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I grin. “None.”
“See?” he says. He points to me, but he talks to Mr. Jacobson. “My boy is a success.”
“I’d say he’s made every decision in his life with a whole lot of thought. And I reckon he’ll choose a woman to spend his life with the same way.”
Dad shakes his head and blows out a breath. “But that Evie girl, she’s no good for him. She’s been twitching her tail at him and then running off ever since they were little bitty things. He’s spent his whole life chasing something he’s never going to catch.”
Mr. Jacobson isn’t convinced. He dips his chin and glares at my dad. “And according to your father, your
wife wasn’t the right one for you, either.”
“You got a point.” Dad looks at me. “You love that girl?”
I nod and heave out a heavy sigh. “Pretty sure I do.”
“So what are you going to do about it?” Dad says.
Mr. Jacobson sits on his end of the boat looking way too satisfied as he re-casts his rod.
I shrug. “I’m not going to do anything.”
“Well, that’s dumb,” Dad says. I sit up a little taller as Mr. Jacobson chuckles. “If you love her, you have to go after her. Woo her a little.”
“Woo her?”
“You kids,” Dad says with a scoff. “You meet a woman and fall right into bed with her, then you skip all the good parts.”
“I’ve never skipped any good parts,” I announce, but I’m not entirely sure I understand.
Mr. Jacobson chuckles. “I believe he’s referring to the quiet, intimate moments. Because when the passion is gone, you need to have something left that makes it worth hanging on.”
“Yeah, that,” Dad says, pointing a finger at me. “So woo the girl.”
“What exactly is involved in wooing?” I ask.
Mr. Jacobson sets his rod to the side again, and Dad ties the boats together. Dad tells me the story of how he wooed my mom. And Mr. Jacobson tells the story of how he won over his late wife. There’s a whole lot of cackling and a whole lot of finger pointing, but I get the idea.
“I tell you,” Mr. Jacobson says quietly, “I miss that woman every day. I look into Jake’s eyes and I see her, and some days that’s the only thing that keeps me going.”
Dad stares at me. “If you want it, son, you have to go get it.”
“Okay.” I narrow my eyes at my dad. “So if I were to ask Evie to marry me, you wouldn’t give me a hard time about it?”
He leans back against the boat seat and folds his arms. He quietly says, “I believe I’ve raised a son who knows his own mind. And if she’s your choice, I’ll trust that it’s the right one.” He grins. “Plus I wouldn’t mind a grandbaby or two. Maybe one of them will have an interest in my car dealership.”
I chuckle and shake my head. “I certainly hope so, so you can stop trying to foist it on me.”
He suddenly looks down at his watch. “Oh, shit,” he says. “Your mama told me to be home in time for lunch.” He unties his boat, starts it up, and waves as he leaves.
Mr. Jacobson laughs.
I think it’s great that my dad showed up. But I still don’t understand why he showed up when and where he did. “Doesn’t it seem odd to you that my dad suddenly took up fishing, and was out here, way out here in a boat someone conveniently traded in, right now, right when I’m out here with you?” I ask Mr. Jacobson. But technically it’s a rhetorical question.
“I might have run into your dad one day last week at the tackle shop. He was telling me about the boat. So the fishing and the boat part are true. I asked about you, naturally, and he filled my ears about your situation and what he sees as disloyalty to him. So I figured the two of you could use some time to talk.” He doesn’t even look guilty about it. Instead, he looks supremely satisfied.
“So you told my dad where we’d be and what time.”
He grunts out a laugh. “Maybe.”
