“A few puffy white clouds floated in a clear blue sky. The breeze carved whitecaps on the blue water six stories below. White gulls wheeled in the sunlight. Another beautiful blue-and-white June day. “You don’t want to go lie on a beach or something, do you?” I said to Alex. She was wearing jogging shorts and one of my big, baggy T-shirts. Her long, smooth legs were stretched out in front of her with her heels up on the railing. “God, no,” she said. “All that sand and sweat, all those people wit...h bad bodies in skimpy bathing suits throwing Frisbees and playing rap music on their boom boxes and making out on blankets. Are you kidding?” “Actually, I was.” “You probably want to go fishing.” “Sure. I’d like to go fishing. But I’m not going to.” “You’re thinking about Paul Cizek.” “Yes. And Olivia.” “You could worry about them while you’re fishing, couldn't you?” “I couldn’t worry properly. The trout would keep interfering. On the other hand, the worrying would interfere with the fishing.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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