Page 54 of Parentmoon

“Join me,” he says, holding out his hand but I shake my head while slipping my fingers through his.

“I’ll give you some privacy.” I could use a bit of my own in the shower when he’s finished. The tension between us has dropped a few degrees but something still rests between us, and I know why.

Or rather who.

Keli and Michael.

+ + +

In our assigned seats for dinner, we somehow end up with Artie and Ira again along with a younger couple and another couple in their mid-forties. Dallas discusses fishing with the man sitting perpendicular to him at the head of the table while the man’s wife remains quiet across the table from Dallas.

Philip isn’t a bad looking man but something about him unsettles me. He’s too polished looking, almost Ken-like with nearly shellacked blond hair and blue eyes that look menacing more than playfully mischievous. His face suggests he has a regimented skin care routine, and his expensive silver watch is too much in the casual, tropical setting even if it costs a small fortune to be here.

His wife, Laria, is an average forty-year-old woman, secretly tired and a little worn down, and someone who would probably be a good addition to my book club back home. Her face is clear of makeup and her once brown hair has hints of gray haphazardly streaking through it. She’s someone who might have once cared more about her appearance but something, or someone, has brought her down, and I’d wager that someone is the man to her left talking Dallas’s ear off about tarpon.

When Philip suggests he go out fishing with Dallas tomorrow, Laria looks relieved.

Speaking across the table to me, she says, “I’m not here for the fishing.”

“I haven’t been here for the fishing either.”

We share a timid smile and an unspoken understanding.

Beneath the table, something caresses my pinky finger and when I glance down, Dallas has hooked his finger with mine.

“I’m not really the adventurous type,” Laria adds.

“She’s more a sit around and look pretty type,” Philip states with a laugh rife with sarcasm. His condescending tone isn’t missed, and I don’t care for him.

When I glance at Laria, she lowers her head, face pinkening.

“I’m not very adventurous either,” I admit, almost defensively, protecting this woman with silent solidarity. “At least, not when it comes to hooking fish.”

I wink, thinking back to Dallas in my mouth in the shower. He squeezes my pinky finger.

“We toss them back,” Philip quips. “Catch and release.” He imitates tossing a fish over his shoulder and smiles with a wink of his own.

A sickening shudder travels over my skin.

“Doesn’t it hurt the fish?” I don’t know why I haven’t asked Dallas this before. They hook the fish and release it back into the water after holding it up in the air, depriving the fish of oxygen by keeping it from its natural habitat.

“They don’t feel a thing.” Philip looks at his wife before turning back to me with a forced smile. A new wave of concern flutters in my belly. I don’t want to make rash judgments like Michael accuses me, but there’s something beneath the surface between Philip’s comment and his wife’s rigid posture.

“It’s for sport, darlin’,” Dallas addresses me.

“Still, if you had a hook shoved through your cheek, wouldn’t that hurt? And then to remove it . . .” Thinking how painful that must be, I can’t suppress a visible shiver.

Dallas points to the edge of his brow. “Got snagged by a hook myself once. My dad was standing too close to me, or as he liked to say, I was too close to him. He swung back before casting forward and caught me.”

He continues to rub at his eyebrow. “Have to admit, it did hurt like hell. And when my dad tried to pull it back through, you’d think he was skinning me alive, I was screaming so loud. I was also only ten or eleven.”

Philip laughs, too loud and false. I glance at Laria. She’s barely smiling at Dallas’s tale.

“Gotta take it like a man,” Philip states, slapping Dallas once on the shoulder. He’s the kind of arrogant and ignorant I can’t stand in a person. Not to mention, he seems like all bluster with a hidden bite.

Dallas doesn’t flinch at the touch, but he tightens his hold on my finger, bristling a bit.

“While the men go fishing, we should do something,” I suggest to Laria.