Junior reclined in one of the folding canvas lawn chairs they'd brought; Francie paced trails into the lake's shore. "Daddy, the fish are all gonna be gone," the younger girl huffed with a dramatic placement of fists on hips. Ennis held a hook in one hand and a line in the other and for the life of him couldn't seem to get the two to meet just right.
"Nah, they're still jumpin," Junior told her hopefully, shading her eyes to peer out over the wide lake. Perturbations in the ripples' gentle rhythm told of trout pouncing for insects, of shiny-scaled bodies briefly gaining flight, as if whatever fluttered through the air was so marvelous it compelled them to gaze skyward and send themselves soaring. She always looked an instant too late to glimpse the fish himself, saw only the wake he left, imperfect circles radiating outward. Splashes caught the sun in droplets, scattered it. The tip of a silvery tail fin ducked between two ripples. Big one this time.
Ennis stuck his arms out straight ahead to better focus but ended up only seeing the hook fumble out of his fingers. He cursed in a breath, not accustomed to delicate tasks. Years had armored his hands with rough callouses; arthritis had started to swell in his knuckles, more in his right hand than left. Not to mention he'd needed glasses since high school. He would've been there for hours pawing around in the dirt for that hook, but Junior leaned over and retrieved it, grabbed a line and had it threaded in seconds. "Fingers are gettin too old for this," he said, and flexed his hand until the knuckles cracked. Junior handed the line back to him to tie, which he could've done even with his eyes closed and fingers frozen, because he knew a thing or two about knots.
Francie skipped over, sounding nonplussed. "Well what are you gonna do when you're out on a fishing trip and Junior's not around to put the hook on for you?"
Junior answered before Ennis had a chance to: "Silly, Daddy's friend could always do it." Ennis almost dropped the hook again.
The few times they actually went fishing, Jack did in fact tie the lines. Ennis recalled watching Jack's fingers work a knot around the hook for what seemed like ages, trying to get it perfect. "What's that your tyin, some big ol fancy Texas knot?" Ennis had said. He smiled at the memory, let Jack's hands into his consciousness for a moment but tried not to dwell on that, as it wasn't proper. Don't think about Jack, think about fishin, he scolded himself, but thinking about fishing made him think of "fishing trips," and fishing trips were him and Jack and the mountains and the tent and the breaths, and he yelled at himself think about real fishin!
Meanwhile, Junior had threaded the other two hooks.
They sat on the shore above a deep pool, three lines cast out in front of them bobbing over ripples, crossing occasionally in the current. Junior dangled one bare foot down, her big toe haphazardly skimming the lake's surface. Had Ennis been any kind of fisherman, he might've warned her about scaring away the fish, but then again the day wasn't really about fishing anyway. Francie did her part to frighten the fish by bouncing around in her chair like a rubber ball, jogging the fishing line; Ennis wondered where she got the energy, and wished he had a tenth of it still.
"Does it always take so long for the fish to bite?" the younger girl asked.
Probably wouldn't if I knew what in the hell I was doin, Ennis thought, but replied only "sometimes."
"Maybe when one fish bites, the rest of them will join in and then they'll all start biting and we'll catch a bunch of them," Francie mused, her eyes wide. "How many fish do you and Jack usually catch? Do you catch a bunch?"
Ennis twitched at his daughter's mention of the name and hoped no one noticed his hand jerk the fishing line. It surprised him she remembered Jack at all—she hadn't been more than seven or eight the one time they were introduced. He wondered now if Alma had been telling them things.
"Oh, we uh...we catch enough," he said as he scrutinized the dirt between his feet. He touched the empty pocket where the postcard usually insulated his chest. Couldn't lie to them, couldn't exactly tell them the full truth either.
After that one calamitous Thanksgiving Ennis spent with Alma and Munroe nearly ten years ago, he and Jack made a promise to pull off the tags and finally use the fishing poles they'd been carrying around as a disguise since 1967. Neither of them had fished since they were kids, and even then only with sticks instead of real equipment. But they figured, how hard could it be?Besides, after having gone on so many "fishing trips," it wasn't as though they could ask anyone for pointers now. It took them until damn near the following November to actually catch anything; had they known fishing was such difficult business, they might've gone on "hunting trips" all those years instead.
"Daddy, tell us a fishing story!" Francie yipped. "Tell us about the biggest fish you ever caught or the farthest lake you ever went to or something. Maybe the fish'll start biting once they hear what a good fisherman you are."
Ennis snorted a little laugh. "Well, now, I dunno about that..."
"Aw, come on, you must have a buncha good stories," Junior chimed in.
Few that can be repeated though, Ennis thought. And fewer he'd want to tell anyway, because he didn't talk about Jack, he just didn't. Especially not to his girls—never seemed right to discuss the man he'd cheated on their mother with, just like they did their best not to bring up Munroe. Now and then, when guys at work got to chatting, Ennis would mention fishing and hunting trips, mumble a couple words about elk, trout, horses. When he lived with Alma, he said just enough to keep her at bay. But he never told stories, because what if he let something slip and everyone found out about him and Jack? What if they could just tell from the way he spoke, from the smile sneaking out on his hard weathered face, and what if that smile seemed a little too fond for talking about a fishing buddy, what if his eyes lost themselves a little too much on memories of mountains? He figured it best not to start talking about their trips at all. He could've told a hundred stories, but everything intertwined: the mountains and the wind and their laughter and breaths and their bodies in the tent under the stars. Too easy to say the wrong thing.
"Please, Daddy? Just one story?" Francie said in a drawn-out whine. There were a couple things in the world Ennis had a weakness for—whiskey being one, as Francie had astutely pointed out. Another was hearing his girls' voices, especially when they called him "Daddy"; and of course looking into the wide doe-eyes of the three people he cared about more than life, two of whom he was sitting beside on the lake shore. He smiled defeatedly, ran a hand under his hat to wipe away the sweat, breathed a long sigh. He had fishing stories, sure, but what started off as fishing... Well, he could tell them parts of stories, anyhow. And maybe if he minimized Jack's role, gave him no more than a cameo appearance, then he could talk about it without either choking up or saying too much, and it would be alright after all.
"Okay, okay, I'll tell ya bout the first time I went fishin—first time since I was more'n knee-high to my dad anyway." That'd be a good story, and it really was about fishing and not too much about Jack, though it was the same trip after Jack had sent that post card. "Well, I was campin by a big ol lake. I had me a bran-new fishin pole, bran-new hooks—" Brand new in 1967, that was, though perhaps by 1973 "unused" would've been more realistic. "—an I just knew I was goin a catch a whole buncha fish with them shiny new lures. I was so sure, I didn't bother bringin nothin else to eat, except a few cans a beans in the truck—but I didn't bring a can opener since I knew I'd catch so many fish." The girls giggled, having an inkling as to how their father's predictions had turned out. "Nothin was bitin much, but I said I was goin a sit there til I caught a fish even if it took the whole day. Trouble was, it was December, an a cold one. Now, Jack, he rodeoed back in the day an he's got this ol tear in his knee, always locks up in bad weather—tell ya when a storm's comin better'n the weatherman on the news. So I was waitin for all my fish but Jack gave up after a couple a hours an said he was goin a hunt down somethin to eat because a big storm was goin a hit. I figured by time he got back I'd a caught a whole pile a fish bigger'n some rabbit he might get. Anyway, the storm hit an I lasted out in the snow an hail another hour before I ran back to camp. Jack's truck was gone so I thought maybe he shot somethin big an had to drive out to get it. I got a fire goin good, reinforced my tent a bit, then sat around waitin. I waited til the sun set an the sky got black before I ended up usin a rock to break open a can a beans." His daughters laughed again and he realized how much a person can miss a sound they don't hear nearly enough. Telling stories hadn't turned out so bad after all. He just wouldn't mention how worried he'd been that Jack had gotten stuck in the snowstorm or eaten by a bear or had just gotten tired of Ennis's bullshit, how Ennis had pressed his palm into his chest pocket where that post card was tucked away and had lost more than a few tears into the dirt already soaked through with the first soggy layer of snow. "Well, it must a been ten at night when I saw headlights comin up the road. There was nothin else around for miles so I knew it was Jack. He hopped out a the truck soakin wet an covered head to toe in mud, so I was expectin somethin real big, a elk or buffalo or somethin, heck, maybe a elephant—I could a eaten one by then—but ya know what he brought back?"
"A rabbit?" Francie asked through a toothy grin.
"Nope, smaller'n a rabbit," Ennis said.
"A fish?" asked Junior.
Ennis shook his head. "Nope, wasn't a fish neither. Jack opened the truck door an pulled out a pizza. An now I think of it, it was a extra-large an might a been bigger'n a rabbit after all." The girls cracked up laughing and Ennis smiled, at his daughters and at the memory both. He'd mentioned Jack more than he'd intended, but that was alright, kind of necessary to the story anyway; he'd just keep the real ending to himself:
Ennis had never been so glad to see headlights in his life. His eyes followed them up the road; time stalled. Once he could hear the crunch of tires through the dirt and snow he gulped the first deep breath he'd taken since sunset, raw ache of the past five hours churned up inside his chest and frozen there. Jack flung open the truck door and slid down within a veil of the heater's hot breath that billowed out and turned to steam and rose. Ennis's face absorbed the warmth, burned with it, prickles in his nose and cheeks the first notable sensation in hours. He'd been numb for a long while. "Look what I caught us for dinner," Jack said, all smiles, pointing back with his thumb. "It was a clean kill—it went down real quick, didn't suffer or nothin."
Ennis stared at him, at the mud slathering his clothes, the dripping ringlets in his hair from melted snow, then at the storm clouds, and beyond them, the diluted hint of a moon. In the shadow-trees past the fire's reach, an owl hooted soft and low, a sleepy welcome to the night. Snowflakes drifted down, the last of the storm or perhaps an interlude. One landed on Ennis's cheek; his skin flushed at its touch. The numbness broke, his body releasing itself to shivers, first in his fists and then his stone-set jaw. A lone drop of steam or snow or tears trickled down his cheek, lost itself in the stubble. He grabbed the front of Jack's shirt, bunching up handfuls of mud-slick fabric.
"Where in the hell were you?" Ennis's voice faltered.
Jack's smile faded just enough to unclench the dimples in his cheeks. "I told ya, I went to find us some dinner."
"Goddamn it, I thought ya was gone for good... I mean... like ya got eaten up by a bear or somethin." Ennis added on the last part to try not to sound so much like a fussing wife, figured Jack could see through it anyhow.
"Naw, I wouldn't a left ya out here just cause ya can't fish worth shit." Jack's voice was buoyant again and his smile returned, dimples filling alternately with firelight and shadow. That smile usually worked on Ennis; this time, Ennis's face only scrunched up, furrowed brow hiding his glistening slits of eyes. "Ennis..." Jack sighed gently, "Look, I'm sorry, I just went down the road a bit, figured I could get a deer or somethin an—"
Ennis pulled Jack against his chest hard enough to knock the wind out of both of them, stretching his arms around Jack's wide shoulders, hands roving, grasping, fingers tangling in the wet mop of curls. He let his chin rest on Jack's hair and inhaled a scent he'd thought he might never breathe again. The embrace threatened to smother but Jack understood, and would've reciprocated except Ennis had his arms pinned. So Jack leaned into it, pliable, and kept talking, words muffled in Ennis's jacket. "I stood out there shiverin my ass off for a hour before I figured I wouldn't catch nothin—the animals all got more sense'n we do to be out in the storm like this. So I drove down to that last little town. I would a let ya know but I thought if I hurried I could beat the storm. Guess not though." Ennis felt the words more than heard them, vibrations like a racing heartbeat permeating his skin. Where their chests met, Ennis felt the sharp edges of the post card like a prickly thorn between them, still freshly folded then, not yet worn at the creases. He released his grip the slightest bit until it sat right. Jack took a breath. "Well, that road was a bitch gettin back up. The truck got stuck in the mud an it took me goddamn two hours to dig it out. An y'know what was standin there starin at me when I come out from under the truck? A big ol buck, right there on the side a the road. Swear to God he was laughin. An he just stood there too, probably knew I was too goddamn cold to bother. Anyway, I didn't mean—"
"Hold on now, what do ya got in there?" Ennis asked, relaxing his grip on Jack as he peered at the truck's fogged-over window.
"Wait til ya see—I think it was my best hunt yet." Jack opened the truck door and gestured for Ennis to get in. "Well go on, you're lettin the heat out."
Ennis thought he recognized the smell that filled the cab but he couldn't place it, not out there in the pines and snow where it didn't match. He reached forward blindly until he touched a box, sensed Jack smiling behind him, and put things together. "Pizza? Ya got a pizza?"
"I was goin a get whatever I could get from whatever was open. I was hopin you'd at least catch some anchovies to go on top."
In a light-quick motion Ennis turned and leaned forward, wedging the pizza box on the dashboard above the steering wheel and latching onto Jack again. Hands grappled, fingers teased, skin flushed, and their mouths met slightly off center in the darkness. Condensation beaded on the windows: the need between them wet and tangible. Light gathered within each droplet, on one side of the truck the dancing campfire, on the other the still, cool moon; somewhere in the middle they coalesced. Ennis lay down on the seat and pulled Jack on top of him between his legs and whispered something trite about getting him out of the muddy clothes.
"Whoa there, cowboy!" Jack laughed, propping himself back up. "I've been smellin that pizza for four hours now an I didn't so much as take a bite without you. I dunno if I can wait."
It turned out Ennis's "couldn't wait" was stronger than Jack's "couldn't wait," so the pizza waited on the dashboard for another twenty minutes and Jack's clothes waited in a muddy heap on the floor of the truck, and outside the coyotes waited to sing until the mountains were quiet again.
No, Ennis wouldn't tell that part of the story to anyone, and had to keep himself from thinking much about it too, at least in the company of others.
"Tell us another story!" Francie said, her fishing pole dangling like an afterthought.
"Yeah, one where ya actually catch some fish," Junior snickered.
"Very funny," Ennis said. He couldn't recall such an easy day with his daughters in a while, Alma and Munroe always bringing their crap into it. Good thing it turned out to be fishing instead of church, too. "Alright then, it just so happens there was a time I caught five big ol fish, an I only stopped at five cause it was a long ways back to camp an I had to carry em all. Who knows how many I would a caught if I kept at it." Ennis nodded; the girls seemed amused. And this time he'd keep Jack out of the story better. He'd also leave out how that was the only time he and Jack combined had caught more than two fish. "It was a day or two before Halloween—the year you dressed up as a angel," he said to Francie, and then turned to Junior, "an you dressed up as a black cat."
"You remember that?" Francie, only nine that year, couldn't separate her memory of it from the other two years she'd been an angel.
"Course I do—you were the prettiest angel in the whole town," Ennis said, but couldn't explain the bigger reason—how that was the last time he'd seen his daughters dress up for Halloween, one of the last memories he had of them being little girls. Munroe had taken a photo of them and Ennis asked him for a copy but eight years later still didn't have one. He changed the subject back to fishing before he could start thinking too hard on that, but decided in the back of his mind that it was about time to ask Munroe for the photo again.
He told the girls about that October, about Halloween and the weather, talked about whatever else he could think of as if filling the afternoon with words would stretch it out farther. That year he worked for Hal Woodrich, who owned 100,000 acres and was generous with time off and stingy with money. He had more ranch hands than he probably needed and hadn't minded Ennis taking off three times that year; Ennis sure tested how far that luck could be pushed. The days were fickle, fall and winter squabbling over the air. Almost every morning Ennis rode out on the ranch with three shirts on and came back wearing just the undershirt, or the other way around. When he and Jack had left on their trip the nights were sinking below freezing, but they went fishing that one day with their sleeves rolled up—an indian summer, or at least an afternoon of it.
Maybe the weather's dithering confused the trees too, Jack mused as they hiked up to the lake through a foot of fallen leaves, their steps comically exaggerated as if plodding through snow. Birch and cottonwood like gold raindrops, calico maples, oak still holding green; Ennis remembered the leaves more than anything else about that autumn: rolling through them, stirring them up in swells as he and Jack tumbled over and over, finally sinking in. Leaves like a well-worn bed beneath his chest, his face pressed into their heady scent of rain and earth and pine, Jack all over him, hands groping fistfuls of maple and birch. Afterward they scoured the woods up and down the hill to collect all their clothing. Jack's shirt held out until the last, the autumn ground a perfect camouflage for plaid, while Jack stood shirtless in the woods with crumpled bits of leaves adorning his hair like a wreath.
But there was still fishing to tell about. "Maybe it was the bait we used that day," Ennis said, thinking back on their drunken laughter across the campfire at what had started out as a joke the night before. "We could try beans," Jack had said, pointing at a half-empty can that neither of them much cared to finish. They'd forgotten to bring bait, an easy thing to forget with fishing being such a new addition to their fishing trips. They laughed about it over whiskey and embers, but the next morning they slept in late and didn't want to waste daylight digging for worms. Eight fish later between them, they figured they'd discovered some great fishing secret. "Probably just the weather though," Ennis told the girls: languid afternoon, sunshine and leaf showers and insects droning in the tall grass, the last flourish of autumn, winter hissing crisp at the wind's edges.
"We was out there til sunset cause a how many fish we were catchin—trout mostly, except Jack hooked one big ugly ol fish." Ennis made a face to illustrate and the girls laughed even though he knew they were too old for funny faces. "We didn't know what it was—looked like some kind a monster. I wasn't goin a eat it but Jack said we caught it so we shouldn't waste it an it might end up bein good besides. Well, that got us talkin bout monsters since it was Halloween time an all, tellin scary stories to try an spook ourselves. We was walking along side the creek back to camp and Jack was tryin a convince me that when he stopped for gas someone in town warned him about those very woods. He was tellin me—" Ennis leaned in, lowered his voice for effect "—that the ghosts of Indians killed by settlers a hundred years ago haunt the woods, and every Halloween night they come out to get revenge on livin folks, specially campers out all alone in the dark."
"Was it true?" Francie asked, wide-eyed. "Were you scared?"
Ennis flopped back in his chair. "Naw, Jack was full of it an he's a terrible liar, couldn't hardly keep a straight face. He was tryin not to laugh while he was tellin me that when the Indians came they'd only go after me since he's part Indian, his momma told him—dunno if that part's true or not, could be. Anyway, so we was headin down along the creek, an right when Jack got to the good part a his story somethin ran out from the trees across the trail not a foot away. It was dark but the moon was near bright as daylight, so I could see it was a wolverine ran out in front of us, a big one too—55, 60 pounds at least, big as a dog. Now, Jack'll tell ya it was a marmot, but don't believe a word he says. I got a good look at it, saw its teeth an claws even, an that was no marmot, it was a wolverine...or at least a badger or a...porcupine or something, but it sure as hell wasn't no marmot. Well, when that big ol wolverine ran out I took a step back to let it pass—ya don't mess with wolverines—but the leaves on the ground was wet an I slipped an fell back into the creek. Jack'll tell ya I startled an jumped an he might even say I screamed, but like I said, you shouldn't believe him." The girls exchanged glances, snickering through tight smiles. "I dunno where the wolverine went, but Jack was standin on the bank pointin down at me an laughing himself silly. He laughed so hard he slipped on the leaves too an ended up right next to me in the water, an he didn't even have the sense to hold onto his fish like I did so they drifted on down the creek, which served him right." The other thing Jack would've said was how he hadn't so much tripped on leaves as on Ennis's foot kicking his ankles.
Thinking of the lost fish reminded Ennis of another fishing trip, and he barely took a breath before continuing, chuckling already at the memory of it. At least the girls seemed entertained, distracted from the lack of biting fish, and at least he was finally talking to them, more words in that hour than he'd spoken in the last year, which was something he'd been thinking for a while he should work on changing. "There was another time, the last time we went fishin in fact, an it was good weather so I bet half the state was out there fishin too. Lucky there was even one fish left for me to catch. Jack didn't catch nothin."
"Did you try fishing with beans again?" Francie asked.
"No, we ate the beans that night since we only caught the one fish."
"Are there beans in all your stories?"
"Yeah, it seems like they're bean stories more'n fishin stories," Junior giggled along with her sister.
"Beans ain't somethin to take for granted," Ennis said, feigning seriousness. "Anyhow, if ya look at it that way, this ain't really a fishin story or a bean story, it's a popcorn story. Now, Jack's got less confidence in us fishin than I do—maybe cause I'm the one usually catches most a the fish—so he comes prepared with all kinds a things, an that time he had poppin corn. Round midnight he got hungry cause all he ate was half a can a beans, so he poured a bunch a poppin corn in a skillet an stuck it over the fire. I told him that wasn't goin a work but he said sure it would, he said he did it that way all the time over the stove at home, so I shrugged an went on back to whittlin somethin an I figured sooner or later he'd be askin me for another can a beans. Well, in a minute I heard a POP! an then a couple a more pops, an Jack was lookin all smug an he just barely said 'I told ya—' before there was about a thousand pops an poppin corn was goin everywhere, some of it popped an most of it not. Some a the kernels flew all the way over where I was sittin an hit me in the face. They was hittin Jack all over—he was coverin his face with one arm—so what did he do? He dropped the pan an it fell straight into the fire, an he ran an ducked behind a log, that dumbass. Then the poppin corn was really goin everywhere. The kernels were hittin the truck even, sounded like a hail storm, an some was poppin up an catchin fire an shootin out like meteors. I ran an ducked behind the log then too an it kept on poppin for five minutes at least, flamin popcorn flyin over our heads, lucky it didn't start a forest fire." Ennis couldn't contain a few chuckles, remembering how hard he and Jack had laughed that night, rolling around on the ground behind the old pine log, drunk silly and flinching at every boom from the fire. Eventually it slowed, leaving just a few residual pops: the stragglers, the last few flaming streaks across the summer sky. Ennis watched them soar past and his eyes dizzied and his laughter slowed and his heart raced, and he made a wish on each one, a wish on burning popcorn of all things, but at that moment they were shooting stars and Jack was pressed up tight and warm beside him on the ground and anything was possible.
"What did you do?" Francie asked.
"Waited til it stopped, then opened up a can a beans," Ennis replied, lost in nostalgia over Jack and the girls both. He wanted to talk to them forever, telling them stories as if they were still little girls in that apartment over the laundromat, but he felt himself edging too close to that point where he might say something wrong, let something slip, and then what? What would his girls think if they knew the truth? That was why he didn't talk about Jack, because talking about Jack was like everything else with Jack: once Ennis got started he couldn't seem to stop, and found out he didn't much want to stop either. But rousing all those memories weighted each word with the totality of them: long lonely months measured out by counting down days, brief fiery mountain nights extinguished too quick, and the bleakness of the weeks since their last trip in May and their fight and all the things he'd said and all the more things he hadn't said.
He sniffled hard, clearing his throat. Somehow his voice came out hearty, almost cheerful. "Alright now, I told ya bout fishin, I think it's your turn to tell me a story." He glanced over at them, caught the side of Junior's shy smile before it vanished behind a curtain of her dark curls as she whisked her gaze down toward her rippling reflection.
"A story about what?" Francie asked.
Junior responded before Ennis had a chance to, unable to contain it any longer: "I think I've got a good story for ya." She kept her face averted but Ennis knew she was smiling, recognized the weightlessness at the edges of her words like the way Jack spoke when his hat was pulled down low and all Ennis could see sticking out was the upturned end of his cigarette puffing up clouds of smoke and dreams. From her coat pocket Junior withdrew her hand and something on it held the midday sun and glittered. She glanced up finally, eyes questioning, wanting approval, lips tight around a smile that couldn't quite be repressed. Her voice barely carried over the water lapping at the shore: "Daddy... Kurt asked me to marry him."
