The river curves in a wide bend, perfect for catching steelhead on a fly. It’s shallow and only fifty feet across at most, ideal for wading. On a busy day, you could walk up the whole river on the tops of fishermen’s caps and never get your feet wet.
I pick up a smooth, flat stone from the icy bank. Curving one gloved finger around its edge, I throw it over the river, watching it skip one, two, three times before it sinks to the bottom.
Hope picks her way to a beat-up old picnic table somebody carted down here years ago. She swipes her hand to clear the layer of snow and sits down. Squeaking like a mouse, she leaps up again.
“That cold?” I ask with a sly grin.
“I think I got frostbite on my butt.”
“Not butt frostbite.” I sit down on the wood and pat my legs. “You can sit here.”
She looks sideways at my lap like she’s tempted. “It’s too cold, even for you.”
That’s the truth. I’m not wearing thermals, and the bench is numbing me on contact, but I’m not about to give up on her so easily. I take her hand and pull her closer. “You can keep me warm.”
Her lips twist, fighting a smile, but she lets me pull her into my lap. I wrap my arms around her, snuggling as close as I can, since my hands can’t reach her at all. Her parka is my least favorite thing she owns.
“That’s better, isn’t it?”
She nods and slides one arm around my shoulders. “Let me know when your butt is frozen solid.”
“I’ll keep you updated on my butt.”
She squints at where the river disappears in the distance. “You’ve been out here a few times, I’m guessing.”
“This is where I learned to fish. Dad used to bring Caleb and me all decked out in rubber waders so we could practice our casts.”
I can see the three of us tossing our lines in the clear sunshine. Today couldn’t be more different, the sky shrouded in dark clouds and a bite in the air reminding me why I rarely fish in the winter. Even in insulated waders, the cold on Saturday had nearly neutered me.
“Those must be some good memories.”
“They are. They just about make putting up with Caleb worthwhile.” My laugh sounds as brittle as the ice along the riverbank, and Hope hears it. She watches me too long.
Even slightly drunk, she sees more in me than I expect her to. Most people don’t. They see the confident veneer I want them to see. Hope cuts right through to the quick. I don’t like it. Can’t escape it.
But I don’t want her to stop.
“Do you like working with him?”
“I don’t hate working with him.” My thoughts on that range across a spectrum from disgruntled to tolerance, but don’t usually veer into anything like happiness. It’s probably more to do with the work itself than him, but talking about all that isn’t the point of being out here.
“Can I ask you why you’re working with them?” She drops her voice to a gentle whisper, like I’m a skittish colt she’s trying not to scare away.
“It’s…complicated.”
“Things with you usually are.”
The fondness in her voice makes me want to tell her everything. I don’t understand this urge to pry open my heart and show her what’s inside, but I don’t question it, either.
Hugging her closer, I lean my forehead against the smooth surface of her coat. I spent the whole morning pretending I don’t have feelings, and she pulls them to the surface as easily as if they were only waiting for her to ask.
I sit up again and watch the river flow by on its long run south from Jasper Lake.
“Dad never put pressure on me to join the family business. When I went off to college, and later started working in construction, he never let on that he wanted anything else for me. I knew, down deep, he had this dream where both Caleb and I worked with him, but there was never a demand. He never would have. And when he did ask…”
I let the cold air on my face keep the tumult just below the surface in check. Lock it all down. There’s a big difference between sharingsomethingand sharingeverything. The river gurgles and churns, catching on rocks as it runs by. Hope caresses the back of my neck, encouraging me to keep going.
“Last fall, he came up to Portland for a weekend. Asked me if I’d ever consider joining them to take on the managerial side of things. I’d only been working for the custom outfit for a couple of years then, but I was content with it. I told him no. That I’d never seen myself working the family business long-term. It’d been a casual conversation, but I still felt like I’d slammed the door in his face. We moved on, and that was that.”
