Page 45 of Holding Ground

Clyde talks through every single decision he makes as though it’s a running monologue in a movie. “Now, I could fold here, but that feels like the coward’s way out. And I didn’t come here tonight to be a coward. I’m going to call—no, raise. Wait, no, call. Final answer.”

“It’s five dollars, Clyde.” Roy looks down the table at him from above his reading glasses.

“Please, it’s the principle.” Clyde shakes his head.

Ansel plays recklessly and joyfully, the way I suspect he does most things—just jumps in with the first cards he’s dealt and has faith he’ll work it out.

Hollis, on the other hand, is thoughtful and precise in his betting patterns. While he seems to try to give off the impression that everything he does is casual with little thought given to it, I’m pretty sure it’s the exact opposite. He’s reading faces, filing information away, and using that information to make his decisions.

Elliott plays the way he does most things—controlled, patient, revealing nothing.

I win the fourth hand, and no one says anything. When I win the sixth hand, Clyde squints at me.

“You’ve played before,” he says.

With a slight tilt of my lips, I shrug one shoulder. “Never said I didn’t.”

“Never said you did, though.” Clyde actually looks as if he may be offended I didn’t come out here telling them I was a world champion poker player or something.

Ansel laughs. “Do we have a ringer on our hands? Are you holding back?”

I sip my second beer and roll my eyes. “Hardly.”

“Either way, I’ve got my eyes on you.” He points two fingers at his eyes and back at me.

Hollis and I quietly chuckle while Roy shuffles the cards.

Under the table, Elliott’s knee shifts and presses against mine, just enough that I suck in a breath. I should move away, pull my leg back to my side, but I don’t, and neither does he.

“I’ve been wondering something.” I’m not sure why, but I feel the need to break the silence that’s fallen at the table.

“Yes, I am single,” Ansel says with a wink in my direction. “Crazy, right? I don’t understand it either. I’m the catch of this town.”

Elliott’s leg presses against mine.

“I’ll be sure to warn anyone who asks,” I say.

Ansel rocks back in his chair and places his hand over his heart as though I’ve shot him. “Keep saying things like that, and I’ll be on my brother’s side.”

Ignoring his antics, I voice the question I’ve been curious about since shortly after I arrived. “Why do they call it Echo Lake?”

They all turn their eyes to Elliott, as if it’s his responsibility to tell me, or they’re surprised he hasn’t yet.

He nods to the men. “I’ll take you out on the boat and show you some time before it gets too cold,” Elliott says.

Ansel and Hollis share another look, but I ignore it.

“Oh, okay. Thanks.” I glance at Elliott and smile, then turn my attention to the cards Roy dealt.

Elliott’s knee nudges mine, but I’m not sure what to make of it or why neither of us has pushed away from the other.

“I took a date there once, back in high school,” Clyde says. “Boy, those were the days. Twenty bucks in your pocket and a free Saturday afternoon, and you felt like the King of England. Back then, old Marge Biscayne was the school librarian. I used to have a crazy crush on her. Turns out I might have had a chance because word was she…”

Clyde carries on with his story that takes another five minutes to finish, and by the end of it, I’m thoroughly confused as to who’s who, the role they play in the story, and what exactly happened to Marge.

The game goes on for another hour and a half, and by the end, I’m up twelve dollars.

All the cards get thrown into the center, and Roy scoops them up with his big hands, adjusting them into a neat pile before wrapping an old rubber band around them.