By the fourth night, it had turned into something.
Duane Becker and Lyle Ostrander came by. They’ve fished with Rick since they were all in high school together.
They’d heard about the boat at the co-op. Then they’d heard about the suppers at the Casey’s gas station.
They pulled up in Duane’s pickup at a quarter past six. Both of them stood at the end of our driveway with their seed caps in their hands. Like they’d come to a funeral visitation.
“Evening, Karen,” Duane said.
“Evening, Duane. Lyle. Have you two eaten?”
They looked at each other.
“There’s plenty,” I said. “It’s chicken and noodles.”
So I brought out two more plates.
Duane climbed in and sat on the front casting deck with his plate balanced on his knees. Lyle sat on the back deck with his feet hanging over the motor.
Four grown people eating chicken and noodles in a bass boat. In a driveway. In the middle of Iowa.
Marlys across the street with her lawn chair and her coffee. The Mason jar candle flickering in the cup holder.
Duane said it was the best boat he’d ever eaten in. Lyle asked for seconds. They talked about walleye at Saylorville Lake, and whether the crappies would be up in the shallows yet.
Rick laughed once. A real laugh.
Then he looked over at me. And stopped.
After Duane and Lyle drove off, Rick stayed sitting in the boat.
I started gathering up the plates. He put his hand on my wrist. Not hard. Just to keep me there.
“Sit down a minute, Karen.”
I sat back down.
The candle was down to about an inch. A semi went by out on the highway. The dog two houses down barked at it.
“I turned fifty-five in March,” Rick said.
“I know. I made the cake.”
“A letter came from the co-op in February. About my pension. What it’s going to be when I retire.”
He was looking down at his hands.
“I sat in the truck in the co-op parking lot and read it four times.”
“Was it bad?”
“No. It’s fine. It’s fair.”
He turned his wedding ring around on his finger.
“That’s what got me. It was fine. Thirty years of climbing poles in ice storms, and that’s what I had to show for it. A fair letter.”
I didn’t say anything.
I learned a long time ago that Rick talks when you let the quiet sit there.
Ethan Blake is a skilled Creative Content Specialist with a talent for crafting engaging and thought-provoking narratives. With a strong background in storytelling and digital content creation, Ethan brings a unique perspective to his role at TheArchivists, where he curates and produces captivating content for a global audience.
Ethan holds a degree in Communications from Zurich University, where he developed his expertise in storytelling, media strategy, and audience engagement. Known for his ability to blend creativity with analytical precision, he excels at creating content that not only entertains but also connects deeply with readers.
At TheArchivists, Ethan specializes in uncovering compelling stories that reflect a wide range of human experiences. His work is celebrated for its authenticity, creativity, and ability to spark meaningful conversations, earning him recognition among peers and readers alike.
Passionate about the art of storytelling, Ethan enjoys exploring themes of culture, history, and personal growth, aiming to inspire and inform with every piece he creates. Dedicated to making a lasting impact, Ethan continues to push boundaries in the ever-evolving world of digital content.