Ed’s Free Bait –

fiction by Linda Koby –

As Ed Davis reached under the glass counter to add his most recent hand-tied fly to his display case, he heard the crunch of tires rolling over dirt and stones outside his bait shop. The car came to a stop; a stranger stepped out of a shiny sports car and headed slowly toward the door while checking his phone.

Moving over to his metal desk, the same desk his pa had used for so many years, Ed sat down and waited. A stranger walking in either meant they wanted flies, bait or directions. Ed pushed aside the frame he had finally disassembled for repair. It held a painting, displayed for years next to curled up photos of Ed and his father showing off their catch of the day. No need to rush this afternoon. Time did not matter to him. Not much did.

The stranger opened the door and stepped inside. “Excuse me, what town is this?”

The stranger wore dress slacks and a button down collar shirt. Neither had a single wrinkle. Ed didn’t trust anyone who wore clothes without wrinkles. Weren’t natural. No sir. Not a hair out of place either.

Folding his arms across his bony chest, Ed leaned back in his chair. He ran his fingers through his salt and pepper hair. Here’s another one, Ed thought. One of those big city types. “It’s not a town or a village—it’s a hamlet.” Ed said through his teeth.

“Oh, well, I’m headed to Birch’s Point. Can you give me directions?” The stranger tried not to appear uncomfortable as he scanned the room. Not much had changed from when Ed’s pa owned the narrow clapboard bait shop and second floor apartment. A large hole exposed wood slats in the wall. Next to it a rusty Frigidaire held live bait. Otis, Ed’s pet turtle sat in an aquarium amid fly-tying supplies and trout derby trophies on the metal desk across from the wood and glass counter.

“Take a left up the hill make right at the horse farm, go past the town barns, right at the broken stone wall. The point is after the VFW.”

The stranger started to turn, but noticing the painting, stopped midway. He pointed to the painting, “May I see that?”

“Ed glanced at the painting. “ This? Pa took it as payment from a fisherman he guided one spring on Lost Key Creek. The man hooked into the biggest brown trout ever caught in these parts. He said the painting was valuable. Pa never paid any mind to what he said. Figured he’d gotten screwed out of money.”

“Mind if I take a closer look?”

Ed handed it to him. “Sure it’s not much, just cows and trees.”

The stranger nodded as he focused on the hard to read signature and date.

Ed checked the wall clock. Soon Travis Tucker would appear. The fatherless seven year old showed up daily after school. Small for his age with pointy ears, he liked to watch Ed tie flies. They didn’t talk much. That was fine with Ed. He didn’t consider himself a father figure, especially to someone that wasn’t his kin. The kid always managed to get some free bait from Ed. That was irritating. But, there was something about Travis; Ed wasn’t sure what. Maybe it was that they both loved fishing. Maybe it was because he thought Travis, like himself, would never amount to anything. Whatever the reason, he’d gotten used to him hanging around.

The stranger continued to study the painting. “I’m with Sotheby’s. Here’s my card.”

Ed produced a blank stare.

“We sell old things. We are an established auction house. I can get this appraised for you. If it’s genuine we can sell it and take a percentage. How would you feel about that?”

“I don’t…”

“ I’ll tell you what we’ll do. If you let me I’ll take a few photos now. It may be Hudson River School. If it is, you will be pleasantly surprised at the value. We can get back to you and you would have to bring it in for formal appraisal. We take it from there.”

Ed shrugged his shoulders. “Ok then, take pictures.”

After exchanging information, Ed’s steel-blue eyes watched as the man pulled away in his two-seater. He’s seen those fancy sports cars before. Too small, not enough room for fishing gear, he thought. If he did get money maybe he would buy a truck. Maybe close up the shop and retire, then he wouldn’t have to answer all those direction questions from city folk. He might ask his favorite waitress at the Red banner Diner, Annemarie, to go out on a date. He liked to think she was sweet on him. She always cut him an extra big piece of pie when Vern, the owner of the diner wasn’t around.

Ed placed the painting back in the frame and rehung it where it had been for years. Back at his desk, he gazed out the window. Travis was late. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen the kid for a few days. Ed’s stomach grumbled. Tuesday was meatloaf night at the Red Banner. He fed Otis, got into the same station wagon his pa drove only to town and back once a week, and headed for the diner. When he arrived he scanned the parking lot for Vern’s truck.

Inside the diner was quiet. Mabel and Dot sat in their usual booth. Ed took his favorite spot at the counter. Annemarie came right over.

“Hi Ed, the usual?” She straightened her white apron and placed a paper napkin and utensils in front of him.

He nodded. Fiddling with his fork, “What’s the vegetable tonight?”

She smoothed her hair. “Peas.”

“Didn’t see Vern’s truck.” He pointed with the fork to the parking lot.

“Won’t be here till closing tonight.”

She poured a cup of coffee, placed it in front of Ed and disappeared through the swinging door.

Ed sipped his coffee as he listened to Mabel and Dot discussing an affair between two local married people. Both women spoke loudly as their hearing aids whistled. When they’d exhausted all aspects, Mabel got serious. She shook her head. When she did that her jowls flapped back and forth like a flag on a windy day.

“That poor Tucker boy needs rehabilitation. I didn’t hear what happened did you?”

Dot lit a cigarette. “No, hadn’t heard. There are five boys. Which one is it?”

Ed turned his head slightly. Travis is a Tucker, he thought, was it him?

Mabel picked up a knife and buttered a roll. His name starts with a “T”.

“That doesn’t help,” said Dot. “All the Tucker kids have names that start with a T. Tommy… Todd…” She pulled the ashtray closer.

Mabel pushed half the roll into her mouth. “Travis, that’s it. Word is he can’t get the treatment he needs.”

“You never know what life will hand out,” Dot sighed.

Annemarie returned with Ed’s meatloaf. I gave you extra gravy just the way you like it.” She smiled and waited for Ed’s approval.

Ed nodded, “Thanks.”

After more local gossip Mabel and Dot left, probably for the bingo hall, Ed thought.

Ed pushed his empty plate away. So, the kid was hurt.  That’s why he hadn’t been around. The kid told Ed how he liked to climb the waterfall in the Glen. Ed fell on the slippery moss-covered rocks more than once himself as a boy and even recently when fishing he’d gone down and gotten water in his waders.

He placed money and his usual tip on the counter for Annemarie. She emerged from the kitchen just in time to see him drive away. She breathed a heavy sigh. Ed always said,

“See you next Tuesday.” It was as close to a date as she was going to get with him. Tonight she didn’t even get that.

When Ed returned to the shop, he glanced at the chair that Travis sat in every day. Scuffed from years of use he remembered the last time Travis sat in it. He’d asked Ed if they could go fishing together. Ed just kept tying the fly he was working on. When he didn’t like a question he wouldn’t answer. He only had relationships at a distance like the one with Annemarie. No real entanglements. No real emotion.

Travis was not deterred from Ed’s lack of response. He continued. “Then you could show me your favorite fishing spot.” His voice exhibited a sense of enthusiasm and doubt at the same time. “You do have one don’t you?”

Ed kept his eyes down. He remembered seeing the kids feet, a few inches from the floor, swinging back and forth. He recalled watching his father tie flies, his own feet swinging back and forth as he sat on the very chair Travis sat on.

That night in bed his mind wavered back and forth. How could he help Travis? He put the problem out of his mind. It was April and tomorrow he had to be on the creek at first light.

The next morning the fish eluded Ed’s offerings. He spent the afternoon back at the shop. At 5:00 o’clock Ed grabbed his lucky fishing hat and headed for the door when the phone rang. Ed paused for a moment, then answered. “Bait shop, state your business.”

“Ed, I have good news. I took pictures of the painting recently at your shop. I stopped for directions remember?”

“Uh, yeah.”

Ed, we think the painting is of significant value. Can you bring it to us? We need to examine it further.            

Ed wasn’t so sure. “Listen I’m headed to the creek.”

“Have you checked your mail lately? We sent you a letter. This is legitimate.”

“Don’t throw those fancy words at me,” Ed grumbled. He needed to get going. A hatchback turned into the drive outside.

“Ed, let’s just say it’s your time to receive some good fortune. I have to go now but give me a call after you read the letter and this sinks in.”

Ed hung up. His mind raced. His pa thought the painting was worthless. After all why should he expect life to be any different than the way it always was? “Accept life boy,” Pa always said. He’d done that for years. Now suddenly there was the possibility of money.  His heart pounded. He’d accept a new life if it was going to land in his lap. He began to imagine a new truck. A new fishing pole. Maybe he’d ask Annemarie for a date. He’d retire and not have to put up with people that didn’t know they were in a hamlet.

But, there was something else—there was Travis. He slid his fishing hat off his head. His steel-blue eyes widened. Maybe he could show the kid his favorite fishing spot after all.