The fish on the end of his line suddenly shot out of the water and came sailing straight towards him. The massive magenta sailfish would have skewered him on its serrated sword like nose if Tina’s weight hadn’t pulled him down on top of her knocking the wind from both of their lungs at the same time. Behind them someone screamed. Chris rolled to his hands and knees and saw his fish stuck to the back of Junior’s seat. He didn’t need the visual that Mr. and Mrs. Carver were sharing to know what exactly had happened. The cushion was rapidly changing from white with blue stripes, or blue with white stripes (Chris and Jake had wandered into a fairly heated argument after half a bottle of vodka over which it was. One that Junior had compared to astronauts vs. cavemen and hadn’t ended until Tina and Karen had separated the men by dragging them into separate rooms.) to a deep reddish purple radiating out from where the fish’s head was. Blood oozed down it’s snout into the snapping jaws. Tonight I wanted to savor memories and cherish what we had built together. When I finally went to bed, I must have been asleep before my head hit the pillow and awoke feeling more rested than I could remember being in years. Donning my ratty old robe, I practiced my one culinary art, the only thing I’d been allowed by Ginny to do in HER kitchen. I prepared a mug of Prince of Wales tea. To achieve my masterwork I use two heaping teaspoons of Sugar Raw, a brand of turbinado sugar, and three of half & half. Folks have made fun of my persnicketiness in making tea, but every one always asks for it instead of coffee. One of my private joys had been to fix tea for Ginny every morning for the last fifteen years. I always used a little yellow teapot, it was the perfect size for two cups. This morning, for the first time since she died, I didn’t use it. It should have felt odd, but it didn’t. I never eat breakfast. I know, a terrible habit, but I never have more than my tea. I carried my cup.
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