be on the end of the dock, tipping a cold one. Drive safe.”
Gordon looked fed up with the whole expedition. “Very well. At least grab the poles. Would you do that? Please?”
John grabbed both poles with one hand. “All done. Thanks.”
John watched Gordon walk back down the precarious dock and felt a twinge of guilt. Sure, he wanted to stick it to him. Gordon was lording his man-of-the-house presence at the beach house, never missing a chance to put an arm around Linnea or, his personal favorite, kiss the top of her head whenever John walked into a room. John tipped back the bottle and took a long swallow. He couldn’t deny it was killing him. He couldn’t sleep at night, knowing that guy was in bed with Linnea. There wasn’t enough alcohol to quench that burn.
Let the Brit be a gofer, he thought sourly, drinking again. Still, it didn’t sit right, treating him like this. If he weren’t with Linnea, John might even like the guy.
From around the corner house across the street, John spotted someone approaching. Squinting, he recognized Cooper, wearing nylon shorts and a T-shirt. In one arm he carried three brand-new fishing rods, still with price tags flapping in the breeze. From his other hand dangled a small Coleman cooler that bumped against his thigh as he walked at a lazy pace.
“Yo,” Cooper called out.
Gordon stopped walking to turn in Cooper’s direction. He raised his hands in the air. “We’ve been saved!” He waited while Cooper watched the traffic, then sprinted across Palm Boulevard. Gordon slapped Cooper’s shoulder, clearly glad to have been saved from a trip to the store. He reached out to grab the cooler. The two men sauntered back to the dock, then navigated the treacherous boards to the end where John sat shaking his head and grinning.
“Who invited this guy?” John said to Gordon.
“Not me,” Gordon said, clearly in a better mood. He set the cooler on the dock. “He just kind of shows up. Like a paper airplane that floats into a room.”
John’s eyes darted toward Gordon.
“It’s a God-given talent,” Cooper said, resting the rods against a piling. “Right place at the right time.”
“Maybe you can make little origami bait out of some old newspaper,” Gordon said to John, continuing the dig. “I hear fish love to hit on those.”
“You guys are still at each other’s throats, I see,” Cooper said. He spied the poles in John’s hand. “Nice. You steal those from a Civil War museum?”
“Right?” Gordon said, laughing.
“Whatever,” John said. “What’s in the cooler? We’ve got beer.”
Cooper smiled. “Ten bucks says neither of you geniuses remembered to bring bait.”
John and Gordon stared back with blank eyes.
“I knew it. You guys think of beer, and I bring essentially everything needed to fish. Rods… patience…”
“We didn’t even invite you,” John said.
“Yeah? Well, my sister said I had to come babysit you guys. Looks like she was right. You wouldn’t even be able to fish if I hadn’t shown up. Come on, Romeos. Let’s go.”
John looked around the dock, scratching his head. They were both being put properly in place by the kid. There were fish bloodstains from an incalculable number of catches deeply entrenched in the wood. Old hooks with a few inches of fishing line still attached littered the dock, some with encrusted bait on the end.
“Maybe we should chip in for Merry Maids,” John joked. “Seriously. Fifty bucks and they’d have this place spotless.”
“Clay likes things just the way they are,” Cooper said in a warning tone. “No one says anything against him in my presence. Just sayin’.”
“Only kidding,” John said. “I know he’s the best. Clay’s from a different era. Like this here dock.” To Gordon he said, “Isle of Palms and Sullivan’s used to be sleepy islands. People knew each other. They were good neighbors and didn’t worry if their dock was gentrified.” He pointed to the white house across the street. “I’ll bet he’s up there now, watching us, wishing he were here. I wish he was too. Clay’s getting up there in age and lying low. The virus would almost certainly kill him.”
“I learned most of what I know about fishing from Clay,” Cooper said. “He was always right here, ready to give me pointers on how to catch red drum, or gig for flounder. They broke the mold when they created him.” He looked back at the house and a flicker of sadness crossed his features. “Let’s go fishing.”
It was clear that Cooper knew