Page 95 of The Husband I Left

I’m now discovering the answer to that question.

Will is at the stern, one hand still resting on the outboard motor. Collin sits across from me, all burly six-foot-something of him, his red hair blazing in the morning sun. Allen is beside him, quiet as ever. Jake, who is in his last year of high school and clearly delighted to have been included in whatever this is, perches on the bow.

Will reaches into the battered cooler at his feet and starts distributing beers. One to Collin. One to Allen. One to me. He takes one for himself, cracks it open, and when Jake reaches out an expectant hand, Will passes him a can of orange soda without missing a beat.

“Worth a shot,” Jake mutters.

Nobody has touched a fishing rod yet. They are neatly lined up on the bottom of the boat. Nobody is putting bait on the hooks or checking a line, or doing any of the things I thought happened when you went fishing. Instead, the eyes of my companions are fixed on me, and I’m starting to realize fishing was just an excuse to get me out here.

I take a sip of my beer and try not to look nervous. I don’t think it’s working, and my heart is racing, and somewhere in the back of my mind, a voice that sounds suspiciously like Genny’s is saying I told you so.

Will takes a long pull from his beer and sets it down between his boots. He’s wearing cargo shorts and a faded Red Sox shirt that might be older than Jake. His face is sunburned and already sweating. He clears his throat, and the men in the boat go even more quiet, if that were possible. The only sound I can hear is water lapping against the hull.

“Oliver,” he says. “We all know what happened between you and Genny.”

Around the boat, the Palmer men nod. All of them, in unison, like they rehearsed it. Collin nods. Allen nods. Even Jake nods, can of orange soda clutched in his fist. And I, God help me, nod too. Yes, I know what happened. I’m the one who happened it.

“We know how you hurt her,” Will continues. “We know you broke her trust. Betrayed it.” He pauses for a minute. “We all know that you made my little girl cry.”

The Palmer men nod again. I nod along with them.

Right about now, sitting here on this boat that is probably being held together by duct tape and prayers, I feel like the worst criminal that ever existed. The condemnation in the eyes of the four men makes me feel like the lowest of the low.

“Yes, sir,” I say, because I feel like I need to say something. “I know that I hurt her. I have no defense.”

Will studies me for a long moment. He picks up his beer, takes a long pull of it, sets it back down again, and leans forward, his arms on his knees.

“Now, I’ll be honest with you, son. When my little girl came out of that marriage looking like someone extinguished the light in her, my first thought was that I’d like to take you out on this very boat and feed you to the fishes. Tie something heavy to your fancy shoes and let the lake sort you out.”

The Palmer men nod. I barely resist the urge to nod along too.

“But,” Will holds up one thick, work-scarred finger. “My Genny’s a smart woman. Smarter than her old man, and don’t you ever tell her I said that. And if she’s decided that even after everything you did, you’re worth forgiving,” he shrugs, “well, then I guess I can too.”

The men all nod again, but the atmosphere is shifting. Collin tips his beer slightly in my direction, and Allen flashes me a smile.

“So here’s how it’s going to be,” Will says, “We’ll leave the past in the past. Clean slate. You’re welcome at my table, and I’ll treat you same as I treat any of the ones I call family. But if you ever hurt her again,” his eyes find and hold mine, “I will make sure you regret it. We’ll be taking another trip out here to this lake and you won’t have a good time.”

The Palmer men nod one last time.

“Understood,” I say, and I mean it more than I have ever meant anything in my life. “If I ever hurt her again, I’ll help you tie the weights on myself.”

Will studies me for a moment, and then his whole face cracks open into a grin. He picks up his beer and chugs the rest of it. “Well, all right then!” He claps his hands together and reaches for the rods. “Now let’s get to fishing before I die of old age.”

* * *

The rest of the day passes with the Palmer men teaching me to fish. Or attempting to, anyway. I’d like to say it went well, but what actually happened is that I made every mistake a person can make with a fishing rod, and the four men took turns yelling corrections at me.

“You’re gonna hook someone!” Collin bellows as I whip the rod back enthusiastically.

“Hey Collin, you’re scaring the fish,” Allen calls from the bow.

“See, look, like this,” Jake says, demonstrating for the fourth time. He does something with his wrist, and the line sails gracefully out over the water and lands with barely a splash. “See?”

I do not see. What I see is witchcraft.

Will finally takes pity on me. He sets down his beer, hauls himself to his feet, and walks over. His hand settles on my shoulder.

“Son,” he says. “You’re thinking about it too much.” He takes the rod from my hands, positions himself behind me, and guides my arms through the motion. “Back. Stop. Forward. Stop. Let the rod do the work.”