April 27
Ryan
Today I brought Ana a little farther along the river to one of the best fishing spots. I was a little surprised yesterday when she agreed to go fishing with me. I dared her to catch something large enough to cook, so it's only fair if I give her a fighting chance. The bend in the river I've brought her to today has some slower spots where large fish like to rest lazily in the weak current. It's my favorite spot for salmon fishing in the summer.
Like last week, Ana doesn't seem particularly fond of fishing, but today she has a vested interest. I watch her from the corner of my eye as she stares at the water with a determined expression on her face. I can't help but smile.
"Fishing is supposed to be relaxing, you know," I say, watching her tense little form.
She turns her head to eye me. After giving me a sideways glare for a few moments, she turns back to the river. Her shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath. Her face turns to the sky and she closes her eyes. She begins to hum that song she sang the last time we were out fishing.
"Are you going to sing again?" I ask, then wish I hadn't.
Ana regards me with round eyes. "Why?" she asks.
I look away from her. "You have a nice voice," I say quietly.
I haven't heard music or singing in a long time, part of my self-imposed isolation from popular culture, the media, and the outside world. I was never a particularly avid fan of music, but hearing her sing has made me realize how much I've missed it over the last few years.
"I wish I had my guitar," she says.
"You play guitar?"
"Yeah, acoustic. Since I was eight. My dad taught me how."
I watch her carefully after this admission, but she doesn't break down into tears the way she did when she spoke of her sister's musical talent.
"Do you play any other musical instruments?"
She cocks her head as she thinks. "Ukulele, cello, and a little bit of violin." She shrugs. "I like strings."
"That's impressive. I can't imagine learning to play that many instruments. My parents forced me to play the cello for a few years in middle school. I hated it."
Ana's expression immediately changes to one of disapproval. I hurry to amend my statement.
"Not that I have anything against the cello. It seems like a great instrument. I just didn't like doing anything my parents forced me to do."
Ana's expression is now one of amusement. "Nice save," she says. "The cello is my favorite instrument. I could play cello all day."
"But you wished for your guitar," I point out.
"My guitar is very... forgiving. It's easier to play, it's not as expensive, and it can handle a lot more abuse than my cello can."
"So it's like the Mosin Nagant of stringed instruments," I say, indicating my dependable rifle.
Ana bursts into laughter.
"Only you would compare musical instruments with rifles," she says, shaking her head and smiling at me. "But I suppose your analogy has some element of truth to it."
I smile back at her and decide to buy her a guitar. Sitting so close to her in the bright sunlight, I can see that Ana's eyes aren't just the warm brown they appear to be from a distance. Her irises have streaks of green radiating out from her pupils. The effect makes her eyes mesmerizing. I find myself staring into her eyes for much longer than I should. She continues to look back at me, her eyes widening as her expression becomes serious.
Suddenly she turns to the river and shrieks, "I got one!"
I bite back the admonishment not to make loud sounds and scare the fish away. I look to the end of her line and see a small thrashing in the water. I'm about to tell her not to get too excited when the thrashing grows as the fish nears the surface. She may actually win our little bet with this one.
I help her reel it in and drag it onshore. I gasp when I identify the fish she's landed.
"No way," I say.
"What is it?" she asks, out of breath. Her cheeks are pink. Must be from the exertion of reeling in this large fish.
"This is a king salmon. How on earth did you hook this?"
Ana beams, but her attention is pulled away from me by the wildly flopping fish.
"It's getting away!" Ana yells.
I grab my walking stick and smack the fish on the head. It instantly stops struggling.
"You killed it," Ana says.
"Did you want it to slowly suffocate to death?" I ask.
"No," Ana says in a small voice. She reaches out to touch the salmon's still form. I wonder if perhaps this was a terrible idea after all. I didn't think Ana would be so affected by the death of a fish. I try to think of some way to fix this.
"Do," I ask, feeling like an idiot for what I'm about to say, "do you want to bury it?"
It would be a terrible waste of a perfectly good fish, but I don't want to traumatize her any more than she already has been.
She looks up at me like I've lost my mind. "No. You're going to clean it and I'm going to eat it."
"You're going to eat it?" I repeat. "You're not going to save any for me?"
Her mouth twists into a grin. "Only if you ask nicely. And show me how you shoot so well with the rifle. And tell me how impressed you are that I caught this fish." She crosses her arms and her grin becomes a wry smile.
I want to tease her in return, but with her captivating eyes so close to mine as we both crouch over the dead fish, I can't think of a good response. I look down at the fish lying between us.
"This really is an amazing catch. King salmon can be hard to come by. It must be later in the month than I thought. Salmon don't usually start migrating inland until May. Excellent job."
I look back up to see Ana's smile has shifted from wicked to pleased. "Thank you," she says.
~~~
Gunshots ring through the forest surrounding the cabin. The loud cracks echo off trees and reverberate in my good ear. I've given Ana enough advice with her rifle to wholly capture her attention. She is so focused on shooting that she doesn't notice as I slip away. I move to a spot within shouting distance, but far enough away that Ana won't be able to hear my phone call.
"Joe, it's me," I say before my brother can get a word in. I'd like to speak with him as little as possible.
"Now what do you want?" He sounds annoyed.
"I want a guitar."
Silence. Then Joe begins to laugh. I begin to grind my teeth.
"Oh, please tell me you're planning to serenade your little girlfriend. What I wouldn't give to see that. How do you plan on playing a guitar with seven and a half fingers?"
"It's not for me, it's for her," I grind out. I know he loves getting a rise out of me. I know he's trying to make me angry because it amuses him. Despite knowing this, I still can't tamp down the rage that he ignites. "I want an acoustic guitar, a case, and whatever other crap you need for a guitar."
I hate that I let him goad me like this. I hate that I allow him to manipulate me. I wish I could think of something good to get him back with.
"What am I, the giving tree? Do you think you can treat me like a vending machine of presents for your girlfriend?"
"She's not my girlfriend. And you'll give me whatever I ask for if you'd like your whereabouts during spring break nine years ago to remain confidential."
Only silence comes from the other end. I'm not certain that the hit-and-run that left an elderly couple in Boca Raton dead nine years back was his fault, but Joe's odd behavior after any mention of the incident has always made me suspicious. At any rate, I'm glad to have shut him up.
"And where's the dog? It's been a week."
"Scarlet's working on it. Something about breeders and the dog's age and vaccinations and other crap. Chill out."
Ana's shot rings out through the trees.
"What the hell was that?" Joe asks, sounding a little scared. I smile in Ana's direction, though I can't see her.
"That was gunfire," I say. "Wanna hear more?"
"No thanks. What else do you want?"
"That's it."
"Good." Joe's voice suddenly turns wicked. "Oh - by the way, happy anniversary."
I feel my stomach drop.
"What?"
"It's your anniversary with Saph. I got the Facebook notification with all your engagement photos. You two looked so great together." His voice becomes mocking. "Whatever happened between you? Was it the -"
I hang up the phone and give in to the desire to chuck it into the trees. I don't even bother retrieving it as I turn and stomp back to the cabin. I hate my brother.
April 27th. My anniversary.
Nine years ago today I asked Saph to our school's junior prom. That was the official start of our relationship. Six years ago today I asked Saph to marry me. Five years ago today was supposed to be our wedding. Until this year, I'd never forgotten the anniversary. First it was just an annoying piece of information I had to remember to remain in Saph's good graces. Then it was a comfort, a reminder of someone who cared about me and was waiting for me to come home. Now it's a torment that reminds me of her rejection.
I can't believe I forgot that it was today. Back in the cabin now, I approach the desk, staring at the locked drawer. I'm not sure how long I've been standing there when Ana comes inside. I ignore her questions and strange looks, just waiting for her to go away and leave me alone. When she finally disappears into the bedroom for the night, I retrieve the key from its hiding place and open the drawer.
I sit down on the floor and pull out the Scotch, pictures, and letters that lie inside. I kept all the letters Saph sent to me, reminiscent of a time when I thought someone loved me. I thumb through the letters I wrote to Saph after the attack, after I came to live here. The vast majority were written while I was drunk and missing Saph. I've never sent a single one and never will. I should just burn them. I should burn every memento I have of her, us, my past life. For some reason though, I can't bring myself to do it.
I hold up one of the engagement photos, examining the beautiful woman and the beautiful man standing there, looking so happy. Time for Scotch.