It was a good sunny day with a light breeze to keep the bugs off, so it was no wonder when eager Ed said to one and all “Hey! Let’s go fishing!” and less wonder when lazy Jed said “sure, why not,” and small shock when practical Fred said “I’ll bring the sandwiches,” and a surprise to nobody when it was reliable Ned that said “Let’s go down to Butterscotch Bay. I found a new place down there the other day.”
So they went down to Butterscotch Bay, where the water is so thick and brown and glistening in the light that you could pour it on ice cream, armed with rod and line and reel and sandwiches, Ed and Fred and Ned and Jed and a single curious seagull – in that order – because sometimes life just doesn’t throw you a single curveball all inning long.
***
Ned’s new spot was a little bay in the bay, hidden behind an armpit-deep thicket but blessed with a clear open patch of ground.
“Doesn’t look like much,” said Ed.
“It gets deep fast,” said Ned. “Wade in to your shins and in two more steps you’re up to your shoulders.”
“Well heck, that’s good enough for me then. That good enough for you, Fred?”
“That’s good enough for me,” said Fred, who was passing around some disposable gloves. “No, not for you, Jed.”
“Whuffor?”
Ed grinned in a particularly sparkly sort of way that had not one ounce of sunshine in it as the gloves snapped around his wrists. “Well, Jed, thing is, we know about the business with Barb and the kids.”
Jed’s face did a funny thing where it tried to purple and pale at the same time until he looked like blueberries in clotted cream. “What did you I don’t know what you let me explain it’s all lies what did they say it’s not what it looks like nothing happened let me tell-”
Ned grabbed his arms, Ed grabbed his legs, and Fred grabbed out some fishing line and – from the bottom of the cooler – a few likely bricks, and everything came together just like that, with only so much fuss. Which was nice. It was a good sunny day and it didn’t need to be spoiled with a lot of carrying on.
“Aim past the stump,” said Ned. “That’s where it’s deep enough.”
“One, two, three,” said Fred. And yes, it WAS deep enough.
***
Ed and Fred and Ned had a beer or two while they waited for the bubbles to stop. It only took half a can, but nobody’d stop at half a can, that’d just be silly.
“Well,” said Fred, “that’s done and over with.”
“And none too soon if you ask me,” said Ed viciously. “Better than he deserved. By all rights we should’ve taken our time a little. Made him squirm. Let him squeal.”
“That so?” asked Ned.
“Damn straight. Nothing worse than turning on your family like that. I know it was convenient to get it over and done quickly, but-”
“Nothing worse than turning on your family, that’s right,” said Fred.
“Agreed,” said Ned.
“Yeah!” said Ed.
“Like what happened with grandma’s savings,” said Fred.
“What?” said Ed.
“And dad’s investments,” said Ned.
“Hey, that was-”
“That sure-fire gambling system wasn’t so sure after all, was it?” said Fred.
“It was nine-out-of-ten od-”
“Not the best advice you ever gave him, those stocks” said Ned.
Ed’s pupils had gotten real big for someone in the broad daylight of a beautiful summer day without an ounce of anything more alarming than a can of lite beer in their system. “Listen, fellas, I said I’d pay it all back, and I meant it, I’m doing what I can, I am, I am, just-”
“You will,” said Ned, standing up in front of him and taking hold of his arms. “If we have to make you.”
“You are,” said Fred, coming up behind him with a loop of fishing line. “That life insurance’s been cooking long enough.”
It wasn’t quite as drawn-out as Jed, but it was a little bit messier. But they hadn’t taken the gloves off yet, so that was okay, and they had an extra couple bricks for when it was over, so that was fine too.
***
It all hadn’t taken that long. A couple of beers, some light work. The morning was still young.
But they sat down and had the sandwiches anyways, so there was some sort of line in the day drawn. The business had been done, now it was break time.
“Thanks,” said Fred.
“No problem,” said Ned.
“I mean it. This would’ve been a lot harder on my own.”
“It needed doing.”
“That’s true.”
“And besides, you brought the sandwiches.”
“That’s also true,” said Fred.
“Even if they do taste a little funny.”
Fred sighed. “Truest of all.”
“What’s in them?”
Fred looked at Ned.
“Fuck’ssake,” said Ned. He sat up and lunged and fought and punched or at the very least tried to do some of those things.
When he was done, Fred waited for an extra five minutes just to be sure, then went and got the last of the fishing line and the cinder block he’d hidden in the thicket last night. It was tucked under a big root, out of the way. He liked to keep things tidy.
***
Fred watched the last of the ripples until they faded, then watched the still surface for even longer.
It didn’t so much as bubble.
He buried his gloves deep in the mud, smoothed it down, pat pat pat. He picked up the cooler. He ate the last sandwich. He drank the last beer. He considered the sunny morning and the scant breeze and the warm sluggish water and he thought on all that had been and done and figured what the hell, I earned this.
So Fred tipped his head back and laughed, long and loud and a little cracked from ear to ear, and as he did that due to a misfortune of timing that one curious seagull circling above happened to let fly its load at that precise moment and it hit Fred in the back of the throat by way of his mouth, leading for him to drop the cooler on his toe and hit his head on a branch.
Fred staggered, Fred shook, Fred pitched and twisted like a crooked tree in a headstrong wind, and the thick brown waters of Butterscotch Bay took him in as easily and smoothly as a spoon in caramel sauce.
***
The seagull landed and watched attentively. Soon little crayfish would come out to scavenge. They always did. They would be delicious. They always were.
Sometimes life doesn’t throw you a single curveball all inning long. And if you’re the lucky kind of bird, you get lunch out of it.