Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73010 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73010 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
The ride is short, but it’s enough to calm my nerves about the next time. Besides, seeing Micah in his element is well worth it.
14
MICAH
The following morning, I’m up before Aaron arrives and digging around in the spare bedroom dresser. Not sure what I’m searching for exactly, but since it has to be cleaned out, I figure I’m doing double duty. There are old photographs of my father as a kid, and I can’t help wondering at what point he turned into the monster I knew all too well. Sure, drinking himself to blackout contributed to that, but not every alcoholic is cruel the way he was. My great-grandfather had the same addiction, and now I lament never asking more questions about him. It’s likely the reason Grandpa took pity on me.
I rummage around in the closet next, making a path through musty shoes, coats, and stacks of books, only to find a fishing pole hidden in the very back. And not any fishing pole. My fishing pole, the one Grandpa claimed he got rid of after the cheating scandal. I marvel at the bamboo handle, curve my fingers around the grip as if seeing it for the first time again. There were sturdier poles made of graphite or carbon fiber, but I wanted this one as soon as I laid eyes on it.
Why did he keep it? It’s true his bark was always worse than his bite. Underneath, he cared but didn’t always know how to show it. Fuck, I can’t breathe as emotions bombard me. Gratefulness and joy that he saved a memento from my childhood. And because I treated it with care, it’s still in good condition.
I have the immediate urge to head to the docks with my pole in hand. But first, I test it out. Hold it steady and practice flicking my wrist. Turns out, it’s just like riding a bike.
The need grows in my gut, so I grab a couple of lures, some fishing line, and head out to the pier. Of course, I’m not alone. Other early dawn fishers are there, and some grumble a good morning as I find a spot to sit. I could’ve stopped at the shack to buy live bait, but for now, the lures will do fine. Besides, I’m only here to test the waters, so to speak.
As soon as I cast my line, my nervous system calms. Why haven’t I thought to scope out fishing piers in LA? It’s not like I’ve had to avoid them because I was banned. Still, feeling ashamed is a completely different animal.
Suppose I’ve been too busy trying to make it in Hollywood. Suddenly, the entire idea feels misplaced and almost foreign to me. Have I really spent years auditioning for bit parts only to get a little taste of theater? It’s the only thing that’s pacified me like fishing once did. And John. John always knew what I needed.
The morning unfolds lazily as I get lost in the peaceful act of casting my line and waiting for a bite. Some fishers like to chat and gossip, but many are like me and appreciate the silence. I would say the anonymity too, except a couple of old-timers approach me to express their condolences, so I can only imagine word has spread that Griggs Malone’s disgraced grandson is back in town. I suspect others don’t recognize me or have long forgotten what happened—unless Cap reminded them. I wouldn’t put it past him.
Aaron is sanding a baseboard when I return home. It’s strange to have him here, but I also know the more he’s present, the sooner I can sell this place and leave.
I try to sneak past him with my gear. “Oh, hey. Do you fish?”
“Sort of.” I rest my pole against the wall. “My grandfather started as a deckhand on a trawler, but he also owned a boat. Today was actually my first time fishing at the pier since I was a kid.”
“The pier?”
“Sleepy Slip near Sunrise Bay. First northern exit on the highway.”
“I don’t know that area.” He looks off in the distance. “Wait, is that where the McCoys went to high school?”
“Yep. Bay High.” I set down the tackle box, figuring it’s as good a place as any. “And obviously me too.”
He smiles. “That where Johnny gets the fresh catch for his fish fries?”
I straighten. “He still runs those events?”
He hitches a shoulder. “Noticed a sign in his bar, something about the spring festival?”
My stomach warms. “It’s a yearly celebration with plenty of food and entertainment. Guess I forgot about some of the things that happen around this town. John loves those events.”
“He’s a pretty social guy. How about you?”
“Only when I have to be,” I mutter.
His eyes brighten. “Ah, so opposites attract, like me and Jack?”
I study him. “Guess that tracks.”