Page 92 of Love, Second Chances and Other Nonsense
I stop working, genuinely curious. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Depends on the season, of course. There’s a creek about twenty minutes from here that has some of the best brown trout fishing I’ve ever found. Then there’s the river for bass—smallmouth, mostly. Lake Hamilton’s got good catfish if you know where to look.” He taps the wall with his crowbar, testing for weak spots. “Got a spot near Miller’s Point that almost never fails. Caught a six-pound bass there last spring.”
“Six pounds? That’s impressive.”
“Would’ve been bigger if I’d caught him later in the season.” Peter’s whole demeanor has changed, more animated than I’ve ever seen him. “The secret is to go just after sunrise, when the mist is still on the water. Most folks don’t have the patience to wait out those early hours.”
“Eric used to say the same thing. ‘Fish don’t care if you’re comfortable, Adam,’” I mimic Eric’s gruff voice. “‘They care if you’re in the right place at the right time.’”
“Exactly right,” Peter says with a laugh.
We are quiet for a moment before Peter asks, “Eric was the one who died last year?”
“Yeah,” I nod. “He was like a second father to me. It’s rough. I have so many good memories of him, but I am also seriously pissed at the adults in my life right now. My mother and Rhonda might have been the main offenders, but my dad and Eric never even tried to stop them.”
Peter nods and clasps my shoulder briefly. He doesn’t say anything, but he looks thoughtful as we go back to work.
“Season starts in a couple of months,” Peter says casually, as if the thought has just occurred to him. “I usually go out on opening day. Early start, but worth it.”
I wait, not wanting to presume.
“You could come along,” he adds, not looking at me. “If you want. Got plenty of gear you could borrow.”
The invitation hangs in the air between us, far more significant than a simple fishing trip. This is Peter Hughes, offering an olive branch. This is Caitlin’s uncle, the man who held me accountable for how I hurt her, now inviting me into his world.
“I’d like that,” I say, matching his casual tone though my heart is racing. “Thank you.”
He nods once, matter settled, and points to the toilet. “That thing’s next. It’s been there as long as I can remember.”
We’re wrestling the ancient toilet free from its moorings when we hear laughter from upstairs. The sound of Caitlin’s laugh mixed with Rachel’s and Charlene’s fills the small bathroom, warming the space in a way no heater ever could.
“They sound like they’re having more fun than we are,” I observe.
“Always do,” Peter says with a shrug. “Been that way since the girls were little. There never was a chore or job they couldn’t turn into a game.”
We finish the bathroom demolition as the afternoon light begins to soften. My back aches with tiredness. Peter and I remove our respirators and safety glasses and survey the now empty space with satisfaction. We’ve taken it down to the studs and subfloor, ready for whatever comes next.
Upstairs, the women have completely stripped the wallpaper from the master and made a start on a second bedroom.
Charlene pulls me into another unexpected hug.
“Thank you for everything you’re doing here, Adam,” she says warmly. “You’re bringing this old place back to life.”
Peter extends his hand, and I shake it, noticing the firm grip, the calluses that match my own. “Good work today,” he sayssimply. “We’ll be back next week. Charlene’s bringing dinner again.”
“And don’t forget fishing,” he adds as they head toward the door. “I’ll text you the details when we’re closer to it.”
I help Peter load his tools back into his truck. As they get ready to drive away, Caitlin lingers on the porch beside me. The sunset paints her in gold and shadow, and I ache to reach for her hand, to pull her close and tell her how much today has meant to me. Instead, I simply stand beside her, and watch the dying light turn her hair gold.
“They like you,” she says quietly.
“I like them too,” I admit. “They’re good people.”
She turns to me, her expression unreadable in the fading light. “Ready for another day of it tomorrow?”
“I’ll be here,” I tell her, watching as she walks to her uncle’s truck, wondering if she can hear the words I don’t say: I love you. I’ve always loved you. I will love you until my last breath.
But those words will have to wait for another day, when she’s ready to hear them. For now, it’s enough that her family is beginning to accept me, that Peter Hughes has invited me fishing, that Caitlin stood beside me in the golden light of evening, close enough to touch.
