The Millionaire Next Door
“The fish bite onto these hooks?” she asked.
“That’s right.”
“Why do they do that? Are they stupid?”
“No. We have to trick them into biting the hook by putting bait on it.”
“What’s bait?”
“It’s something the fish would like to eat.”
“What do fish eat?”
That was a very good question. He rifled through the tackle box, finally coming up with some rather crusty artificial worms. Maybe these would do.
The point wasn’t really to catch anything, right? This was an exercise in boredom.
The sun was just coming up as Hudson and Bethany walked out to the end of the rickety dock. Hudson put a rubbery worm on the end of each hook, then pulled out some extra line so the hook would dangle in the water. He gave one pole to Bethany, cautioning her for about the tenth time about being careful of the hook. Then he sat down beside her and put his own hook in the water.
Nothing happened.
“This is nice,” he said, trying to convince himself. “Just you and me, doing a little father-daughter bonding.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind. Is anything happening with your line?”
“No.”
“Mine, neither. But I understand you have to be patient to be a fisherman.”
“Fishergirl,” she corrected him.
Oh, Lord. At four years old, Bethany was a budding feminist. Her grandmother would have a fit. Finally, something to make Hudson smile.
“I’m bored,” Bethany said after exactly seven minutes.
“Let’s talk to pass the time.”
“Talk about what?”
He had no idea what. “What do you like to watch on TV?”
“Princess Pony.”
“Tell me about that.”
“There’s a white pony, and she’s a princess, and then there’s a bad Palomino Queen who wants Princess Pony to go into this cave and never come out.”
“That sounds exciting.”
“But now I can’t watch it because we don’t have a TV.”
Originally he’d been pleased the cabin didn’t have a TV. Bethany watched far too much at home, and the point of a vacation like this was to get outdoors, get some exercise, get healthy. Watching TV wasn’t healthy. But it might help Bethany not to die of boredom. Maybe he could compromise, buy a TV and VCR and rent some educational videos or classic children’s movies.
“Is anything happening with your line?”
“No.”
Eleven minutes had passed.
They tried a different color of worm. They tried an orange lizard. They tried a silver metal fish with spinners on it. The fish were about as interested as Hudson would be at a vegetarian buffet.
“Can we go inside now, Daddy?”
“Not until we catch a fish.” He didn’t know what he would do with the fish if he caught it, but he didn’t like to fail at his endeavors.
AMANDA GULPED DOWN the last bit of her coffee, then strode through the living room and beat on the bedroom door. “Mick? Are you up yet?”
No reply.
She cracked the door open. Mick was sprawled on top of the covers, still fully clothed. It was all Amanda could do not to yank him by the ankles and toss him to the floor.
She’d heard him come home last night—at two in the morning. She’d hoped he was at the university library in Tyler, studying. But seeing him now, she knew she’d been naive. Mick had been out drinking—she’d stake her life on it. It wasn’t as if she couldn’t recognize the signs. She was very afraid that Mick was his father’s son.
Resisting the urge to fit her hands around his neck, she instead shook his shoulder. “Mick. Wake up.”
He opened one bleary eye. “Huh?”
“Get your hungover butt out of bed. You have a class this morning.”
“Not till nine.”
“Get up now, or you’ll fall back to sleep.”
“Get off my case.”
“You think this is on your case? Just wait and see what happens if I ever catch you drinking and driving again.”
She left him with that thought. Back in the kitchen, she grabbed her keys and was about to head out the door when she spotted something interesting out the living room window. Hudson and Bethany were sitting on the end of their dock, fishing.
She watched them for a few self-indulgent moments. Her father used to take her fishing when she was a little girl. It was one of her nicest memories of him, nearly obliterated by other, more recent and far less pleasant ones. But now the images came flooding back—baiting hooks with wiggling earthworms, breathlessly watching the float bob up and down as a fish toyed with the bait, feeling the sun beating down on her bare arms.
And listening to her father tell stories. Sometimes he told real stories from his youth. Sometimes he made up fairy tales. And sometimes she couldn’t tell the difference. But she didn’t care. She just loved to hear him talk. He could weave an interesting tale around the most mundane of events and keep her endlessly entertained.
She wondered what Hudson and Bethany were talking about.
As she watched them a bit longer, she realized they weren’t catching anything, not even little perch or sunfish. The longer she watched, the more she realized they hadn’t a clue about what they were doing. They didn’t even know how to cast!
It’s none of your business, she reminded herself. Fishing was very personal. Maybe this was the technique that worked for Hudson.
She had to get to work, anyway. She had an appointment in a couple of hours with Clea Marsden about selling her rental property. But she could go over and thank Hudson for leaving her the cash. And she could give him a few pointers on fishing. It had been years since she’d dipped a hook in the water, but she hadn’t forgotten how.
Yes, that was the polite thing to do. She would have to live next to Hudson for a month. Might as well try to be on good terms with him. Besides, what if he really needed the fish to supplement his groceries?
Her mind made up, she marched next door, then tiptoed down the dock. If there were any fish around, she didn’t want to scare them.
“Good morning,” she whispered.
Hudson jumped a good six inches, and Bethany peered over her shoulder. “Why are you whispering?” she asked.
“So I don’t scare the fish,” she explained.
“The fish are underwater,” Bethany said patiently. “They can’t hear us.”
“Oh, but they can,” Amanda assured her. Then she looked at Hudson, who appeared touchably rumpled and unshaven. Normally she didn’t care for that un-shaven look, but on Hudson it worked. He wore a pair of jeans even more faded than the ones he’d had on yesterday, and a Harvard T-shirt.
Harvard? “Your alma mater?” she asked, pointing to the shirt.
He looked down at it. “This? Someone gave it to me.”
“Oh. Well, anyway, I wanted to thank you for making good on the check.”
“I told you I would.”
“I know, but I’ve learned not to trust people when they say things like that. So many don’t live up to their word. I appreciate that you did, and I’m sorry I lost my temper yesterday.”
He smiled. “It’s forgotten.”
“So, you’re fishing, huh?”
“Yup.”
“What are you using for bait?” She didn’t see a bait bucket anywhere.
“Right now? Some little wooden fish we found in the tackle box.”
Ye gods! No wonder they hadn’t caught anything. You couldn’t use plastic worms or plugs or other artificial lures for bobber fishing. And now that she was closer, and Hudson had his hook out of the water, she could see they weren’t using floats or sinkers, either. This was the most pathetic fishing effort she’d ever seen.
“What are you trying to catch?”
Hudson shrugged. “Anything.”
“Would you mind a few pointers? I mean, you aren’t familiar with this lake.” She didn’t want to point out his complete ignorance in front of his daughter.
“I would be grateful for some pointers.”
“Okay. First of all, if you’re just going to hang your hook in the water, you need live bait. Minnows, or at least earthworms.”
“We don’t have any of those things. These fake fish look pretty realistic to me.”
Amanda shook her head. “Yes, but you have to wiggle and move them to make them attractive. They won’t work if they’re just hanging still in the water. Also, most of the fish will already be in deeper water this time of the morning. They come close to shore only at dawn and dusk.”
“I don’t have any worms or minnows.”
“Well…if you’re not too particular about what you catch, raw bacon might work in a pinch. At least it smells good to the fish.”
Hudson shook his head. “I have hot dogs.”
“That might do.”
Hudson sent Bethany back to the house for hot dogs, an errand she gladly performed. “She was getting tired of just sitting here, anyway,” Hudson admitted.
“Well, she won’t be bored when you start catching fish.” Bethany dusted off a spot on the dock and sat down, careful to protect her stockings and her modesty in her short skirt. In a couple of minutes flat she had both poles properly outfitted with sinkers, floats and hooks. Bethany returned shortly with a package of franks. Amanda took a small bit of wiener and worked it onto one of the hooks in a way that would disguise it.
“Now. You need to cast your line out a little ways from the dock, and let the current move it along.” She and Hudson stood, and she demonstrated the correct procedure. As she stretched her arm back preparing for the cast, she got the distinct impression that Hudson wasn’t watching her form—not her fishing form, anyway.
After a few practice casts, Hudson had the technique down pat. He cast Bethany’s line for her, showed her how to slowly crank the reel to take up slack in the line, then threw out his own line.
In less than thirty seconds Bethany’s bobber wiggled, then plummeted below the surface.
“You’ve got a fish!” Amanda exclaimed.
Bethany got so excited she shrieked and almost dropped her pole in the water. But with her father standing behind her helping her reel it in, and with Amanda’s verbal coaching, she managed to pull a little sunfish out of the water.
“I caught a fish! I caught a fish!”
“Yes, you certainly did,” Amanda enthused. “And a magnificent specimen it is, too.” It was about three inches long.
“I’m gonna name him Shiny.”
Hudson and Amanda exchanged a look. “You didn’t tell her what we do with the fish we catch?” Amanda asked.
Chapter Three
“I figured we’d throw all the fish back,” Hudson said.
“No, Daddy, you can’t let Shiny go,” Bethany said in a near panic. “He’s my fish.”
“Well, he’s too small to eat,” Amanda said with a laugh.
“Eat!” Bethany’s face reflected horror.
Hudson looked to Amanda for some way out of this dilemma. She smiled and shrugged helplessly. “Do you have a bucket to put the fish in?” she asked mildly.
“No.” Some help she was! “We’re throwing it back in the lake.”
“It’s my fish!” Bethany repeated, her eyes filling with tears.
Amanda’s eyes danced with amusement, tempered with concern. “If I were you, I’d let her keep the fish.”
Hudson gritted his teeth. He gave Amanda a look that said he wasn’t particularly grateful for her suggestion, then turned to his daughter. “Okay, Bethany, here’s the deal. You can keep this one fish. But if we catch any more, we have to throw them back. You know, let them swim free, like Free Willy?”
“Okay,” she said without a fight, nodding eagerly.
“And we can’t take Shiny back to Boston with us. Fish don’t travel well.”
“Unless they’re frozen,” Amanda murmured just loud enough that Hudson could hear.
“Okay,” Bethany said again.
“Then run up to the house and find a big bowl or a pitcher or a bucket to put the fish in.”
She ran off, leaving Hudson holding the fish.
“Maybe you better dip the line in the water,” Amanda suggested. “Shiny’s looking a little peaked.”
Hudson did as instructed. The last thing he needed was for Bethany to return and find that her fish had died under his care.
“And I don’t want to be an alarmist,” Amanda added, “but I think you might have a fish on your line, too.”
Hudson had laid his pole on the dock when he was helping Bethany pull in her fish. He scanned the surface of the lake for the red-and-white bobber and didn’t see it anywhere, but his line was taut. He caught the pole just before it would have been pulled into the water.
“Well, don’t just stand there, help!”
Amanda took his pole and started reeling in the fish. She could tell by the pull that it was a considerably larger catch than Bethany’s. When it finally cleared the water, it turned out to be a huge channel catfish, at least a foot long.
“Wow, beginner’s luck,” Amanda said, admiring the fish. “Got any pliers?”
“What for?”
“You can’t take a catfish off a hook with your bare hands. They sting you with those pointy whiskers.”
Hudson had had no idea fishing could be so hazardous. Maybe he should have read a book on the subject first. “I don’t have any pliers.”
She shook her head as if to say he was hopeless, handed him the pole, then headed up the dock toward her house.
“You’re coming back, right?” he asked, feeling slightly panicky himself.
“I’ve got some pliers in my garage.”
Hudson was much relieved by the return of both his daughter and his neighbor. “Shiny” had a new home in a big soup pot, which he set under a tree in the shade for the time being. And Amanda took off her short-sleeved jacket and showed him how to remove a not-too-friendly catfish from a hook.
Hudson and Bethany caught several more fish in all shapes and sizes as Amanda cheered them on and offered pointers. Apparently, Town Lake fish really liked hot dogs—especially Shiny. Bethany kept feeding him bits of wiener.
“That fish is going to get heart disease if we keep feeding him those fatty hot dogs,” Hudson grumbled. But he was actually enjoying himself. He liked watching his daughter’s eyes light up each time she felt a tug on her line.
And he liked watching Amanda. She’d gotten a snag in her hose and a small spot on her tan linen skirt, but she didn’t seem to mind. She appeared to be having fun coaching Hudson and Bethany in the fine art of bobber fishing, as she called it.
“I’m hungry,” Bethany announced. “Is it time for lunch yet?”
Hudson looked at his watch. “It’s only ten-fifteen.”
Amanda jumped like a spooked rabbit. “It’s what?” She consulted her own watch. “Oh, my God. Oh, my God! How did it get so late?”
“Late?”
“I’ve missed my appointment with Clea Marsden.” She spied her purse, which she’d set down on the dock, and dived into it, producing a cell phone. “Oh, great, I didn’t even have my cell phone on!” She punched in a couple of numbers and waited impatiently for the connection, tapping her foot against the dock.
Bethany watched, fascinated. Hudson confessed to a certain amount of interest himself. His easygoing fishing coach had suddenly turned into a no-nonsense businesswoman.
“Margie? Yes, yes, I’m fine. I just forgot to—no, nothing happened. I lost track of the time. I was…working at home and got involved.” Her eyes flickered toward Hudson, perhaps to see if he would call her on the lie, then skittered away. “I must not have heard the phone. I’m sorry I worried you. I hope Clea Marsden wasn’t too distressed that I—oh. I see.” Her jaw clenched, and a tiny muscle near her eye twitched. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.” She snapped the phone closed. All the color had drained from her face. In fact, she reminded him of how his mother-in-law had looked when Hudson had told her of her daughter’s death.
“Are you all right?” he asked, concerned.
She looked at him as if she was surprised to see him. “No, I’m not all right. I missed an appointment.”
“Is that such a tragedy?” he said, trying to lighten the mood.
“Yes! When I didn’t show, Clea Marsden got a little antsy, and Mary Jo pounced. I lost the listing.” She spoke the words as if it were the worst tragedy to befall Western civilization since the black plague.
“Well, cheer up. Tomorrow’s the first day of a new month. You’ve got all of June to beat Mary Jo.”
She seemed not to hear him. “How could I have been so irresponsible, so downright stupid? Fishing, for God’s sake! I’ve frittered away almost three hours! That’s time I’ll never get back.” She looked at him earnestly. “When you waste time, you never get it back, you know.”
He did know that—all too well. Often he felt there weren’t enough hours in the day to accomplish all he wanted to do. There were always more patients than he had time to operate on. Once, a patient at the hospital—not his, thank God—had died while waiting for a free operating room.
“I’m very aware of how I spend my time,” he said, his good mood deflated. He shouldn’t be here. He should be back in Boston, doing what he was meant to do.
Amanda pulled a towelette from her purse and began rubbing at the small spot on her skirt. “I’ve torn my stockings, I’ve stained my skirt, I probably have a sunburn and I know I smell like fish. What on earth was I thinking? I must be out of my mind.”
“Hey, easy on the self-flagellation. Everybody loses track of the time now and then.”
“Not me. Not when I’ve got bills to pay and people depending on me. I have to think of my future. No one’s going to take care of me when I’m old.”
Good heavens, she was serious.
“I have to go. Thank you again for fixing the bad check. Good luck with your fishing.” She turned and started away.
“Amanda?” Bethany called after her. “Wait.”
Amanda turned back, looking flushed and slightly guilty. “Yes, Bethany, what is it?”
“Could you help me make a place for Shiny to live?”
“Well, I think your dad can probably help you.”
“But he doesn’t even like Shiny.”
“I’m really busy, sweetheart. I…” Amanda looked to Hudson for support, but he refused to give her any. She was the one, after all, who’d insisted Bethany ought to keep the damn fish as a pet. “Well, all right. But later, when I’m done with work, okay?”
“Okay.”
Hudson watched as she picked her way across the uneven ground in her high heels.
“Where does Amanda work?” Bethany asked.
“At the real estate office, remember? She helps people buy and sell and rent houses.”
“Does she get paid money?”
“Yes. For every house she sells or rents, she gets a certain percentage of the price.”
Bethany stared at him quizzically. Okay, so commissions were probably a little much for a four-year-old to comprehend.
“Say a house is a pie,” he tried again. “It’s my pie and I want to sell it. Amanda knows someone who wants to buy a pie, so she introduces the two of us. I sell the pie to this other person—but I give Amanda one slice as her reward for finding the buyer.”
Bethany wrinkled her nose. “So this person buys a pie with a piece gone?”
“Never mind. I’m tired of fishing, how about you?”
She nodded.
Was ten-thirty too early for lunch? Nah. They were still on Boston time, he reminded himself, and they’d had those Pop-Tarts before the sun was up. They gathered up the fishing gear and returned it to the garage. Then Hudson carried Bethany’s fish to the house. The pot seemed awfully small. He really, really didn’t want the fish to die. So he put the stopper in the bathtub, filled it up and transferred Shiny to another new home.
“I guess Shiny needs an aquarium,” Hudson said as he studied the fish swimming around.
Bethany knew what an aquarium was. Apparently they had a big one at her preschool. She talked endlessly about it and drew pictures of the fish. Hell, maybe he had a budding marine biologist on his hands, and he should encourage her interest in fish. But she didn’t respond to his suggestion with the enthusiasm he’d hoped.
“Amanda’s going to help me make a house for Shiny.”
Hudson hoped Bethany didn’t put too much stock in Amanda’s promises. She seemed to be a nice person, and she’d certainly established a rapport with his daughter. But she was obviously far too devoted to her job to want to cater to the whims of a four-year-old neighbor.
Before seeing about lunch, Hudson went into his bedroom and dug out his blood-pressure cuff. He’d been fishing all morning. Surely all that relaxation would have knocked his blood pressure down a few points. He slid his arm into the cuff and pumped it up, feeling optimistic.
“One-fifty-two over one-ten!” That was ridiculous. His blood pressure was higher than it had been in the doctor’s office. It was just a fluke, he told himself. He would take it again when he wasn’t thinking about Amanda.
HUDSON TOOK HIS blood pressure four times that afternoon. The numbers simply wouldn’t go down. He had to face it, he had high blood pressure. Continued hypertension could lead to all sorts of unpleasant things, including making him a candidate for his own brand of medicine. Well, he wasn’t going to turn into one of those people—overweight, unable to walk a flight of stairs without huffing and puffing. He would get his blood pressure down.
He still had all of June to do it. Although he was going to go crazy if he had to stay in this cabin for a month. There was nothing to do!
A shopping trip was in order, he decided. He would buy some books, some games he and Bethany could play, maybe some crafts. He could take up gardening. That was supposed to be relaxing.
What other advice did he give his heart patients? Meditation. Yoga. He doubted he would find any type of class around here, but maybe he could find a book instructing him on the practices. Healthy meals.
He opened the freezer and pondered the contents. Frozen pizza. Battered fish sticks—better not go there. Bethany still didn’t quite get the concept that much of the food they ate used to be walking around or flying or swimming. TV dinners—all of them loaded with fat grams. Even the lunch meat he’d bought was the bad kind—ham, pepperoni, beefstick. Combine them with cheese and mayonnaise, and you had a heart attack sandwich.
A movement outside caught his eye. A car pulled into Amanda’s driveway, but not Amanda’s silver Lincoln. It was a red compact car, a few years old, with numerous dents and scrapes and one badly crumpled fender. A young man got out—a kid, really. The resemblance between him and Amanda was hard to miss—same white-blond hair, same cheekbones. He wore holey jeans and a tank shirt revealing lots of muscles and a prominent tattoo.
The young man walked around the car and opened the passenger door. A statuesque brunette in miniskirt and halter top unfolded herself and climbed out. The way the two touched each other, it was clear they were lovers. The man let himself in the front door with a key, and the couple disappeared inside.
“Is Amanda home from work?” Bethany asked excitedly, apparently seeing her father staring out the window.
“Haven’t seen her yet. You know, honey, Amanda seems pretty busy. I wouldn’t count on her to just drop everything and help you with a home for your fish.”
“Yes, she will help me,” Bethany said with the utter faith only a child could muster.
“Couldn’t I help you?”
“No. You don’t like Shiny. You wanted to eat him.”
“I wanted to throw him back.” Amanda was the one who’d wanted to eat the fish, but Hudson decided not to point that out. “You know, honey, people do eat fish. When you eat fish sticks? Those are fish that used to swim in the ocean.”
Bethany adopted a mutinous expression. “Nuh-uh. Fish sticks are square and they don’t have eyes.”
“An important distinction,” Hudson agreed, giving up. “Hey, I’ve got an idea. Why don’t we go out to dinner?”
“To McDonald’s?” she asked hopefully.
Bethany was addicted to Happy Meals. He really ought to nudge her in a different dietary direction. “Cottonwood doesn’t have a McDonald’s. I thought we could be adventurous. You know, try someplace new.”
“No. I want to stay here and wait for Amanda.”