by Dan Walsh
© 2015 by Dan Walsh
Published by Revell
a division of Baker Publishing Group
P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287
www.revellbooks.com
Ebook edition created 2015
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
ISBN 978-1-4412-2821-5
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
1
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About the Author
Books by Dan Walsh
Back Ads
Back Cover
1
Judith Winters never understood why they called it Black Friday. Though it might have positive connotations for retail stores, black was also a color associated with mourning and funerals. That was closer to how she felt today. She had been staring at her perfectly brewed cup of coffee long enough for it to go from warm to cold. What time was it now, nine thirty? How’d it get to be nine thirty already?
For her, the day after Thanksgiving had never been about shopping. Even when her two daughters, Anna and Suzanne, had lived at home. Now, they had shopped on Black Fridays as soon as they were old enough to drive. Every Thanksgiving evening they rummaged through newspaper flyers looking for the best deals, then got up before the crack of dawn. Judith never tried to stop them. She knew what they’d find out when they were married and had kids of their own. Shopping on Black Fridays wasn’t as much fun with a lot less money in your purse.
They understood that now, her two girls. Even Suzanne, who became a mom this past year. Judith had spoken to both of them at different times yesterday on the phone. Anna in Richmond, Suzanne in Fort Worth. They laughed when Judith asked them how early they’d be hitting the stores today.
But Judith wasn’t laughing now. Those conversations were the main reason she’d been sitting here staring at her coffee all this time. They had been talking on the phone, not around the dinner table.
Anna was four states away to the north; Suzanne four states to the west. Both spent Thanksgiving Day with their husbands and kids, not here in Mount Dora with her and Stan. Same thing with Brandon, their middle child. Until this year, he and his family had lived in Jacksonville, a two-hour drive from here. They always drove down for Thanksgiving. Not anymore. Now they lived five states away in Denver.
None of her kids had been there. None of her grandkids, either.
This was the first year since Judith and Stan became empty nesters that the nest stayed empty on Thanksgiving. They had roasted a turkey, she and Stan. She’d made her famous homemade mashed potatoes, with a big bowl of piping-hot gravy. String bean casserole, turkey stuffing, cranberry sauce. Pumpkin pie for dessert. All of it on the table. But it wasn’t Thanksgiving Day at the Winterses’ house. Not with just her and Stan there, and nothing between them but all that food on the table. After Stan said the blessing, they’d hardly talked.
Stan had even left the TV on.
Before he’d left the table, Stan had mentioned one thing. He saw no reason why they shouldn’t keep their usual Black Friday morning tradition alive, even though the kids hadn’t come home. “You know what I’m talking about,” he’d said. She did. It was the tradition where she would get up and start decorating the house for Christmas and he went bass fishing on Lake Dora with his best friend, Barney.
That was where Stan was right now, with Barney on their little fishing boat. He’d left the house before she’d gotten out of bed. But he’d left her a little present. On the dinette table in front of her sat two boxes marked “Christmas Decorations.” He’d brought them in from the garage before he left, the same as he did every year. He’d return before lunch, expecting heated-up turkey leftovers from yesterday and the house all decorated for Christmas, everything except the tree.
He’d bring the Christmas tree in after lunch and set it up in the corner of the living room, expecting her to have it all decorated by dinner. Meanwhile, he and Barney would take a forty-five-minute drive south to Orlando and spend the afternoon stocking up on all the great Black Friday deals at Bass Pro Shop.
This had become the Black Friday tradition for Judith and Stan. Same thing for years. Except for one thing.
Every other year before today, Judith could count on at least one or both of her daughters and her daughter-in-law being there with her all day, and at least some of her grandkids. She’d fill the house with Christmas music and put eggnog and hot chocolate on the table, and they’d spend a pleasant day together, chatting about fond memories and making new ones. Before long, they’d transform the Winters family home into a charming Christmas cottage.
But today, Judith was all alone.
She stood and carried her coffee mug to the sink, poured out the remains, and rinsed it. Staring at the cartons on the table, she realized she had no desire to open them. How could she decorate the house now? Tears welled up in her eyes, and they weren’t tied to yesterday’s disappointment.
No, these tears belonged to something much worse.
In those same phone conversations with her children yesterday, Judith learned that none of them were coming home for Christmas. The money just wasn’t there. She could hardly believe it.
Thanksgiving certainly mattered. But for her, Christmas mattered so much more. She had come to accept the reality that she would no longer get the chance to see her children or grandchildren on a regular basis. But Christmas had been the one occasion she could always count on. It was the one season—and always had been—for making memories. The one time they would always get together and reconnect.
But not this year.
What was the point of decorating the house or even setting up a tree? There’d be no one here to see it, no one to share it with.
2
Are you gonna cast over here?” Barney said. “Because if you are, maybe we should just switch places.”
Stan looked at where his lure had just landed, near some maidencane grass just beyond the shoreline. “What are you going on about? Look where that hit. It’s still on my half of the boat.”
“Maybe. But you hook a good-size bass right there, and he’s not gonna know the difference between your side and mine. He’ll get all tangled up in my line.”
Stan shook his head. Barney could worry about nothing sometimes. “Just sit tight. I’ll move it.” He reeled in his line and cast it out again toward the back of the boat. “You’re just edgy ’cause you got skunked so far, and I picked up two.” And they were nice ones, Stan thought. Both over two pou
nds. Just then, one of the fish made a fuss in the livewell, kicking his tail against the side. “See? He knows I’m talking about him.”
“Plenty of time to catch up,” Barney said, casting his line out again. “Morning’s still young.”
Stan glanced at his watch. “Not really. It’s almost eleven thirty. Morning’s almost over.”
“You’re kidding, eleven thirty? Time flies when you’re having fun.”
“That what you’re having?” Stan said. “I know I am.” Jabbing each other this way was about half of their relationship. Finding ways to one-up each other made up the other half. “There she goes!” Stan got a big bite. He snapped the rod back to set the hook.
“Not again,” Barney said.
“Living right, that’s all it is.” Stan kept the tension tight on the rod, which was bent almost in half, as he reeled the fish in. He steered it toward the back of the boat. “I won’t let her tangle you up, if you want to keep casting.”
Barney was in between casts. “That’s all right. The way that thing’s pulling, I think you might need a little help pulling ’er in.” He set his rod down and reached for the net.
Stan didn’t really want the help, but Barney might be right. “I don’t think you need a net here. Just bend a little more at the waist. I’ll steer it over to you. There it is. See it?” It was a nice one. Definitely bigger than the other two.
Barney reached into the water and grabbed the splashing fish by the jaw, heaved it up over the side. Stan set his rod to the side and reached for his pliers. “I think it might top four pounds.”
“At least,” Barney said. He held the catch up so Stan could take the lure out of its mouth. Once free, he held it up higher. “Now that’s a keeper.” Stan opened the lid to the livewell, and Barney set the bass inside. Immediately, it began splashing and thumping around. “Letting the other two know who’s boss.” He closed the lid. “Can’t believe you got three, and I still got a big goose egg. Let me see that new lure you’re using.”
Stan handed the rod over. “It’s this new red rattle bait I bought. I saw it on a Bill Dance show. Shake it. You can hear it.”
Barney did. “Darn. Sounds just like a baby’s rattle.”
“He said the bass can hear it too. And they love that bright red color. Flashes in the sun when you reel them back in these shallow waters.”
“I’m gonna have to get me one.” He stepped back to the front of the boat and rummaged through his tackle box. “In the meantime . . . think I got me a bright red spinnerbait here somewhere. Maybe the bass in this canal have a thing for the color red.”
Stan smiled and cast his rattle bait a few feet to the right from his last cast. “Can’t beat the weather out here. You see the news this morning? It might snow in Atlanta this afternoon. Here we are in short sleeves.” He looked around at the scenery. Today they had trolled down one of the residential canals that came off the Dora canal. All around were nice, newer homes. Not mansions, but definitely bigger than Stan’s place and well out of his price range.
“Ever regret how we’ve ended up?” Barney said.
He must’ve seen Stan looking at the nice houses. “Not really. I’m not gonna lie, some of these places are nice. But I like our little house. I especially like that it’s paid for. I know some guys our age are still working as hard as they did in their twenties, ’cause they got caught in that house trap. They kept buying bigger and better ones, kept restarting those thirty-year mortgages so they could make the higher payments. Now they’re stuck.” He cast out again. “Nope, that’s not for me.”
Both Stan and Barney liked to refer to themselves as “semi-retired.” Both were a few years away from getting Social Security and Medicare. Both had modest pensions from jobs they’d worked at for decades. Decent income but not enough to live on. So both worked part-time to close the gaps. Stan worked at the Home Depot in Leesburg, a few miles away. Barney at the Lowe’s up on 441.
Barney surveyed the scene. “Not for me, either. Besides, they’re not happy, those people.”
That was what Barney always said about people who lived in fancy homes. He consoled himself about the apparent unfairness in life, saying this was God’s way of balancing things out between the haves and the have-nots. The rich got to have nice homes but no happiness with it. Behind those fancy doors, they were fighting all the time, cheating on each other, bored out of their minds.
Stan sometimes would point out that you could use most of those same words to describe a lot of have-nots he knew. He didn’t bring it up this time. “I’m thinking we should start heading back pretty soon.”
“Why? What’s the hurry? Not like you’ve got any big family thing to get home to. Didn’t you say it was just you and Judith yesterday?”
“I did. But I want to get home in time to eat some of those Thanksgiving leftovers before we head down to the Bass Pro Shop.”
Barney cast his red spinnerbait out again. “I am starting to get a little hungry myself. How did Judith handle the kids not being home for Thanksgiving?”
“Not too well, I think. She was kind of mopey all day. I enjoyed it, though. All that peace and quiet for a change. Got to watch the football game without any interruptions. That’s a first for a Thanksgiving.” He tossed out another cast. “So what do you think, should we start wrapping up?”
“All right,” Barney said. “But you’re gonna give me a chance to catch up with you, aren’t ya?”
“It’ll be dark out before that happens.”
“No, it won’t. Not if we switch.”
“What do you mean, switch?”
“Switch baits. You use my red spinner and let me use your new rattle bait. That way we can prove once and for all whether your 3–0 lead is because of your fishing skill or your new bait.”
“You’re on,” Stan said and handed him his pole.
3
Stan came home smelling of fish. But Judith had come to think of that as a good thing. It meant he’d have some fish stories to tell. Not that she liked hearing them; by now they all rather sounded alike. But stories about catching fish were preferable to hearing about the ones that got away. It also meant he’d brought home fresh bass fillets to put in the freezer.
That was the rule—he cleaned the fish before he got home, and they had to be filleted. She didn’t like fish skin or picking fish bones out of her mouth. Those things settled, Judith was okay with the fish and had even discovered some nice bass recipes. They still weren’t the best-tasting fish, in her opinion, but they made for a passable meal.
Stan always liked to point out they were eating free food. And she would point out that after you added the fresh water licenses, the bait and tackle, the gas for the boat, the repairs for the boat, the bug spray and sunscreen, the bags of ice, and all the other miscellaneous expenses Stan didn’t want to focus on, the food was no longer free.
Judith had figured out that these “free” bass fillets actually cost a tad more per pound than the finest cut of filet mignon. She kept that information to herself. Truth was, she was glad he’d found something he enjoyed so much. Hobbies and pastimes, on the whole, were a good thing. They added spice to your life and gave you something to look forward to in the midst of the monotony and mundane.
Her problem wasn’t Stan’s hobby; it was hers. Her kids and grandchildren. Now they were gone.
“You not feeling well?”
Judith looked up from the table. “What?”
“Your food. I’m almost done, and you’ve hardly touched a bite. Tastes better than yesterday, if you ask me.”
She looked down at a slightly smaller version of yesterday’s Thanksgiving feast. “I’m fine. I’ve eaten some.”
“Not very much.” He leaned back in his chair, looked around the living area and at the two boxes of Christmas decorations still on the dinette table. “Besides that, normally when I get home from fishing the day after Thanksgiving, you have the house all decorated for the holidays.”
“And normall
y I’d have some help.” She forked a piece of turkey, stirred it around in some gravy. She heard him sigh.
“Nothing much I can do about that,” he said. He looked back at the boxes. “Doesn’t look like you even started.”
She set the fork down. “That’s because I haven’t.”
“Are you planning on starting anytime soon? Barney’s going to be over here in about ten minutes. If it’s all right with you, we’re still planning on heading down to the Bass Pro store in Orlando.”
“I figured you would,” she said.
“You still okay with that?”
“Why wouldn’t I be? There’s no reason you should change your plans on account of me.” Judith realized as soon as she’d said it she was playing with his head a little. Opening the guilt door a few inches. But that wasn’t what she wanted. It wasn’t Stan’s fault the kids had moved away. Anyway, there was no danger he’d feel guilty enough to cancel a trip to the Bass Pro Shop with Barney.
He scooped up his last forkful of mashed potatoes as she asked him, “You want some pumpkin pie?”
“Maybe you could put a slice on a paper plate? I can take it on the road.”
“You said Barney wouldn’t be here for ten minutes. You have time enough for pie, if you want it.”
He slid his chair back from the table. “I still need to get the tree set up in the corner, then climb up to the attic and bring down those boxes of ornaments. Just in case you get your energy back.”
Judith didn’t see that happening. “I don’t think energy’s my problem. I’m just not in the mood. Besides, I don’t see any reason to hurry on this stuff, just because we’ve always done it the day after Thanksgiving. It’s not like there’s going to be anybody here to see it but you and me.”
Stan stood. “You’re right. There’s no law that says it’s all got to go up today. But I’m still going up in the attic to bring those boxes down. Just in case your mood changes. If you don’t get to it all today, you can finish it tomorrow.” He started walking toward the garage.
Well, wasn’t that nice of him, giving her another day to decorate. She noticed he didn’t include helping her this year as an option. “Speaking of laws . . . there’s no law that says you couldn’t help me with some of this decorating.” The door leading into the garage closed. She wasn’t sure he’d even heard her.
