A Blessed Event by Jean Reynolds Page

Author:Jean Reynolds Page
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction
ISBN: 9780307414366
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2007-12-18T00:00:00+00:00

EIGHTEEN

ALLIANCE, TEXAS—FEBRUARY 1977

JOANNE PUSHED the metal fishing boat out of the shed and we hooked the trailer up to the hitch on my El Camino.

“Your daddy’s gonna be so pissed,” I told her, the unbroken chorus of my days with Joanne, it seemed.

It was the middle of the morning on a Wednesday and we were supposed to be in class at the community college. But we skipped out because it was 67 degrees in February—one of those days that arrives out of season, comes full-blown and without apology. We had until four o’clock to get to the newspaper where Jo had gotten a job with me on the evening shift. That was nearly a whole day on the lake.

“Daddy won’t find out,” she said, getting in the car.

“I hope to hell you’re right.”

We drove through town with one eye out for his black pickup, but relaxed by the time we got to the highway. Bare trees along the road seemed oddly naked against the warm sky.

“Look at that,” Jo said, as we turned into the boat landing. She stretched her arm out toward the water. “All to ourselves.”

Only two other cars and one lone truck sat with empty trailers in the boat-landing lot. I saw one boat out on the lake. The other two had likely slipped into backwater coves where fish gather near stumps to feed.

Jo got out and stood to the side while I maneuvered the trailer back to the ramp. Her hair was down, wavy and long past her shoulders. The sun hitting that brown-red color made her look like a model in a shampoo commercial. I leaned out of the open car window so I could see to back the trailer straight into the water, then stayed there to talk while she worked with the boat.

She rolled up her pants and waded in.

“Shit! This is cold.” She made a face and moved in deep enough to reach the towrope.

Three ducks flapped and moved closer to Joanne, hoping she had food to throw, no doubt.

“Besides,” she grinned at me, cranking the towrope to lower the boat into the water, “if he throws me out of the house, we can just get a place together at those new duplex apartments.”

It took me a second to figure out she was talking about her dad again. She did that all the time, popped up with some comment as if we’d been talking about him all along. She was afraid of him, but acted fearless. I’d never figured out how she could do that.

“Hold on a second,” she said, unhooking the towline. Still knee-deep in water, she walked the boat to the dock and sat down on it with her feet dangling. I started to drive away and she yelled out, “Bring my visor and my cigarettes!”

I listened to the boat trailer behind me, bumping light on the rough gravel. It recalled days with my dad, was the happiest of sounds for me.

I walked down to the dock and after a

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