The drive to Lake Waban passed in silence, punctuated by Dad asking questions about Devon, work, and Persy. I answered with the enthusiasm of a woman facing death row—and just as much liveliness. Once we arrived, he rented a boat, hurled all of his fishing gear into it, and rowed to the middle of the lake.
On the boat, I complained about my early maternity leave from Madame Mayhem. Dad told me that work was a distraction from life and that life wasn’t a distraction from work, and that I had my priorities all wrong. It sounded like a botched inspirational quote by John Lennon, but he was trying so hard I didn’t scold him for it.
“And besides, we need to meet this Devon guy.” Dad flipped his ball cap backward, trying to make me laugh, to no avail.
“Why?” I scrunched my nose. “We’re not together.”
“You will be.” Dad spun the fishing reel, tugging at it while something in the water flipped about, trying to escape.
I huffed, watching as he pulled the fish out—a silver-scaled, helpless looking thing. Dad grabbed a fillet knife, cutting the fish’s throat and letting it bleed into the water. The fish stopped flapping, succumbing to its destiny. Dad swathed the fish in a plastic wrap and threw it into an ice-filled container.
“How do you know?” I asked.
He raised his eyebrows. “To fish?”
“No, that Devon and I will end up together.” I shifted uncomfortably on the other side of the boat.
“Oh. I just do.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Of course it is, honey.” He smiled at me lovingly, handing me over the fillet knife and a pack of alcohol wipes to clean it. “And it’s a good one too.”
About an hour into our fishing session, we bumped into one of Dad’s new friends from town. Literally. Our boat kissed his while he accidentally drifted in our direction. Dad immediately reached for me, making sure I didn’t slip or get hurt. Then he laughed, his eyes lighting up.
“Hey, Bryan.”
“John! I thought I’d seen you out here.”
“Weather’s too nice to pass up. Have you met my daughter?” The pride in Dad’s voice was tangible, sending frissons of pleasure down my spine.
“Can’t say I have. Ma’am.” Bryan tipped his straw hat down.
There was an introduction, followed by thirty minutes of fishing talk. I yawned, glancing around us. I understood that some people enjoyed nature and its peacefulness. Personally, I couldn’t live anywhere where the air wasn’t polluted and the crime wasn’t at least a little bit out of control.
I decided to finally turn my phone on and check my messages. I hadn’t done that in days, though I used my parents’ landline to call Persy, Ash, and Sailor.
I scrolled through my phone when a message popped on my screen. It was fresh from twenty minutes ago.
Devon: Where are you?
It was time to face the music. Well, the screaming, really.
Belle: Fishing.
Devon: FISHING?
Belle: Yes.
Devon: Is this code for something?
Belle: Get your mind out of the gutter.
Devon: Hey, you were the one to put it in there in the first place.
Devon: You have a lot to answer for, young lady.
Belle: Ugh. Call me young again. Someone just called me ma’am.
Devon: Give me his details. I’ll handle him.
Devon: Where are you fishing?
My eyes dragged up from the screen, and I looked around me. Was the middle of nowhere a sufficient reply?
Belle: Doesn’t matter. I’ll come meet you. We need to talk.
I was going to tell him that I’d made a terrible mistake, that I was sorry, that I was an idiot （there was a good chance I was going to say that twice）， that I received—and promptly burned—the check Louisa had given me, and please, please, pleasepleaseplease could he take me back.
I’d learned my lesson. Dad scarred me, and Mr. Locken gutted me, but apparently, I still had a beating heart behind the heavy layers of fa?ade. And that heart belonged to him.
Devon: Don’t come.
Belle: …？
But he never replied.
Don’t come.
No explanation, no nothing.
So of course I was going.
I was going just to spite him! The bastard. I was going there right now. Well, maybe I’d put on something a little more dignified than a pair of daisy dukes I couldn’t button and a shirt that screamed I just spent the last few days with my best friends, Easy Cheese and Dancing with the Stars.
“Dad, I have to go.”
Dad and Bryan conducted a short but meaningful conversation using their eyebrows alone, perplexed that someone would want to do anything other than sit idly in the middle of a huge blob of water and wait for fish to bite their baits.