Beach Day

21: Good Old Grampy Fishing

"I need new tools," she sighs, lugging the cooler out of the truck's bed. "Not the ones I took from Uncle Mike. Those aren't working. I need to fix my phone."

Reaching for the bait and tackle, Drew frowns. "You broke your phone?"

"Yeah, two nights ago. Matt and I were in a hole. I dropped it in the water."

"Do I even want to know?"

"You would say it's bullshit and bunk so... probably not."

"Oh, your mystery things?"

"Yeah. Don't mention it to Peepaw, please. He won't cotton well to it. He'll— just don't say anything about that hobby, will you?"

It's easier with Andy. he gets it, even after all this time. He understands that there are just things you don't mention to authority figures— just as there are things you don't tell anyone, because what if it gets back to your parents? Drew doesn't know that, she doesn't think. And why should he? He never had to deal with this stuff. He didn't grow up here.

He nods. "Sure thing, Tiffy."

"Thank you."

"What's on the table, then?"

"Stuff about me?"

"Yeah, stuff about you."

"Uh— probably nothing, actually. I don't sew all that much anymore, and the last thing I made was that Halloween costume. Which is a bad idea to mention, given the uh... the horror movie aspect and the tight leather aspect? Uh— Painting. If you're going to talk about me, it's painting and that's uh... that's all. If it's you— and it should be, because you're the reason we're here, and I'm just... here? If it's about me, then painting." She hefts the cooler onto her hip. "If it's you, nothing uh... secular or queer. Don't mention what you got a degree in— Hell, don't mention your degree. Just... Just stick to wrestling. Think about wrestling and don't mention you're a receptionist."

"Thank you, Tiff, I appreciate the advice," he says, something genuine behind his laugh. "God— I can see why Mom's just spending time with Uncle Mike. He seems easier to navigate."

"I don't want to scare you off this. It's going to be fine. Fun, even." She smiles, remembering, "Peepaw and I used to fish all the time. He said being out in nature was like a way to connect to God. I just wanted to spend some peaceful time with him."

"That's honestly— I'm not going to be a dick about this. I think that's very sweet."

There's something to Drew's voice, and she knows: he wants a moment like that. A connection to what could have been his home if the world had been kinder— a hand held out to a family that should have been his. Coming into it new, he doesn't have all the baggage Tiff has about this place and these people or the weariness his mother wears on her back. He has an optimism about him— twenty-four and searching for something to hold dear. How could she deny him?

Peepaw finally gets out of his truck, and the conversation ends in tandem with the opening of the door. He grins to his grandchildren and gestures for them to follow him.

The afternoon passes well enough. Tiff weaves around the things she knows she shouldn't say, and Peepaw plays the part of the kind older Southern man: conservative, but kind, and full of stories. Tiff finds that, as long as she keeps her mouth shut and fishes quietly— reacting appropriately but saying nothing— the afternoon passes in welcome peace.

The trees above her sway with the weight of a winter breeze and she can't help but feel like she's one with the world. This is where it happened the first timeL a sense of harmony, a sense of stillness. This is what hope tastes like.