quiet.”
Fletcher looks confused, and I can’t say that I blame him.
“Lizzy was always trying to set me up with a date, and she said that we both needed big fish. She was sure she was close to catching hers because all she’d caught so far were minnows that needed to be thrown back. I told her that minnows were too much fish for me, and that a big fish was not on my agenda. She kept arguing back and forth, so to shut her up I finally agreed that I, too, wanted a big fish.”
A smile crosses Fletcher’s face as he finally realizes where this is going.
“According to the letter, Grampy had a secret cash stash that he told no one about, and he used part of it to buy a boat. For me. A person who knows zero about boating. A person who has no vehicle capable of towing said boat. Oh wait! Here, he’s provided for that, too,” I say, pointing to the spot on the letter that says I’ve inherited his pickup truck. “Too bad I sold the truck to pay for his cable bills at the facility. Seriously, how do you buy a freaking boat while living in an assisted living facility?”
“The internet?” Fletcher offers.
I toss my hand out in a shooing motion before I continue reading. “If I never catch that big fish myself, all I have to do is look at Grampy’s statue and know that I’ve caught a whopper of a fish, ‘because that’s where I am, and you caught my heart the day you were born.’”
The room is silent as I let Grampy’s words sink in. Picking up the letter, I scroll through until I reach the end, then I fold it and tuck it back inside the envelope. Still inside is a stack of bills, which is what is left of Grampy’s secret stash--$1,500 for me to spend on something that will make me happy.
Resting back on the sofa, I toss the envelope, and it lands next to Grampy, the old man with a heart of gold, forced to spend eternity trapped in the stomach of a bass because of Lizzy’s burning desire to find a partner. I start to giggle, and the giggle turns into a chuckle, and finally, the chuckle into a full blown laugh. Though the action feels somewhat foreign because I never belly laugh, it feels good. Fletcher soon joins in, and before long, we’re both wiping tears from the corners of our eyes.
“You wanna see my boat?” I ask, reaching for a tissue.
“Sure. Where’s it supposed to be?”
“At some marine store off Johnston. Here’s the card of the salesman that Grampy used.” I hand it over to Fletcher.
“Want to take your car or the bike?”
“Can we take the bike?”
“Of course.” Fletcher smiles.
“Let me put on some pants…”
“Why? It’s not that far away. Plus, it’s like a hundred degrees out there.”
“My scars…”
“…are not as noticeable as you think they are. And so what if they are. You know how they say that women dig scars on men?”
“Yeah,” I answer, remembering the ones splayed across his broad back.
“Well, men dig scars on women, too.”
“What? No way. Guys dig big boobs, tiny waists, bubble butts, and a pretty face.”
“That’s what guys dig before their hormones level off. Once they catch up with our brains, we realize that while all of that might be nice to look at, it’s not necessarily what you want to come home to each night.”
“Really?”
“Honest.”
“Are you at risk of losing your man card for divulging all of these dark secrets to me?”
Fletcher laughs. “No, but don’t spread it around, okay?”
“So what about the middle aged guys who hang out at the restaurants with the scantily clad waitresses? Shouldn’t their hormones have leveled out?”
“They crave the attention, and it’s cheaper than a strip club.”
I laugh again. “Thank you for enlightening me.”
“Anytime,” Fletcher says with a wink while handing me a helmet. He straddles the bike then holds out his hand to help me onto the back. He fires up the engine, and I tightly wrap my arms
Fletcher looks confused, and I can’t say that I blame him.
“Lizzy was always trying to set me up with a date, and she said that we both needed big fish. She was sure she was close to catching hers because all she’d caught so far were minnows that needed to be thrown back. I told her that minnows were too much fish for me, and that a big fish was not on my agenda. She kept arguing back and forth, so to shut her up I finally agreed that I, too, wanted a big fish.”
A smile crosses Fletcher’s face as he finally realizes where this is going.
“According to the letter, Grampy had a secret cash stash that he told no one about, and he used part of it to buy a boat. For me. A person who knows zero about boating. A person who has no vehicle capable of towing said boat. Oh wait! Here, he’s provided for that, too,” I say, pointing to the spot on the letter that says I’ve inherited his pickup truck. “Too bad I sold the truck to pay for his cable bills at the facility. Seriously, how do you buy a freaking boat while living in an assisted living facility?”
“The internet?” Fletcher offers.
I toss my hand out in a shooing motion before I continue reading. “If I never catch that big fish myself, all I have to do is look at Grampy’s statue and know that I’ve caught a whopper of a fish, ‘because that’s where I am, and you caught my heart the day you were born.’”
The room is silent as I let Grampy’s words sink in. Picking up the letter, I scroll through until I reach the end, then I fold it and tuck it back inside the envelope. Still inside is a stack of bills, which is what is left of Grampy’s secret stash--$1,500 for me to spend on something that will make me happy.
Resting back on the sofa, I toss the envelope, and it lands next to Grampy, the old man with a heart of gold, forced to spend eternity trapped in the stomach of a bass because of Lizzy’s burning desire to find a partner. I start to giggle, and the giggle turns into a chuckle, and finally, the chuckle into a full blown laugh. Though the action feels somewhat foreign because I never belly laugh, it feels good. Fletcher soon joins in, and before long, we’re both wiping tears from the corners of our eyes.
“You wanna see my boat?” I ask, reaching for a tissue.
“Sure. Where’s it supposed to be?”
“At some marine store off Johnston. Here’s the card of the salesman that Grampy used.” I hand it over to Fletcher.
“Want to take your car or the bike?”
“Can we take the bike?”
“Of course.” Fletcher smiles.
“Let me put on some pants…”
“Why? It’s not that far away. Plus, it’s like a hundred degrees out there.”
“My scars…”
“…are not as noticeable as you think they are. And so what if they are. You know how they say that women dig scars on men?”
“Yeah,” I answer, remembering the ones splayed across his broad back.
“Well, men dig scars on women, too.”
“What? No way. Guys dig big boobs, tiny waists, bubble butts, and a pretty face.”
“That’s what guys dig before their hormones level off. Once they catch up with our brains, we realize that while all of that might be nice to look at, it’s not necessarily what you want to come home to each night.”
“Really?”
“Honest.”
“Are you at risk of losing your man card for divulging all of these dark secrets to me?”
Fletcher laughs. “No, but don’t spread it around, okay?”
“So what about the middle aged guys who hang out at the restaurants with the scantily clad waitresses? Shouldn’t their hormones have leveled out?”
“They crave the attention, and it’s cheaper than a strip club.”
I laugh again. “Thank you for enlightening me.”
“Anytime,” Fletcher says with a wink while handing me a helmet. He straddles the bike then holds out his hand to help me onto the back. He fires up the engine, and I tightly wrap my arms
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