Page 121 of Bridesmaid for Hire
“Eh, probably not a good idea,” I say. “Given my track record and the pills in me, I’m thinking it’s best I stick to dull objects.”
Reginald holds up a spear to me. “This is a dummy spear. Not very sharp. Helps you get used to holding the spear without harm. See?”
He holds it in front of me, and since he seems like he’s being nice, I stand from my towel and take it from him. “Oh yeah, pretty dull.”
“Jude is holding the real deal. You don’t want to get near him.”
I glance at Jude who is once again still as tree in the ocean, scanning the surface.
“He’s a born hunter,” Reginald says, clearly happy with his future son-in-law. Glad someone can win his approval and best that it’s Jude since he’s joining the family. I’m just trying to keep my job.
“Yeah, he’s really good,” I say while handing the spear back to Reginald, but he holds his hand out, stopping me. “No, keep that. Practice. I’m going to grab one of these.” He reaches for one of the spears lined up on the beach, with a long, deadly-looking point on the end. Yikes, it looks like that thing could kill.
“Oh, going for it?” I ask.
“Going to catch one this time.” He heads to the water. “Come on, McFadden.”
“Oh, no, that’s okay. I’ll just stay here.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You have the baby spear. You’re not going to hurt anyone, at least get some practice in. When are you ever going to experience this again?”
I guess he’s right. When will I ever be in Bora-Bora, on a private island, spearfishing? The answer is never. I don’t run in these circles. My family went on road trips to national parks—vacations that I will always cherish because they were fucking amazing—but they aren’t spearfishing in Bora-Bora, so…I guess when in Rome.
I head into the water and say, “So what, I just throw it at a fish when I see one?”
“You try to pierce it. Give yourself a wide, steady stance, keep calm, and let the fish come to you.”
Okay, looks like we’re having a father-son moment, I’ll take it.
“Like this?” I ask Daddy Reggie.
“Bend your knees more.”
“Like this?” I ask, my trunks pulling on my thighs as I squat deeper.
“Yes, just like…” He pauses and his eyes go wild.
“What?” I ask as I stand there, mid squat, spear up in the air, looking like a goddamn monkey ready to attack.
“Do…not…move,” he says slowly as he raises his spear in the air, pointing it right at me.
“Uh…” I laugh nervously. “What are you doing?”
“Quiet,” he whispers. “You’ll scare it away.”
Still in a primed squatting position, my spear over my head—a position only seen in ancient hieroglyphics—I match his tone and ask, “Scare what away?”
“Shh,” he snaps and then slowly pulls his arm back.
“Uh, sir…”
But he doesn’t pause.
His gaze fixed on the water, near my legs.
His lips are quirked to the side.
And there’s a primal look of attack in his eyes that would scare the hair off any man…including me.
