by Lisa Daniels
“I’m Yara,” she said, extending a beefy hand. Emma had never seen a woman look so tank-like. The only person who outmatched her was Arthur, which made sense, given the whole brother and sister thing.
“Emma.” Nervously, Emma smiled, her fingers slightly crushed by the tight grip. “I just realized I never asked your brother for your name. Sorry about that.”
“No worries. Happens.” Yara gave Emma a rather casual once-over. “How long you been in Valor for? My brother said you were new.”
“F-four weeks,” Emma said, unsure of the scrutiny, even as Arthur eagerly helped squash her luggage into the trunk. “I needed a clean break from everything.”
“Break from what?” Yara held the door open for Emma to step inside.
“Hey, Yara, don’t put her on the spot straight away, that’s not friendly...”
“It’s okay,” Emma replied, managing a smile of her own as she looked into the sibling’s warm brown eyes. “She sounds like she’s being protective of you.”
“Hmph.” Yara slammed the door, hopped into her seat, prepped the Rover to go, and it chugged along the road, heading towards the distant mountains.
“She’s not gonna be some rebound or anything,” Arthur said, scowling at his sister. Yara snorted.
“You leap in and out of beds like salmon rushing upstream. If you realized that good partners don’t mean people who tactically display their cleavage...”
Self-consciously, Emma checked her own front. Safely concealed behind a brown, long-sleeved top and her parka. She didn’t really like the way Yara talked, rough, without a trace of shame in her statements.
“Come on! She just needs to get out a bit! Get to know people, you know.”
Yara took a violent left turn, swaying them to the right. “That’s fine. And sorry about this, Emma—it’s a small issue I have with my brother. He finds it hard to be alone, and that shit with his ex, Lamarya—I’m worried it might be impairing his judgement.” Her lips curled into a smile. “More than usual, anyway.”
“N-no problem.” She didn’t really know what else to say. She felt like she was intruding somehow in the middle of a family row. Yara ran a hair through her short, messy black hair. Same color as Arthur’s, though his looked slicked and neat. Emma imagined watching an arm wrestling match between them. Despite Arthur’s monstrous arm size, she wasn’t entirely sure the sister would lose against him. Still, the more she listened, the more she found herself relaxing into the conversation, since they didn’t take offense if she tried to butt in to ask a question.
“Do you guys normally go fishing together?”
“Yes,” came Yara’s reply. “We might bring a friend or two along, or my brother’s strays—no offense,” she added, twitching one eyebrow for full view in the front mirror. “But as long as you’re willing to learn the tools of the trade, I don’t see why we can’t slot you in for some future trips. It’s a family pastime—trying out the rivers or lakes, bringing back some fish to fillet and cook ourselves.”
“Is that what I am? A stray?” Although Emma felt like she should be angry at Yara’s attitude, her heart squeezed in slightly. Yes—she was a stray, wasn’t she? Relying on the kindness of strangers.
“It’s not something to be ashamed of,” Yara answered. “He’s never been able to bring his former girlfriends on a trip before. So there’s some progress. You’ve been upgraded.”
Emma didn’t trust herself to say anything to that, and Arthur glared at his sister.
“Seriously, stop being a fucking dick, Yara.”
It took them another hour of driving to reach the desired location. They stole a path through muddy dirt tracks, uphill on a rather stony, tumultuous road through a thick section of woods, where Emma clung onto the seat for dear life as they rocked and tossed. She certainly wasn’t used to the way four-wheel drives operated, and kept expecting the vehicle to flip over at any moment and send them tumbling to the hospital. They made it to a small steam, where stands for fishing poles were already erected and signs of previous campfires in ashy, stone-ringed pits dotted the soil.
Arthur and Yara wasted no time springing up two tents, where Emma was informed she’d be sharing hers with Yara, to “avoid any hanky panky at night.” Her cheeks, naturally, burned brighter at this notion, and more and more, she doubted her decision to come on this trip. If the sister kept up her snide remarks all weekend, Emma might end up having some sort of mental breakdown and end up moving to another state a month later.
“Okay, squirt,” Yara said, rolling her green sleeves up, revealing intricate, swirling tattoos with birds resting on twiggy, leaf-strewn branches. The whole network of drawings was black in color, except for the four red apples that hung from the boughs. Two on each side of her arms. “Let’s get your rod set up, and we’ll run you through the basics.” Discreetly, Emma examined Arthur’s arms too, but from what she did see, they were devoid of patterns. Arthur had just finished with his pole, colored black with yellow lightning stripes tapering along its length. He turned to grin at Emma.
“We’re doing an easy fishing this time,” Arthur said, holding up a tin with a picture of what looked like caviar. “This is roe—fish eggs. And we’re fishing for chinooks in the stream. Uh, a type of salmon,” he added, seeing Emma’s blank look. “We’re going to use a technique called drift fishing.” He began to demonstrate with his now assembled rod, pretending to cast the line diagonally upstream. “The water causes the floater to move, obviously. When it reaches around here… you need to start reeling it in again and repeat the process. It’s better than sitting at a bridge and leaving it stationary—the salmon like something moving.”
“Okay,” Emma said, asking him to repeat once more for clarity. She’d been a little distracted by the way his bushy eyebrows furrowed together, and the way those biceps of his rippled with strain. He’d likely be able to crush her head like a grape if he got her in an armlock. Punch through walls, fight in a heavyweight wrestling match or something. No way something so strong should be limiting itself to something as simple as fishing.
“Here ya go.” Yara now stepped behind Emma after sliding a smaller, pink rod into her hands. “My old pole. Still kept it around after all these years. Now, you’ll want to position yourself here… and you’ll want to throw the line about twenty, twenty-five yards.”
Emma surveyed the wide, lightly frothing stream with apprehension, sure she was about to humiliate herself, or fall in and unceremoniously drown when a minnow tugged on her lure or something. Shit, why did she agree to this again? Fishing was boring. Marcus always said that. Only sad, lonely people liked fishing.
Under Yara and Arthur’s gruff encouragement, she managed to cast the line out, apparently overshooting at about thirty-five yards.
“To be fair, that’s an impressive throw,” Yara said. “Wouldn’t have expected that from such tiny muscles. And no hooks in the face, either, so that’s a plus.”
The thought of a hook in the face made Emma nauseous. “Oh God, that doesn’t actually happen, does it?”
“Yes,” Arthur said, eyes narrowed. “Yara did it to me once when I was about eight. With that same rod, actually.” He tapped his cheek, where the faintest of white lines stretched over the pale pink. “Can barely see the scar now.”
“I didn’t realize fishing was that dangerous,” Emma said, watching her line drift. She needed to reel it in about now, right? She started doing so, listening for any sounds of disapproval from the sibling duo. None came. Her next attempt to throw out the line ended timidly, since she found it difficult to shunt the image of a younger Arthur screaming at his sister, clutching his hand to his cheek...
Slowly, Emma’s confidence grew, and the siblings eventually deemed her able to do it alone, and set up positions at different sections of the stream, giving each other a wide radius to fish in. Now that Emma had the time to focus on the fishing, she actually found herself enjoying it. Sure, maybe it wasn’t exactly exciting, but it did do something for her nerves. Li
stening to the gentle hiss and babble of the river, watching the way froth formed on the boulders that breached the watery surface, along with the heavy, damp smell of soil and the mesh of green from all sides. It sent her into a state of tranquility, and her muscles unwound tension she’d never noticed.
This is what I’m missing, she thought idly, now allowing herself to pay greater attention to the scenery, eyeing Yara and Arthur as they focused on their own fishing. A hobby. Something to pass the time. Something other than waiting at home for Marcus to return or staying late to deal with the horrifying deficit in her parents’ convenience store, from her dad yet again not turning up on time, on being slow to hire people, on leaving so much for her to do.
“Not bad, parka girl,” Yara yelled from her position downstream, grinning with wide, sharp teeth. “You look quite the sight. Hot pink rod, red parka. Gotta get you a hat and you’ll be picture perfect.”
Emma laughed, reeling in her line again. “You two look like great bears holdings rods, so I don’t know what you’re mocking me about.”
Brother and sister exchanged glances. Both grinned, but not for a reason Emma could figure out. “You seem like you’re enjoying it so far, Emma!” Arthur cast his line out, with a glint of silver catching Emma’s eyes.
“Yeah! I really am!” She cast out, a little less vigorously than Arthur’s attempt. Seconds later, a shape under the water advanced to her bait. A tug. She screamed in shock and delight. “I got one! I got one!”
“Well then, reel it in!” Arthur watched her struggle for a moment, then abandoned his pole, laughing as he padded to Emma, adding his strength to hers, hands cusping her knuckles. “I’ll keep brace. Just reel! Go on!”
Heart hammering fast, practically threatening to leap out of her mouth, she reeled in the line, and a monstrous fish lifted out of the water, squirming and thrashing.
“Of course you get a big one. Beginner’s luck,” Arthur said with a snort. They quickly stuffed her catch into a large cooler box with water, to help preserve it for as long as they continued fishing.
Emma didn’t know how much time passed, though her mind drifted from time to time to how Arthur’s hands felt on hers. The way his arms braced on either side, his back pressed into hers… her cheeks burned hideously.
She’d be failing miserably if she allowed herself to get flustered just by having a guy touch her. Even if that guy happened to have a nice smell about him, like dusk and something sweet. Or that his body was so big, his arms large enough to snugly cradle someone her size. Marcus, in comparison, seemed so weedy and inadequate, yet he’d been able to swallow up her world.
The fishing ended with Yara catching the next two, and Arthur seizing a trout, and they set to preparing all the fish, making a fire and roasting the fish on a pan they had brought with them. It was all so simple, and nothing like the city life Emma knew. She wasn’t sure if she liked the mud on her shoes, or the bugs that crawled on the ground, or the isolation in some parts. In other parts, however, she liked the relaxed, friendly banter between the siblings, and the opportunity to escape even further from her old life. Even if her phone lay at home, collecting messages like dust.
“We’ll make a country gal outta you yet,” Arthur said, watching Emma pick at her roasted salmon. He preferred to gnaw on his fish past the bones, plucking the flesh off expertly. Emma didn’t want to touch the slimy skin too much, but peeled off the meat easily, as Yara had shown her how to eat a fish that still had the bones in it, so she didn’t have any accidents.
“Maybe,” Emma said, enjoying the smoky, strong quality of the meat. “I’m not sure if I want to keep using a pink fishing rod if I do this, though. Would anyone take me seriously?”
“I have photo evidence of you catching that fish,” Yara replied, grinning as she tapped her digital camera. With all of them huddled around the fire, as the light dipped out of the sky, bathing the campsite in long shadows and the croak of birds, talk turned more informative, too.
“Yeah, we’ve been camping all along the Valor River for years. Our family owns big chunks of it. We’d have monthly trips and long weekends, since there’s not that much to do in the country unless you happen to have a ranch or something. Life’s different from the city. Slower paced.” Yara continued gnawing on her fish, every bit as animalistic as her brother.
“You see, I can’t really imagine that,” Emma said, prodding at her meal with the plastic fork, pleasantly surprised at how crumbly it was. “I mean, we talk shit about country people, you know. No sense of fashion, talking like they have potatoes in their mouths, braindead and probably screwing the cows in the barn.”
“Cousin Witsel does that, I bet,” Arthur said with a snigger. “He’s got himself a small farm with those special sheep that peel their wool, and a few cows. Said he was getting chickens and quails next. Did he do that, Yara?”
“Yeah, I think he did. Not spoken to him in a few months, though. Ever since...”
Arthur’s expression clouded over.
“What’s wrong?” Emma said through a mouthful of pink flesh.
“It’s nothing,” Arthur grunted. “Well, it is,” he amended, targeted by both Emma and Yara’s glares. “My dad fell out with his brother some years back. Different ideas about what they wanted to do with Valor Lake. My uncle’s got a paper processing factory, and he wants to expand the business, but my father doesn’t want the reservation to be fucked with more than necessary. Doesn’t want the loss of habitat. Ben Witsel is his son—we used to be pretty good friends when we were younger, but the family tensions have frozen us out of contact.”
“Oh,” Emma said. Having lived with a poor family, she couldn’t imagine the notion of scrapping over land and factories. Her parents had crashed out of their inherited home over a decade ago thanks to some terrible financial decisions, and some moves later, they all lived in a two-bedroom apartment above their latest attempt at business. She did know the strain of parents thinking that because they had a child, they also owned the rights to anything she earned, and her time.
“You should be grateful we spent so much of our lives raising you. It’s about time you gave something back!”
“I do miss Ben, we had a good laugh together, cracked some beers. But… shit happens.”
“How big is your family?” Emma asked, saying it mostly as an attempt to distract herself from thoughts of her wrinkly father and dour-faced mother, with the looming shadow of Marcus swallowing the vision like spilled acid. Plus, well, it might be interesting to hear about the dynamics of someone else’s family for a change.
“Big,” Arthur said. He cleaned off his fingers, having finished the food, and Yara wasn’t that far behind. Emma made a Herculean effort to eat faster. “Crazy big. Relatives everywhere. Mom, dad, two sets of grandparents, uncles, aunts, cousins, brothers, sisters, step-sisters, step-brothers...” He proceeded to rattle off names, but Emma barely followed. Four brothers, two sisters, two step-sisters, one step-brother… Emma boggled at the notion of so many relatives. Probably made meetings fun.
“We also have links to the other clans in the area,” Yara said in her gruff voice. “We’re the Valors, the original one. Then there’s the Witsels—our uncle married into their family but due to issues, took up the Witsel name instead. Then there’s the Maguires. We’ve all got stakes and land in the Valor Lake and Reservation. Oldest families and all that.”
“You’re all rich, then?” Emma gaped. “I’m sorry, it’s just… you don’t look… rich.” Lame to say, but she knew how the girls back in Phoenix loved showing off their wealth. Hell, some of them got an easy $2000 a week pocket money. And guys swaggered around in suits and their fancy gold watches and cars.
“Yes, but it’s mostly old money,” Arthur said. “We’re not doing a lot with it now. I tend to work part-time at the cop station, and mostly doing DIY around the estate. Not so exciting, I know.”
With all the fish done with, Arthur took out craft beers, of brands Emma had never heard of be
fore, and they cracked the lid of each one open, basking in the tranquil evening atmosphere.
“I like you,” Yara said to Emma. “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. You’re, what… twenty-three? Four?”
“Five,” Emma answered.
“I’m thirty-one, and the little bro’s twenty-eight. Everyone’s watching us to see if we’re going to produce heirs. Getting to the point where I think they’re turning a blind eye over your choices, Art. Long as you get one of them accidentally pregnant.”
Arthur rolled his eyes, and Emma followed every movement of his eagerly, finding his very presence comforting to bask in. Her eyes kept wandering over his body, that solid jawline of his, and sometimes rested on the area between his legs, as he sat splayed out like most men did. Everything there was hidden by black combat pants.
“What’s the big deal with his—your,” she added, now directing the question to Arthur, “girlfriends? Yara makes them all sound ghastly.”
His dark eyes drooped, clearly not so eager to answer. “Can we drop the ball on that? I’m actually enjoying myself for a change. I don’t wanna be fucked up by thinking about that shit.”
“But if you don’t talk about it,” Yara pressed, “it’s only getting worse. Speak to us. We won’t judge. Emma seems like a good listener.”
Because Emma wanted to hear more about Arthur, she didn’t contradict the statement. She was a terrible listener, really…
“What’s there to say? Either I’m just unlucky with the women I choose, or they all turn out to be massive using bitches. Lamarya’s a Maguire, I thought she’d be… well, more of a match than the previous ones.”
“I told you that she’s a bitch,” Yara snapped. “But you, bro, are terrible with the way you pick women. How many have you taken out on dates? How many were ones you didn’t just scoop out of a bar or on a foraging trip...” she glanced at Emma, “and fuck from the start?”
“You’re making it sound worse than it is...”
“How many, then?”
“Well, none of them, but—”
