by Gerri Hill
“No. Cold turkey—so to speak—was the easiest way. Like a Band-Aid. Yank it off and be done with it.” She looked at her and winked. “That’s not to say that I don’t fish the creek for trout occasionally.”
Erin smiled as she continued slicing the potatoes. “You shouldn’t have told me. Now I have something to blackmail you with.”
“If you keep my secret, maybe we can try our hand at fishing in the morning. Fresh trout is delicious.”
“And Stella’s never caught you?”
“No. I know her routine. She comes by usually only once a week and normally between nine and ten in the morning.” She picked up the potatoes and added them to the pan. “Of course, she’s worried you’re going to try to escape, so she may come by more often.”
“Escape, huh?”
“Apparently your sister called her last night and planted that seed in her mind.”
Erin laughed. “Yeah, Joyce would think that.”
Melanie took a block of cheese from the fridge and handed it to her. “Shred that for me, would you? Less than half of it.” She bent over and opened one of the cabinets at the bar, pulling out a blender. “For the tofu sauce,” she explained.
“How long did it take you to learn to cook this way?”
“Not long. It was sort of sink or swim. I don’t do a lot of elaborate dishes, but sometimes I’ll splurge, like tonight.”
“So this casserole is for my benefit then?”
“I usually keep things fairly simple. Cooking for one doesn’t require much. Rice or potatoes, beans…veggies. That’s most of my meals. If I could only kick the cheese habit.”
“Don’t you get lonely out here by yourself? Eating alone all the time.”
Melanie seemed to consider the question. “No. That’s not to say I didn’t at first. In fact, pretty much the whole first year was iffy.” She paused. “But, yes. Sometimes I do get lonely.” Mel gave her a quick smile. “It passes, though. Eventually.”
Erin wondered if that was hard for her to admit. She was obviously independent and it had been her choice to live here, away from everything and everybody. “So tell me how this works. Someone wants to move out here, Stella has to approve it. Then what?”
“Not just Stella, but at this point, I think they would accept anyone, as long as they were female. As you may have noticed, most of them are over seventy.”
To the blob of tofu in the blender, Melanie added seasonings, then turned it on. Erin watched a smooth, white sauce take shape. When the blender stopped, Melanie nodded at her cheese pile. “That’s plenty.”
“So you built this cabin then?”
“Yes. I had the choice of moving into one of the vacant houses. There are still two that are in fairly good shape, but I wasn’t interested in either. Most of the ladies are pretty clustered together on the front side of the property, near Stella.”
“And you’re a hermit so you wanted to be far away?” she guessed.
“I wasn’t a hermit when I moved here, no,” Melanie said with a laugh. “I was simply seeking solitude, really. I had some…some healing to do,” she said evasively. “So I hiked all along the creek until I found this spot. It just…felt right. I’ve got the bluff behind the house to the west that offers protection from storms. Then the creek right here. And the small bluff behind the creek makes for a beautiful sunrise. I can see the mountains from my windows.”
She shrugged. “It felt right. And I did live temporarily at one of the vacant houses while this was being built. That alone convinced me that I’d made the right decision to live back here by myself.” She smiled. “I’ve grown to love these ladies like family, but when I first moved here, they were nosy as hell.”
Questions sprang up in Erin’s mind, but she reined them in. Was it any of her business what sort of healing Melanie had to do or why she moved here? “They were nosy and you were private?”
Melanie met her gaze. “I didn’t have anyone. I grew up in foster homes, so I was used to being on my own, alone. So yes, private.”
Again, none of her business, but she didn’t think Melanie would have offered that information if she wasn’t prepared to talk about it. She asked the obvious question. “Why foster homes?”
Melanie poured the sauce into the pan, mixing it with the vegetables, busying herself with the casserole. So much so that Erin thought she wasn’t going to answer. She finally stopped her movements, looking at her again.
“My mother was fifteen when I was born. At that time, she was only a pothead. The cocaine, the heroin, the crystal meth…that all came next. She pimped herself out for money, used the money for drugs.” She swallowed. “Her parents weren’t much better. When I was six, he died of an overdose, right there on the kitchen floor. Police came, saw the condition of the house, the condition of me….took me away,” she said rather matter-of-factly.
“Wow,” Erin whispered. “You remember all that?”
“Most of it, yes. I can still see my grandfather on the floor, can see her—my grandmother—kneeling beside him, mascara streaks on her face from crying. And my mother, sitting at the table, a needle in her arm.”
“I guess you do know what an addict looks like. God, how awful.”
“Yeah, it was.” Then she shrugged. “I didn’t know any better, really. I cried when they took me away.”
“Did you ever see them again? Your mother?”
“A handful of times. To her credit, she tried to get custody of me on and off over the years, but…well, she couldn’t stay clean. When I was older, when I got out of the system—when I was working—she started coming by again.”
“Wanting money?” she guessed.
“Yeah.”
“Did you give it to her?”
“No. She was a mess. And I…I was involved with someone. He was squeaky clean. He started calling the cops whenever she’d come by. She eventually stopped.”
Erin’s eyebrows shot up. “He?”
“Yes.”
“But I thought…Stella said everyone here…”
“Yes.”
Chapter Fifteen
Melanie tried to keep the smile off her face but couldn’t hide it any longer. She gave in to it, finally letting laughter bubble out.
“I know,” Erin said, standing at the bank of the creek, holding the rod and reel as if she was gripping a baseball bat. “I know.”
“Never been fishing, huh?”
“Never been fishing.”
“Isn’t that odd?”
Erin shrugged. “My dad wasn’t really into all that. We rarely left the city. And if we did, it was to the beach in Galveston.”
Melanie pointed at her clothing. “Pressed slacks? Starched shirt? Brushed leather?” She shook her head. “Do you know how dirty you get fishing?”
“I didn’t find any jeans.” At Melanie’s arched eyebrow, she explained. “My sister did most of the packing. I guess she thought I was coming to a country club or something.”
“Well, if you wear those kinds of clothes for three months, they’ll be totally ruined. Shorts?” she asked hopefully.
Erin shook her head.
“So, we’ll make plans for a shopping trip. If you want to, that is.”
“Like into civilization?”
Melanie laughed. “Silver City, where they picked you up. That’s the closest town of any size. It’s usually a once-a-month trip, but we can go anytime, really.”
“Why only once a month?”
“Oh, that’s just the way Stella started it way back when and it’s kinda stuck.” She opened up the canvas tackle box. “It was hard at first. I was used to going to the grocery store on a whim. I couldn’t make it a whole month, but it’s well over an hour’s drive to get there.” She pulled out a jar of the power bait. “Took me at least six months before I felt comfortable. Now? It’s no big deal. I’ve learned to live off what the garden produces and I only need a few staples…dried beans, rice, coffee, flour for my tortillas or masa for corn, that sort of thing.”
She waved her hand. “Other than, you know, paper goods and such.”
“So what’s that?” Erin asked, motioning to the power bait.
“It’s supposed to mimic salmon eggs.” She opened the lid, revealing the pinkish red balls.
Erin leaned closer to inspect them, then wrinkled up her nose. “They smell.”
“Uh-huh.”
She assumed Erin would want her to bait the hook, but she plucked one out of the jar and held it up, her gaze going to the hook.
“So just stick it on there?”
“You’re going to want two or three. Cover most of the hook.”
She stood back, watching as Erin studied the mechanisms of the reel with a slightly tilted head. She flipped the metal bail wire up and down, then looked over at her.
Melanie nodded. “When you flip it up, it releases the tension for you to cast.”
She was about to offer to show her how, but Erin moved to the edge, holding the rod out with one hand. However, she was holding the rod with the spinning reel on top, not the bottom.
“I’ve seen this done on TV. You just kinda…flick it out there, right?”
“You want to cast it upstream, then let the water bring it back to you downstream. Trout swim upstream to feed.”
The first cast was not pretty and only went a couple of feet into the water. She again studied the reel and Melanie stood back patiently, debating whether to offer instruction or not.
“You’ve got it upside down,” she finally said. “The reel should be on the bottom.”
“Really?” Erin turned it around, then seemed totally lost. “Okay, so I guess I’ll need a little help.”
Melanie moved forward, taking Erin’s hand and placing the reel foot between her middle fingers. “Like that. It’s all in the wrist. When you open the bail, you hold the line against the rod with your index finger,” she said, placing her finger on top of Erin’s, pressing up to hold the line. She looked up, finding Erin watching her instead of their hands. She gave her a slight smile, then continued. “When you cast, release the line just past the top of your throw, then close the bail, like this,” she said, moving the metal wire back down. She stepped away. “It took me several days to get the hang of it so don’t be too hard on yourself. And I had been fishing before.”
Erin seemed to mentally be going over her instructions, then she raised her hand and with a flick of her wrist, sent the line sailing out into the middle of the creek. Melanie clapped.
“Damn. Perfect on the first try.”
Erin grinned as she watched the line float past them. “How far should I let it go?”
“If it’s too far and you get a hit, you’ll never be able to bring the fish in. I’d say no more than thirty, maybe forty feet downstream.”
Erin reeled the line in, then tossed it back again, making another near perfect cast.
“You sure you haven’t fished before?”
Erin shrugged. “Mechanical engineer.”
“Oh, I see. Do you help design your houses then?”
“No. We’ve got a firm for that. Of course, clients can bring in their own design plans. We’re a custom home builder. We can do anything.” Erin reeled in the line again. “We’re in talks to purchase some property in Waller County, close to Katy.” She smiled. “I know that means nothing to you. It’s northwest of Houston. Suburbs. We want to design—and build—a community.” She cast out again. “And I’m supposed to forget about work for three months, so don’t let me talk about it.”
“You love what you do. It’s hard not to talk about it, I guess.”
Erin paused, letting the line float farther downstream than before. “Do I love it?” she asked quietly, almost to herself.
Melanie watched her pull the line in again, then saw the tip of the rod bend.
“Okay, so something’s happening,” Erin said, her voice excited.
“Reel it in. Don’t let the line get too taut. You’re out kinda far.”
Erin glanced at her quickly. “You want to take it? It’s not like I know what I’m doing.”
“You’re doing fine. Bring him in slowly.” The trout jumped out of the water, its sleek skin glistening in the sunlight. “Nice one. Don’t lose him.”
The words were barely out of her mouth when the fish jumped again, this time twisting off the line.
“Well, damn,” Erin said, obviously disappointed. “I could almost taste him.”
Melanie laughed. “Yeah, that’s usually the case.” She handed her the power bait. “I’ll leave you to it. I’ve got a basket of green beans I need to put up.”
“Put up?”
“Can.”
“Ah. The pressure canner thing. Do you want me to help?”
“I’ve got my routine down pat. It doesn’t take me long.” She pointed to the creek. “You’re in charge of dinner. Two or three good-sized ones should be enough.”
She went to walk away, but Erin called her back.
“Mel?”
She turned, eyebrows raised.
“Thanks for this. You were right. Being outside in the sunshine…”
She smiled. “Yes. Does wonders for your mood. Fish for dinner is simply the bonus.”
Chapter Sixteen
Erin was absolutely filthy by the time she trudged back to the house, the fish bag slung over her shoulder. The knees of her slacks were stained with dirt, the sides dirty where she’d wiped her hands, and both of her shoes were wet. She’d rolled the sleeves of her shirt up to her elbows and had pulled the shirttail out at her waist, using it to wipe at the blood on her hand where the hook had caught her. Filthy, yeah, and she was grinning like a kid as she opened the kitchen door.
Melanie was at the stove, stirring something in a pot. She looked at her expectantly.
“I caught dinner,” she said proudly.
“Yay! Let me see.”
She handed over the bag, watching as Melanie opened it. She’d been having such a good time, she didn’t stop with three.
“Four! Wow, they’re nice. We’ll have a feast tonight.”
“That was fun. I could have stayed out for hours.”
Melanie nodded. “Fishing is addicting. And relaxing. What is that quote attributed to Thoreau?”
Erin shook her head. “I have no idea.”
“Some men fish all their lives, not knowing that it’s not the fish they are really after…or something like that.” She smiled at her. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.” She handed the bag back to her. “Trout are easy to clean, by the way.”
Erin’s eyes widened. “Clean? You want me to…to…”
Melanie laughed. “Hey, you’re the one who wanted to eat trout.”
Erin took a deep breath. “Okay. Yes, I was. Show me what to do.”
It was rather simple to clean the fish. Disgusting, but simple. Melanie had left her, saying she was going to the garden to get tomatoes and peppers for their lunch. She had to admit, she hadn’t eaten this much food since…well, ever. Breakfast usually consisted of coffee, nothing more, nothing less. And lunch? A sandwich at a local deli, if she could squeeze in the time or the occasional business lunch. Dinner? Yeah, she was usually starving by then. And when Sarah came into her life, they’d cooked at home often. At first, at least. Until she’d started working more and more.
She stared out the kitchen window, seeing Melanie moving about in the garden. She’d met Sarah at a backyard barbeque—a friend of a friend of a friend. She’d been so lively, so flirty, laughing and teasing as if she’d known Erin for years. Erin fell a little bit in love that very day. Even toward the end, even when Erin could feel Sarah slipping away, she’d still been fun. Her friends loved Sarah. Everyone loved Sarah.
Well, except for Joyce and her family. What could they see that no one else could? She took a deep breath, seeing Melanie heading back toward the house, pausing to bend over and…pet a chicken? Melanie’s hair fell around her face and as she straightened, she brushed it away. It was just long enough for a ponytail, wh
ich is how she normally wore it when she was outside working. When it hung loose, like now, she could see the different layers, the part on the side hidden as the breeze tossed her bangs about.
She continued to stare, seeing Sarah’s face outside the window now, her bright blond hair long and silky. Her family could see through the act, she supposed. Sarah had a way about her. Erin couldn’t refuse her anything. Yeah, she changed for her. It hadn’t been hard, really. Sarah had pushed, guided, molded her into the person she was today. A person no one liked or wanted to be around, apparently. Even Sarah.
She looked down into the sink, seeing the four fish she’d cleaned. Well, no, not the person she was today. Not this very day.
“All done?”
Erin turned to Melanie, finding her holding two large tomatoes and a fistful of long peppers.
She motioned to her hand. “What kind are those?”
“Banana peppers. The spicy kind, not the sweet.” She came beside her at the sink, gently nudging her aside with her hip. “I have the sweet ones too, but I’m making tacos.” She put the veggies on the counter and inspected the fish. “Good job.”
“I didn’t know what to do with that,” she said, pointing to the blob of fish guts.
“I have a spot out back, along the dry creek. The raccoons will clean it up tonight.”
“Do the raccoons mess with the chickens or anything?”
“Oh, yeah, sure. If they could get into the coop, they’d kill them. But I’ve got it secure.” She motioned out the window. “You might have noticed that I don’t open the fenced yard until mid-morning, after the threat of predators fades.” Then she smiled. “Or maybe not. I forgot you slept through the first five days.”
“I’m really sorry about that. I—”
“No need to apologize. You obviously needed the rest. And like I said, if you’re tired, take a nap. There are no rules.” Then she grinned. “Other than Stella’s rules, of course.”
“Do you ever nap?”
“God, no. I’ve got too much to do. Especially during the summer when the garden is producing.”
“Do you think…well, could you find the time to take me shopping?” She pointed at her pants. “You were right. I got these plenty dirty.”
