by Steve Frech
A ringing begins to build in my ears. My head starts to hurt and my eyes strain. The ringing grows deafening. Every other sound fades until all I hear is the high-pitched tone. I’m not there. In the mirror, the door to the closet begins to slowly swing open—
“Dad?”
I turn around. Caitlyn is standing in the doorway. The door to the closet is only slightly open, as before. The ringing has stopped.
“Am I getting pancakes or not?” she asks.
I look back at the mirror. There I am, my mouth open, holding the dirty clothes in my arms. I step to the side so that I can see the closet in the reflection. The door is only slightly open and there’s Caitlyn in the doorway, waiting for pancakes.
God, I’m tired. I look like I’m nursing a once-in-a-lifetime hangover.
“Sure,” I say, holding up the dirty clothes. “Just as soon as you figure out where these go.”
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” she says. She sheepishly takes the clothes from my arms, opens the door to the closet, and deposits them in the laundry basket.
“There. Now, can I have pancakes?”
“I don’t know. I think you’ve earned oatmeal.”
“I said I was sorry.”
“Oatmeal with raisins.”
Caitlyn rolls her eyes and makes mock puking sounds as she goes out into the hall and down the stairs.
I start to follow, but can’t help taking one more look in the vanity mirror from across the room.
My reflection is still there, wearing that stupid, puzzled stare.
*
Two helpings of pancakes later, I wave goodbye as the yellow bus rumbles away with Caitlyn onboard.
I was right to be worried last night. This is all hitting me harder than I thought it would. Between the lack of sleep, my mind seeing Nicole, and having to send Caitlyn off for her first day of school by myself, there’s no more denying that I’m not coping very well. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, but this is how it is. I can’t let Caitlyn see it. She’s going to have enough to worry about. I want her focusing on school and making new friends—not on her father, who is slightly losing it.
I’ll be fine.
The most important thing I can do now is try to establish a routine. It’s time to get to something normal. It’s time to write.
I go to the kitchen, pour myself another cup of coffee, and then, filled with equal parts excitement and anxiety, I head to the Writing Room.
Seconds later, I’m sitting at my desk, surrounded by the works of authors who have inspired me. There’s a beautiful view of Willow Lake outside the window and the endless possibilities of a blank page lie before me. My particular method is to write everything out longhand in notebooks. It makes editing a lot easier. I already know the plot. I know all the twists and turns that are going to keep the reader up late into the night. I’m about to begin. I crack my knuckles and take a breath. This is a moment to relish.
“Here we go …”
I sit there, gaping at the blank page …
… and I can’t write a damn word.
I use every trick in the book to get the juices flowing. I try starting in the middle of the chapter. That doesn’t work. I try stream of consciousness writing. Nothing gets me in the groove.
Eventually, I try to force it. For an hour, I clunk along like a car on square wheels. After another hour, I stop to read what I’ve written … What is this garbage? It’s all over the place. I kept mistakenly calling one of the main characters ‘Rebecca’, even though her name is Kristen. The prose is disjointed and confusing. It’s five pages of absolute drivel.
I curse and roll my neck, releasing a series of loud cracks. I really needed that sleep I never got last night. I get up, walk around, jump up and down, shake out my hands, sit back down, and try again. After another half an hour, I stop, go over what I’ve written … and drop the notebook on the desk.
“Okay. I guess it’s not happening today.”
I push myself away from the desk. I hate giving up like this, but I’ve got to take it easy on myself. It’s been months since I’ve tried to write. Of course, I’m rusty. These are new surroundings, a new book, and no Nicole. I’ll try again tomorrow.
This means that my day has now become regrettably open. If I’m not going to write, the only way to feel better is to take advantage of this beautiful morning.
*
Accompanied by my cup of coffee, I step barefoot off the deck onto the cool grass and walk down to the pier.
The wooden slats have been warmed by the sun. The surface of the pond is a sheet of murky glass.
I can’t have many more days like this. I need to crank out the book. No one knows that more than me, but for now, I’m going to stand here and sip my coffee.
As I stare out at the lake, standing at the end of the pier, my hand distractedly reaches inside the neck of my shirt and pulls out Nicole’s ring.
This day should have been hers. It was taken from her. It was taken from us. At the funeral, one of her friend’s husbands said that her death was part of God’s plan. If Caitlyn hadn’t been there, I would have hit him. Instead, I told him, ‘Well then, I guess God’s an asshole.’ Thankfully, Caitlyn didn’t hear that. Before Nicole’s death, I believed that there was a God, some sort of benevolent hand, watching over the world, guiding things, intervening with small miracles here and there but afterwards? No way. There’s no justification for what happened. None.
As I run my finger around the edges of Nicole’s ring, my eyes fall on the water below me off the end of the pier.
My finger stops.
What is that?
It … It has to be some kind of weed that’s floating to the surface.
I peer closer.
It’s not possible, and I know I’m really tired, but my first thought is, That looks like hair.
The tendrils continue to slowly rise.
It has to be a weed, right? But I swear to God, it looks like a blond hair is rising up out of the depth and any second, I’ll see a head …
Okay. I need to know what this is.
I lie down on my stomach and reach off the pier towards whatever is rising from the darkness below. I grunt as I strain. It’s only inches from my outstretched fingers.
I’m about to touch it when suddenly, it sinks, as if violently pulled back under by some unseen hand.
I’m so startled that I quickly pull my hand back and stand up to get away from it. There’s a light pressure on the back of my neck and a faint snap. I take deep breaths and instinctively put my hand onto my chest. I can feel my heart racing—wait … I can feel my heart. What I can’t feel is Nicole’s ring.
“No …”
I look down. Nicole’s ring and the chain are gone.
“No!”
Through my panic, I know what had to have happened.
As I was lying on the pier, the ring was dangling over the water. At some point, it must have slid between the wooden slats. When I stood, the ring couldn’t fit. The chain snapped, and now, Nicole’s ring is at the bottom of the lake.
Staring down at the cloudy water, I drop to my knees, bury my face in my hands, and begin weeping, uncontrollably.
11
“Do you sell magnets?”
The guy behind the help desk at the hardware store looks up from the car magazine he’s reading. “Sure. What kind of magnets are you looking for?”
“Well … um … the magnetic kind?”
“What are they for? You need them for some cabinets or doors? You mounting something? We’ve got neodymium disks, pull magnets, magnetic tape.”
“I’m trying to fish a ring off the bottom of a lake.”
“A ring?”
“Yeah.”
He sucks air through his teeth and shakes his head. “Magnet ain’t gonna do it for you.”
“What?”
“Gold and silver aren’t magnetic. They don’t stick to magnets.”
“Why not?”
“Because they do
n’t.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Sorry.”
“Shit.”
“How deep is the lake?”
“It’s deep.”
He puts down his magazine. “All right. Let’s see what we can do for ya.”
*
I grunt and begin pulling the rope.
It’s a lot deeper off the end of the pier than I thought. It has to be close to forty feet. I keep pulling. The rope piles up on the wooden slats next to my feet. There’s resistance on the other end.
I’ve lost count of the number of attempts I’ve made. My clothes are soaked in water and sweat. The butchered head of the rake appears at the surface, covered in weeds. I cut off the wooden handle so it would sink. I haul it up onto the pier and begin sifting through the stinking, slimy tendrils. There are some flecks of mud, but most of it has come off on the rise to the surface. After I inspect each handful, I toss the weeds into the water off the side of the pier. Once I go through all the weeds I’ve pulled up, I hold up the head of the rake and inspect the teeth, praying that by some miracle, I’ve managed to snag Nicole’s ring.
Just like every previous attempt, there’s no ring.
I had hope when I first started. The guy at the hardware store helped me come up with it. I’m pretty sure he could tell I had been crying and felt bad for me. It also was apparent that he didn’t have much else to do.
I came home and found the spot on the pier where I figured I was lying down when I lost Nicole’s ring. Then, I dropped the rake into the water, let it sink to the bottom and pulled it back up. The first couple of times, it came up totally empty. I realized that I needed to literally rake the bottom. I tried again, but this time, after letting it sink to the bottom, I took a few steps down the pier, and pulled it towards me. I was rewarded by a slight resistance, and I could feel the weeds being pulled out of the mud below. The rake came up with a big clump of vegetation. I happily sat on the pier and sifted through it. It came up empty, but I believed that with everything I snagged, there was actually a chance I could hook Nicole’s ring. That kept me going for the first couple of tries, but soon, I wasn’t even pulling up weeds anymore, meaning I had raked the spot clean.
I try moving around. I throw the rake out further off the end of the pier. Maybe the tide carried the ring further out. Wait. Does a lake have tides? I’m willing to try anything, but at this point, it’s starting to feel like I’ve tried everything.
The discarded weeds form a layer over the water below me. I’m starting to snag them, again, as I pull the rake up. My optimism is disappearing. It’s being replaced by aching arms, a stiff back, and cold, chapped hands, but I keep telling myself, “Okay, this will be my last throw.”
I think I said that thirty throws ago.
My arms, legs, and back are screaming in agony. I’m coming up empty almost every time. I’m not even getting any weeds. I even try to rake the bottom directly under the pier. I’ll throw it on one side, carefully lie down on my stomach, and pass the rope to myself under the pier. I’m rewarded with nothing but more weeds.
My mind has gone numb. I’m not putting any thought into where I should throw the rake head. It’s mechanical.
I set my feet, wind up, and am about to make another toss when the pier starts to shake.
All my weight is going forward off the edge. I’m staring straight down into the water.
“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!” I stutter.
I’m about to fall, but at the last second I pinwheel my arms backwards, stopping my momentum.
“Whoa! Easy tiger!” a voice says behind me.
I’m able to steady myself and shuffle backwards. Another inch, and I would have been swimming.
I look back to see Mildred, halfway down the pier, frozen in place, holding a cup of coffee in her hand.
I lean over and put my hands on my knees to catch my breath. “Mildred! Good lord, you almost sent me in.”
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Daniel!”
She’s got that panicked expression on her face and printed on the side of her mug are the words ‘SASSY BITCH’. I can’t help it. She’s such a comical picture, I start laughing until I’m shaking and have to sit down. She’s laughing, too. Her whole body starts to tremble, and coffee begins sloshing out of her cup, which brings more laughter. She can’t control herself and gives up, dumping the coffee into the lake.
“Cold anyway,” she says, “but I do hate to waste the whiskey.”
I’m laughing so hard, my aching muscles can’t take it. She comes to the end of the pier and sits next to me. We laugh until we’re out of breath and it feels like I’ve done a million sit-ups.
“Okay,” she says, wiping her eyes. “I have to ask, what are you doing out here? I’ve been watching you for hours. You weedin’?”
“No,” I reply, still out of breath. “I lost … I, um, I wear my wife’s wedding ring on a chain around my neck. And I came out here and—” The wave of grief that slams into me is unbearable. Seconds ago, I was laughing harder than I have in months. Now, my throat is closing. “—the chain broke … and Nicole’s ring … it …”
All her merriment evaporates in an instant. Her mouth hangs open and she even chokes up. “Oh, Daniel …”
“It’s gone,” I say, managing little more than a whimper. “I lost it … It’s gone … I’m losing her, again …”
It’s taking everything I have to hold back the sobs but there’s no stopping my tears.
Mildred puts a comforting hand on my back.
For a while, we do nothing but sit and stare out at the water. Occasionally, a breeze will pass and gentle waves will lap against the support poles of the pier. Mildred remains silent the whole time, calmly rubbing my back with her hand. It’s exactly what I need. Eventually, I’m able to get myself under control.
“Thank you, Mildred,” I sigh.
“You want me to bring you some whiskey?”
“Nah. I appreciate it, but I’m good.”
“Suit yourself.” She stands and looks at the weeds that are starting to wash up on the shore. “Your beach is a mess. You should probably get a rake to clean it up.”
I stare at the butchered rake head in my hand.
She jokingly nudges me with her knee. “Don’t worry, you can borrow mine.”
She walks back down the pier and heads towards her house.
I’m gonna sit out here for a little while longer.
*
After a few minutes, I’m back at it.
I feel like if I stop, then I’m giving up on Nicole.
I toss the rake out from the pier and it sinks into the water. The rope gradually slides off the pier after it. It takes almost a minute for it to stop as the rake reaches the bottom. There’s no way Nicole’s ring is that far out, but I don’t care.
I start slowly pulling it in. There are brief moments of resistance as it rips the few remaining weeds out of the mud. I keep pulling, careful not to go too fast, so that it stays in the mud. It finally arrives at the bottom off the edge of the pier. I keep pulling. There’s almost no resistance as it begins to rise.
I’m already scouting where to throw it next. Just one more time. I wonder if there’s some way that I can get it und—
The rope stops.
I pull but it doesn’t budge.
Slowly, it begins sinking back into the water, like there’s a massive weight on the other end.
I tighten my grip and p—
Shit!
The rope yanks me down.
I strain and with all I’ve got, but the rope starts to slide from my hand, straight down into the water. I further tighten my grip and kneel down, bracing myself on the pier, but I’m still being pulled towards the water. My hand is inches above the layer of discarded weeds, floating on the surface. I have to lie down on the pier but it’s no use. Still clutching the rope, my hand is pulled below surface up to my elbow.
The rope stops. There’s still tension, but I can’t see pas
t the layer of weeds.
Something touches my wrist.
I let go.
The rope rapidly slides off the pier, into the water. I sit back, stunned, watching the rope go. Whatever is on the other end of the rope reaches the bottom. There’s about three feet of slack, floating on the surface among the weeds, next to the pier.
What the hell was that?
It wasn’t a fish. It was dead weight like a stone or a log, but whatever touched my wrist has to have been a fish. I’ve been making a nice little habitat for them with all these weeds.
“What are you doing?”
I turn towards the shore behind me.
Caitlyn’s standing at the base of the pier, bookbag slung across her back.
“Oh. Hey, pumpkin.” I get to my feet. I must be quite the sight. “I was, uh … just …” I have to tell her the truth. “Well, sweetheart, I lost Mom’s ring. The chain broke and it fell in the water and I was trying to see if I could get it back.”
I don’t know what she’s going to say. I was inconsolable when it happened a few hours ago. I’m worried how it might affect her.
She surveys the floating weeds that have washed up on shore and surround the pier. “Do you want me to help?”
“No. That’s okay, pumpkin. Thank you. I might try again tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
I clap my hands. “All right! Let’s go inside. I’m gonna take a shower, make us dinner, and I want to hear all about how your first day went.”
She shrugs and begins walking back to the house.
“You can be happier about that, you know?” I call after her.
She waves her hands and sarcastically drawls, “Yeahhhhh.”
I’m not mad. That was objectively funny.
I look down at the end of the rope, floating in the water. I’m tempted to leave it there, but there’s that one in a million chance that Nicole’s ring is on the other end of it, or whatever cinderblock I snagged.
I … I almost don’t want to …
But the thought of Nicole’s ring wins out.
I drop down on the pier and reach out. I hesitate for a split second, then quickly snap up the end of the rope. My fingers briefly break the surface, but I hurriedly pull them back. I stand up and pull.
