. I've had nice kisses. Kisses that didn't totally repulse me. But I've yet to have my toes curled over a kiss."

His face was a mask, then, as his eyes met mine. "That settles it, then. No way I'm kissing you now."

"Why?" I asked, sounding slightly whiny.

"Because I don't want to be just another in a long string of bad kisses. But then I don't want to be the first memorable kiss, either. Seems like the best thing to do is not kiss you at all, though it's a hell of a sacrifice, I'll admit." His eyes dropped to my lips.

"Might be worth the risk," I spoke softly.

He swallowed. "How old are you?" he asked.

"Now what's that got to do with anything?"

"Don't you want to know how old I am?"

"I figure you're early forties. No big deal one way or the other, to me."

"Well you wouldn't be the one facing the potential felony charges."

"For kissing?"

"For what I'm gonna do to you after the kissing."