Anchors

The truck jolted as he dropped the heavy old anchor onto the unprotected bed, flakes of red paint chipping off as he pushed it further towards the centre.

Sarah watched him from the passenger seat as he hoisted the tackle box in next then swung the tailgate up, clunking it closed and rattling it once to make sure it was secure. ‘Tradition,’ she saw him mutter. Turning, he then marched up the front steps of their house, disappearing inside the darkened doorway.

They hadn’t really spoken since the night before when she had yelled at him- no, screamed more like it, trying to shake him out of the depressive fug, the never-ending cycle of remorse and regret, self-loathing and doubt that had dragged him down since… since…

Bounder, curled up on the centre seat beside her, raised his head from his tartan blanket, nuzzled her hand with his nose, then settled back down. Once so full of life the poor thing could hardly move without her help now. Glancing through the dusty rear window of the truck she double-checked the gate was shut. Again, an old habit, now. ‘Don’t worry boy,’ she said, giving him a ruffle between his ears. ‘We'll be okay.’

At first, they had said she couldn’t have a dog, that they couldn’t look after it, it would be unfair as there wouldn’t be enough time, whatever that meant. Of course there’d be time, they had all the time in the world, she thought, but their answer was still no. On her way home the very next day however, the day that school broke up for the long, hot summer, Sarah saw a box by the side of the road- a box that jiggled as she walked towards to it. Sarah had opened the lid and Bounder, well, bounded out of it. At first her mom said she was being ridiculous but Johnny pulled her close, said something quiet to her, and her mom relented. So much had happened since that summer’s day… it seemed like a lifetime ago.

Her mind went back to Johnny as he emerged from the house. As usual he hadn’t said anything when she confronted him- turning away and carrying on like she was inconsequential, just some clueless kid. She watched him now as he locked the door, hesitating before taking a key off his fob and slipping it into the secret spot behind the porch light. He walked towards her but then paused, turning back, giving the house a lingering gaze. Wory nagged at her again but neither of them mentioned it when he climbed into the cab a few moments later, pulling the heavy door closed with a creak and a cloud of mildewy dust.

He slipped the trucks silver key into the ignition, the engine rumbling to life, then sat there for what felt like an eternity, hand resting on the gear selector while he stared forwards as if he had forgotten what to do next. ‘Say it,’ she willed, her breath caught in her throat. ’Say it, please...’

‘Let’s go, Mary Jo,’ he muttered with an exhalation of breath that underlined what they had been through over the last few years. Though they’d never told her what it meant Sarah remembered how it made her mom smile, and she was relieved to hear it again now.

Raindrops did their best to make streaks on the windscreen as they pulled cautiously out of their drive. Bounder’s tail gave another little wag as she turned to him, saying, ‘Here we go boy.’

They took a right at the end of their street then went left at the big junction which took them onto the main road to the lake. There were several times when he could have overtaken the cars ahead but seemed content to plod just below the speed limit, hunched slightly over the wheel with a deeply furrowed brow. He had been like this a lot recently; withdrawn, non-talkative. She understood. He had been strong for her after mom’s death, now she had to be strong for him.

‘I never would have guessed we were going fishing,’ she tried. His eyes stayed glued to the road.

Driving past the mall it reminded her. ‘I’m wearing the t-shirt you got me last year,’ she chirped, pulling the bottom corners taut to display the words Stepdaughters are the chosen ones.

Glancing at the slab of building sliding past his window he chuckled, muttering, ‘Happy birthday kid.’

‘It’s a good surprise, I love fishing,’ she lied, just happy to be spending time with him when they weren’t arguing.

Reaching over he turned the radio on. After the third consecutive advert she reached over, fiddling with the tuner but could get nothing but static. Frowning he thumbed the big Off button, ‘Nothing but adverts anyway,’ he said. At least that part of him hadn’t changed. Sneaking him a sideways glance she saw his face was stretched, eyes puffy with big bags under them. He looked ashen, dark lines carved where the life used to be, a mere ghost of the person he once was.

The tone of the engine became suddenly urgent, the truck dropping down a gear and sitting on its haunches, a light spray rising as it accelerated. Gripping the leather door handle Sarah looked around axiously, trying to determine what was going on. There – the nose of a police car poked out from behind a billboard. Her head whipped round as they sped past, straining to see if they’d been noticed. Johnny’s knuckles, too, were white on the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the rear view. The cop car stayed put and the truck drifted back to its morose pace. Bounder whined from the back seat. Reaching out to comfor him sarah said, ‘There, there, boy, it's okay.’

But it wasn’t - she knew it wasn’t, and she wished she could turn the clock back. Twisting round in her seat she half pulled, half slid the dog and its blanket onto her. The dog didn’t complain, didn’t growl, just stuck his big wet nose up, licking her face, causing her to laugh and rub her nose on his, saying ‘You’re a good boy, yes you are, you don’t even bark any more, do you? No, you’re a good boy…’

After a time, the truck turned off the main road, bumping and bouncing along the dirt track where the boat was kept. Johnny pulled up alongside it, got out, stretched his back then started loading bait boxes and rods from the back of the pickup. Sarah tugged the blanket from underneath the dog, laying it in the bow of the boat where she and Bounder would be sitting. Johnny paused for a moment regarding it, sniffed a raindrop from the end of his nose and carried on prepping the boat. Finally, he dragged the old anchor from the back of the pickup, dropping it into the stern with a clang.

Sarah clambered aboard, dog in her arms, placing it carefully on the blanket at her feet. Bounder gave a little whine before curling up against the inclement weather. He closed his eyes, tucking his nose under his tail, and was asleep in minutes.

The lake was grey and malevolent as the boat slithered down the slip, Johnny jumping in with practiced ease as the water enveloped it. Lowering the motor into murky water, he fiddled with some switches and levers before tugging the starter rope. The silence that followed was accentuated by the water slapping at the hull as if affronted by the nerve of the small vessel. Another few tugs of the pullcord however and the engine belched into life, the blue-tinged cloud of fumes whipped away on the cool breeze. ‘Not a great day for fishing…’ Sarah said as Johnny settled down, guiding them out of the small harbour.

Johnny grunted, saying ‘…it’s not all about catching fish.’ He used to say that with a smile and a wink, but this time he just stared forward, wrapped in his thick cowl of sullenness.

The waves were as big as she’d ever seen on the lake, the boat struggling to make progress once they had rounded the headland and subjected themselves to the full force of the weather. Sarah found she had to hold onto the gunwale, bracing her feet either side of the dog. She felt a little guilty about bringing him, but they had been inseparable since the accident, when she had left the chain-link gate open and the dog had escaped. That was the same day they had told her about her mother’s cancer, that there was nothing more they could do for her. She could still picture them, sitting together on the edge of her bed, her mother unable to hide her gloom and fear even though she smiled through her tears and said it would be okay. No, she told them, they were tricking her, it was a lie. Then she remembered she hadn’t shut the gate. She had sprinted from the house, full of worry, but the dog was nowhere to be seen.

She searched for hours before they found her, back broken in a ditch, flecks of pink foam rimming his tongue which lolled on the damp earth. He didn’t even have the energy to open his eyes but Sarah carefully nursed him back to health. Smiling now, she reached down and stroked the dog, smoothing out the fine mist of droplets that had settled onto his fur before pulling a corner of the blanket carefully over him. The dog cracked open an eye, its tail thump thump thumping in gratitude before closing it again and returning to sleep.

Johnny brought the boat around another headland, throttling the engine back until it died with an indignant cough. He walked up to the front, manoeuvring himself briefly beside her, releasing the small anchor that was attached to the bow. It sploshed into the water, the bright yellow nylon rope running for a bit then going taught as the anchor hooked onto the lakebed, the small boat turning itself to face the waves. This wasn’t their usual fishing spot, too deep, Sarah thought. Reaching into the box behind her she fished out a pair of binoculars as Johnny busied himself back at the stern.

Putting the binos to her eyes, she adjusted them, turning the ring until the coastline came into focus, having to wipe the droplets from the lens a few times before recognising where they were. ‘This is our beach, where we used to come’ she said, excitement tinging her voice.

‘Look, there’s the beach where you proposed to Mom,’ Sarah beamed. ‘And that’s where I was hiding with the ring!’ she said, pointing to a familiar outcrop of rocks. She remembered how they had held each other, Johnny with his face buried in mom’s hair, arms wrapped around both of them while Mom just cried. At first she wasn’t sure if her mom was happy or sad, but she must be happy, they must be tears of joy because she was marrying the man they loved. It felt like forever, this desperate embrace, until Bounder came loping up the beach, dragging a stick three times his size, turning and running with it whenever Sarah tried to take it from him.

Lowering the binos she looked up at Johnny, but his eyes weren’t on the beach, or the rocks, or her. They were on the headland from which they had scattered Mom’s ashes, and he was holding the big old anchor which he had lugged from their garage. His face was wet, and she could see that it wasn’t from the rain, nor from the mist thrown up by the little boats journey, but from tears. He was crying. Not great dramatic sobs like she had done, but rather silent, neglected tears that seemed to leak from his eyes and get lost on their way down his tortured face. She had never seen him cry before; he was always the strong one - he was the rock.

Bounder, suddenly alert and sitting up, gave an experimental little ‘wuff’ before launching into a full-on warning bark next to her. Following his eyes she noticed the thick, blue rope tied to Johnny’s leg, looping through the eye of the big anchor itself. Exhaling Johnny took a short step to the edge of the boat, and Sarah gasped when she realised what he was about to do.

‘Dad!’ she screamed.

He blinked, looking directly at her for what seemed like the first time in ages. He gave a short shout of surprise, dropping the anchor and stumbling backwards. The anchor landed with a hollow Thwang!

Johnny, tripping over the middle seats, landed likewise amongst the fishing gear. Raising his head he looked towards the bow of the boat, to the seat where Sarah used to sit, and to where he swore he had just seen her again. It was empty of course; he had scattered her ashes in the same place he had scattered her mothers, just about a year apart. And today was her birthday. That’s what he was doing, he was going to join them.

He lay there for a long time, until the waves settled, the sky grew dim, and the clouds broke up enough to allow one or two stars to shine through. Finally, he sat up, addressing the empty space at the front of the boat. ‘Thank you,’ he said with an embarrassed half-smile. ‘Thank you, Sweetie, but it’s your birthday, I’m… I’m sorry I didn’t get you anything and...’

In the bow of the boat Sarah waited for him to finish, but when he didn’t, she said, ‘But you did, silly, you took us fishing.’ Reaching down, she scratched Bounder between the ears, adding, ‘We should go, Bounders getting cold.’

Johnny sat up in the boat, took a deep, shaky breath and said, ‘I’m sorry, for what happened.’ His tears were different now, more focussed, as if they had found their purpose, and his chest shuddered with the sobs. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t be there,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t help.’

She glanced briefly at her wrists, at the wounds that never healed, before standing up and making her way delicately to him. ‘Don’t be silly, you,’ she reassured him, resting her head on his shoulder. ‘You did all you could.’

It took a while for his sobs to subside but when they did she helped him untie the heavy old anchor, dropping it over the side of the boat where it disappeared forever.