A floating dock stretched into the lake. Holding his red rod and bait bucket, Andy stepped past the guard rail. Now he was on the water.
Andy looked back and asked, “You got this, Tom? The water’s calm.”
“Oh, shut up and give me some room. I can’t get through with you standing there.”
Andy continued along the dock until he reached the chairs. He set the fish bucket, with its ice in the bottom, between them and moved around to sit in the left chair. He waited for Tom. Andy heard Tom’s raspy breath as he set the tackle box on top of the fish bucket. Tom flopped down in his chair.
Andy slowly fixed hook, weight, bait, and bob to his line. Tom was slower.
“Arthritis?” asked Andy.
“Yeah.”
Andy pulled a blanket out from under his coat and spread it over his legs.
“Where did you have that stuffed?” asked Tom.
“In my coat, don’t you carry one?”
Tom replied, “I oughta. It’s nippy today.”
Andy leaned forward, gathered his strength, and cast his baited hook as far into the lake as he could.
“How’s Linda?” asked Andy.
It went twenty feet.
“Well, she says you need to come over …”
“… for dinner, yeah. Things are just more chaotic without Rachel.”
“I know, but you still need conversation.”
“This is conversation.”
“Ha! This ain’t shit. Talking to me? I’m a …”
“… donkey’s arse, I know.”
Tom cast his rod into the lake. He managed fifteen feet.
Andy asked, “You remember …”
“… Lonny?! Oh yeah, that boy could talk. Remember his tirade on how Jesus ‘ paintings were disrespectful …”
“… because they made him look like King Arthur. Yeah.”
“And don’t get him started on King Arthur.”
Andy asked, “When did he pass?”
Tom answered, “Five years ago, now.”
“Ah.”
Andy’s rod tugged in his hand. He pulled the rod. The bob lifted, then dipped. He reeled in a few feet, resistance. He yanked. Hooked. He pulled in an eight-inch trout.
“Good one,” said Tom.
Andy unhooked the trout and tossed it in the fish bucket. It flopped for a time; eventually, it stilled. Andy, slowly, rigged his line again. He cast it into the lake. It went a little past twenty feet. He couldn’t tell for sure.
“Good cast,” said Tom.
“Jealous?”
They sat in silence. The sun moved from one side of the lake to the other.
Tom’s rod lept. Already hooked, pulled. Andy looked over. Tom’s hands remained loose.
“Arthritis?” asked Andy.
The rod sprang from Tom’s hands. Andy didn’t see it in time. He reached for it, but it was in the lake. Andy looked at Tom.
Tom’s eyes were closed. Andy turned in his chair and studied his friend. A long moment passed. He took the blanket from his lap and covered Tom’s face. Andy reeled in his line and placed his rod across Tom’s lap.
Andy turned back to the water. Quiet. He looked back at Tom.
“Good cast, huh?”
