Font Size
Line Height

Page 32 of The List

He could still see her as she was that last day of her life.

Shoulder-length auburn hair. Inviting lips.

Surprisingly warm blue eyes. But that pleasant facade hid an inner turmoil.

One he never really understood. She was certainly dedicated.

There’d been home-cooked meals every day.

Not a speck of dust on the furniture. Not a weed in the flower beds.

Everything in its place, orderly, like her life.

He’d tried hard to ignore his unhappiness by pouring himself into work.

The demands of a private practice and his political maneuvering with Hank distracted him, for a time.

But their problems only multiplied. Eventually, life became a simple toleration from one day to the next.

Finally, it turned tragic one September day.

Now he’d returned to somehow make amends.

But to who? Himself? Paula? No way existed to satisfy both.

Fate?

It truly was fickle.

He lifted out his high school letter sweater, neatly folded inside a blue-tinted plastic bag, three pewter baseballs still tacked to the stitched gold W .

He’d earned it during his sophomore year.

Three graduation announcements lay underneath along with tassels from high school, college, and law school.

The scarlet sash was still there, worn over his gown when he’d graduated as the history department’s honor graduate in college.

His Little League trophies had tarnished with time. And on the bottom was the scrapbook of his baseball days, clippings yellowed and loose, the tape long since dried hard.

He thumbed through his annuals, noticing how much he changed during eight years of high school and college.

His hair progressively shortened, then thinned.

Black-framed glasses were replaced by gold wire-rims. Now he wore contacts.

A happy, carefree appearance, seen through eyes that once carried a whimsical expression, became hardened by years of trying to make the grade.

His senior high school annual was full of messages. A close friend warning, Don’t get a big head. And can I hitch a ride to Statesboro every day for college? Other friends recalling snippets that made him smile even now.

He lifted out a greeting card and opened it.

From Paula.

You know what you mean to me. We’ve had our ups and downs, but we endure. Even you can’t argue with that. I think we’re stronger now than ever. I want you to know I’m here for you. I’ll always be yours.

Love, Paula

She’d given it to him the last Christmas they spent together. She loved cards. There’d been many between them over the years they were together. Yet he kept only this one. Why?

He could not remember.

It seemed predetermined they were at least going to try at a life together. He put off the wedding for as long as he could, even tried to get out of it weeks before, but Paula made sure it happened.

Oh, yes, she made real sure.

At the bottom of the box he noticed a single sheet of yellowed paper. He recalled how it made it into the box. He’d just returned from trying to tell Paula the wedding should be postponed. But she’d exploded the baby bomb. So he’d sat in his room and typed out a list, trying to decide what to do.

Paula Pros: Pregnant. Prudent. Dedicated.

Loyal. Resolute. We have a history together.

Would make an excellent mother. The perfect hostess, but also a wonderful guest. Great cook.

Never have to worry about another man. Would always have a clean shirt.

Great lawyer-wife. My child deserves a father. She wants to marry me.

Paula Cons: Pregnant. Obsessive. Stubborn. Possessive. No spontaneity. Vain. Inhibited. Hard to please. Can aggravate the hell out of me. Totally dependent. Cries a lot. Would I ever be able to pick out my own clothes? Be careful when I laugh.

Ashley Pros: Exciting. Always happy. Beautiful. Sexy. Spontaneous. Complex like a jigsaw puzzle and equally pleasing when figured out. Unpredictable. Not a jealous bone in her body. I trust her.

Ashley Cons: Unpredictable. Fleeting. Unable to commit to anything. Keeps far too much to herself. I’m never sure what she’s thinking. How would she be with a room full of lawyers? She does not want to marry me.

“Son?”

He turned. His mother stood at the top of the stairs. He hadn’t heard her climb up.

She stepped closer. “What are you doing?”

“Remembering.” He showed her the sheet. What did it matter anymore? “I wrote that a few days before Paula and I married.”

She looked the list over, her face betraying nothing. “Is that the only reason you married her. She was pregnant?”

He told her years ago that Paula had been pregnant when they married. “Looking back, I think it was. I made it clear it was over. The wedding was off. Then she told me she was pregnant. Where before I was simply confused, I suddenly became trapped.”

“So you did the right thing for the wrong reason.”

“That pretty much sums it up.”

“You seemed to have had a real dilemma. I never realized you and Ashley were so close.”

“She’s always been special to me, in a different sort of way. When we were kids it was just friendship. But by the end of high school, it was a whole lot more.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“Not yet.”

“When you do, you know where I am.”

He knew she wouldn’t press. She never did, and he loved her for the trust she seemed to always show in his judgment. A thousand times she’d preached that experience was the best teacher.

She turned to leave, then stopped. “You going out tonight?”

“Ashley and I are having dinner. You mind?”

She reached out and gently squeezed his arm. “Paula’s been gone a long time, son. Life goes on.”

Forty-five minutes later he was dousing the front flower beds with water when a mail truck whipped to the curb and Ashley jumped out.

“What are you doing on this route?” he called out.

She traipsed through the freshly cut grass to where he stood with the hose. “Regular called in sick, so I offered to fill in. You’re looking good.”

His bare chest and legs were covered in sweat, grime, and grass clippings. “I’m filthy.”

She handed him the mail. “Save some energy for tonight.”

He caught the twinkle in her eye, which had always captivated him. “I hear you.”

“Gotta get back. I have two routes to handle today.”

“See you later.”

She trotted back to the van, his eyes riveted on her.

His mother was right.

Life did go on.

1:35 P.M.

A LL WEEK B RENT PROMISED THE TWO YOUNG BOYS NEXT DOOR they’d go fishing Saturday. That’s why he rose early and cut the grass. So right after lunch he packed the Jeep with fishing tackle, poles, and a cooler of drinks and they headed for Eagle Lake.

Only one of his father’s three fishing boats had survived his mother’s garage sale.

A ten-foot, flat-bottomed skiff powered by an aging outboard and equipped with a bow-mounted trolling motor.

It was the smallest his father had owned, the green skiff resting quietly under a mildewed tarp behind the garage the past two years.

Starting last Monday he’d spent time scrubbing the hull and making sure the motors worked.

A few of his father’s rods and tackle pieces were still in the garage, more than enough to outfit all three of them.

He was even surprised to find the rod he’d liked as a teenager.

He pulled the skiff to the public boat ramp at the southeast corner of Eagle Lake.

It was the most popular spot for launching, three concrete ramps fading down into the gray-brown water, a large bait-and-tackle shop nearby along with rental cabins offering accommodations to the anglers who traveled from all over middle Georgia and western South Carolina.

He floated the skiff and gassed the outboard, then he and the boys powered out. Fifteen minutes later they drifted with baited lines cast in the mineral-rich water.

“Did you come out here when you were little?” Grant asked.

“All the time.”

“With your daddy?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes by myself or with friends.”

James tightened his line. “Did you like to fish?”

“I sure did.”

The boys, James and Grant, ages twelve and thirteen, were the grandchildren of Grace Tanner, who’d lived next door all his life.

Her husband, a local pharmacist, died years ago of cancer.

Grace and his mother had been best friends forever.

With both of them widows, they looked after each other.

The boys were here for a summer visit. Grace’s son and daughter-in-law lived in North Carolina.

He’d been wanting to do a little fishing, so his mother had suggested bringing the boys along.

He looked around and admired the pristine lake, a perfect fit between tall stands of old-growth pine, birch, hickory, and oak.

Its irregular shape had been intentional, designed to create coves and inlets that translated into marketable shoreline for landowners fortunate enough to abut the banks.

He’d handled many real estate closings for lakefront property back in his days of private practice.

“Did my daddy ever come out here with you?” James asked.

“Not really. He wasn’t much of a fisherman.”

“Did my granddaddy?”

“Oh, yeah. He and my dad fished here all the time.”

James sighed. “I miss Granddaddy.”

“I miss my dad, too.”

Grant tugged at his line. “They’re in heaven. Right?”

“That’s exactly where they are.” He didn’t like to think about it.

“Do people die like that all the time?” Grant asked.

“Every day, son.”

“How is it you’re chosen to die?”

This was getting heavy. “Hard to say. The only thing certain is everybody’s time comes.”

Some sooner than others, though.

“Your daddy’s time came here on the lake, didn’t it?” James asked.

He looked at the boy. “How did you know that?”

“Grandma told us.”

“It wasn’t out here on the lake. Happened that way, up in one of the creeks.” He pointed toward the northeast.

“How did he die?”

“Nobody’s sure. He was fishing alone and had an accident.”

Ad If ads affect your reading experience, click here to remove ads on this page.