Once in a while, I want to read a happy story
There are some days, some weeks, some months, when I just want to read a happy story. Maybe you do, too.
The Sheila Stories are not all happy. Some are exciting adventures. Some are sad—my daughter told me one story made her cry. But some are happy stories. I’ve included one here. It’s a story of children playing on a beach in the summer and taking a fishing trip with an old man. I hope it lives up to the promise.
PatienceFive years later, on a hot July morning, Sheila and Freddie, Flossie’s twelve-year-old son, rode bikes to the Surf Shop on Beach Avenue. Freddie had watched Sheila surf for years, nagged at her to teach him again and again, and now he was old enough to give it a try.
The summer after buying the board at the souvenir shop, Sheila had discovered that there was latent demand for surfing in Cape May. A kid had spotted her surfing at the beach. He had watched patiently from the dunes and then begged her to teach him how. A week later, that kid had brought a friend who also wanted to learn. Then another friend showed up, and another. She had opened the Surf Shop the next summer and hired the surfer kids for workers. The store stocked beach necessities—toys, bathing suits, and chairs—but also rented surfboards and offered lessons.
At first, Sheila had taught the lessons herself, but the surfer kids had grown, and they taught the lessons now. Nevertheless, Freddie lacked the natural coordination some boys had, so Sheila would teach him herself.
Thirty minutes later, she took Freddie through the land drills. Soon they walked into the water. For an hour they practiced paddling and kneeling on the board. Then she had him try getting up in the shallow waves. She held the board for Freddie until a good wave approached, then she gave the board a shove, and he scrambled.
On the first try, he splashed instantly. He fell as fast on the second wave and the third and many more waves. But then one time, he got to his knees before falling. And then he stood on the board and stayed upright for a full second. He began to regress soon after that, so she brought him in.
“That’s enough for today,” she said. “You did great.”
“It’s harder than I thought.” He shook his head. “I’m terrible.”
“Just takes time. You’ll do better tomorrow. I promise.”
He was like any twelve-year-old: part angel, part devil, and all confused. She had known Freddie for nine years but saw him only for a couple weeks each summer. With each visit, he grew taller and bigger. She had studied his progress and found him to be remarkably average. Sometimes, he played the bratty oldest child and picked on his sisters. But if one of them got in trouble, he would protect them as fiercely as any soldier. Yes, Freddie Parker would make a fine man one day.
#
After three days of lessons at the beginner’s beach, Freddie learned to ride a wave all the way to shore. Every time he succeeded his face lit like the spotlights at a night sports game. He’d never win a competition, but he could have a fabulous time.
On the other hand, his sisters, Abby (ten) and Peggy (eight), felt left out. The two girls sat on the porch with Sheila and their mother, Flossie, after dinner.
“Why does Freddie get to have all the fun?” Abby asked. “He thinks he’s such a big shot.”
From the next rocker over, Flossie said, “We’re going to Wildwood Friday. We’ll play the boardwalk games.”
Abby shrugged, showing faint interest in Wildwood. They went every year, and Sheila guessed she wanted to try something new.
“What about fishing?” Sheila asked. “Have you girls ever been fishing?”
“No,” said Abby.
The little one, Peggy, shook her head, her eyes wide.
“All right. Tomorrow we fish.”
#
Tony Santucci, one of the year-rounders, took Sheila and her crew—Freddie, Abby, and Peggy—on a fishing adventure into the back bays between Wildwood and Cape May. Sheila played chaperone, allowing Flossie and her husband, Jimmy, a rare day alone as a couple.
Tony owned a small cabin cruiser, slow, sturdy, twenty-five feet long, and ten feet across the beam. He had a dark complexion and gray hair sprouting from his shirt collar. Once they had cleared the marina and headed into the harbor, Tony stood at the wheel and taught the children how to read the channel markers.
“Red right returning. Have you heard that saying?” he asked Abby.
“No.” She stood next to him in shorts and an orange life jacket. On Tony’s orders, they all wore life jackets.
“When you return from the seaside, you must keep the red marker on your right and vice versa.”
“What about the green markers?” she said. “Do they go on the left?”
“You’re a smart cookie.”
Freddie climbed outside the wheelhouse to the bow, and Peggy sat next to the rail and stared at the passing water. Her blond hair was tucked under a white sailor’s cap.
A towboat cut in front of them, trailing a big wake. The wake caused their bow to rise high and dip down, and Peggy white-knuckled the rail. Sheila sat beside her and pulled her in close.
“It’s all right. This is a sturdy boat, and Tony is a fine captain.”
But Peggy’s eyes remained wide, so Sheila distracted her with a story about when she learned to fish. She had used crab for bait.
“But we’ll use minnows today,” said Sheila.
“What’s a minnow?”
“A tiny fish. We’ll use a tiny fish to catch a big fish.”
They approached the bridge from the mainland to Wildwood. A man in work clothes watched them from overhead.
“Quick, Peggy! Wave.”
Peggy stood and waved with both hands.
Their boat motored into Jarvis Sound. White herons stood patiently in the flats. Four pelicans glided past in formation. A school of small fish caused ripples to the left, and a seagull dove into their midst.
After following channel markers a while, Tony turned the boat starboard toward a creek. They passed near a smaller boat, and he slowed his engine to holler at the fisherman on board.
“How they biting, Greg?”
“Slow. Couple puffers.”
“Thanks, buddy.” Tony turned the wheel and said, “We’ll try another place I know.”
Ten minutes later, he slowed the boat near the mouth of a small creek and cut the engine. They drifted silently until coming to a stop. Pine trees grew onshore. A woodpecker drilled at a tree in the woods.
Tony said to Sheila, “If you get the rigs ready, I’ll see to the bait.”
“Come on, kids,” she said. “I’ll show you how to fish.” She pulled poles from the cabin, and the children gathered around. “Freddie, you take this black pole. Abby, you’ll get the red one, and Peggy gets the green one.” She attached rigs to the end of each line and gave the kids a quick lesson on the basics.
By then Tony was ready, and he baited each rig with two minnows.
Peggy’s fishing pole was the smallest of the three.
“You’ll never catch a big fish with that pole,” said Freddie. “It takes a big pole to catch a big fish.”
“Don’t be so sure,” said Tony, and he winked at Peggy. “It’s not the pole that catches fish. It’s the fisherman . . . or woman.”
Freddie dropped his line off the port side, Abby fished from the stern, and Peggy stayed where she was.
Within a minute, the tip of Freddie’s pole bobbed.
“I got a nibble,” he yelled.
“Set the hook,” said Tony. “Lift the pole!”
“I caught a fish! I caught a fish!” Freddie’s pole bent and jerked left and right.
Tony grabbed the net. “Reel him in easy.”
A flash of white swam in the water.
“There he is,” yelled Freddie.
“Easy,” said Tony. “A little closer.”
Tony scooped with the net and dumped the fish into the boat. The fish flipped and flopped. Abby squealed, Peggy stared, and Freddie shouted, “I caught the first fish! I caught the first fish!”
“A nice weakfish,” said Tony.
The fish was brown on the head and back, silvery and shiny on the side, and about twelve inches long.
Tony unhooked it and said, “Okay, the fish are here. Get to work.”
Abby caught the next fish, another weakfish. Then Freddie caught a small croaker.
“Listen to him,” said Tony. “He sounds like his name.”
Then Abby caught another weakfish. Then Freddie caught two croakers at once. Peggy stared at the end of her stagnant pole as if willing it to move.
“Reel in your line to check the bait,” said Sheila.
But the minnows were fine, wiggling away with a hook through their lips.
Then Abby caught another fish, and then Freddie.
Then Peggy did catch a fish. She reeled it in easily, but Tony said it wasn’t big enough. The fish fell off the hook and flopped on the boat deck, ugly, brown, and five inches long. Tony called it a sea robin.
“I told you,” said Freddie. “You’ll never catch a big fish.”
Then Freddie’s pole tipped, and he reeled in another one.
Peggy’s eyes grew big and watery.
Sheila knelt beside her. “Don’t worry. You caught one fish. You can catch more. Keep trying.”
The girl’s jaw set hard; she nodded and widened her stance to prepare herself for a long wait.
Freddie’s hot streak continued for the next half hour. He caught eight fish, and Abby nabbed six, but Peggy only reeled in the one. Then the fish went away, and no one caught anything. Tony moved the boat to another place, but they had no luck there, either.
Sheila brought out sandwiches, and everyone stopped fishing to eat on paper plates, except Peggy, who nibbled her sandwich from one hand while she held her pole with the other.
“Won’t make any difference,” said Freddie. “You can fish all day, but you won’t catch fish like me.”
Tony glared at the boy but didn’t say anything.
“Shut up, Freddie,” said Abby. “You were lucky.”
“Luck had nothing to do with it. It was all skill.”
Peggy chewed silently, staring at the tip of her fishing pole. The girl reminded Sheila of someone, someone from her past. Who?
The tip of Peggy’s pole dipped for an instant. Then it dipped again. She dropped her sandwich and lifted the rod. The tip bent like an upside down U and twitched all around.
“Hold on,” Sheila shouted.
“I can’t. I can’t hold it. It’s too heavy.”
With her heart pounding like a jackhammer, Sheila rushed to Peggy’s side. “Tony, get the net!”
The rod jostled in Peggy’s hands, but she held on.
Sheila knelt close. “Reel him in a bit at a time.”
The rod tip bent until it touched the water. Abby and Freddie crowded in.
Sheila pushed them back. “Give her room now. Give her room.”
Peggy struggled so reeling the line, Sheila feared the little girl might wear out. Tony came with the net and leaned over the side. A brown shadow moved through the water beneath the surface.
“Jeez,” said Tony. “Look at that thing.”
Sheila held Peggy around the middle to keep her rooted to the deck. Peggy’s left hand was white where she gripped the pole. Her little fingers turned the handle again.
Tony leaned farther, one hand on the rail and the other on the net. The brown shadow came close, and Tony scooped.
And then the fish was in the boat. It bounced in the air and landed on Freddie’s foot. Freddie jumped back.
“Flounder,” yelled Tony. “A fat flounder. Must be four pounds. I’ve never seen one so big.”
Peggy stood still and stared, her chest heaving. She took her hat off and let the sun shine on her face.
Abby jumped up and down. “You caught the biggest fish, Peggy! You caught the biggest fish.”
On the ride back to the marina, the kids kept lifting the lid of the cooler to examine it. The flounder was flat, brown on its back and white on its belly, with two eyes together near its mouth. The fish was so big it couldn’t lay flat in the cooler; its mouth curled against one side and the tail against the other.
Freddie stood next to Peggy, both of them hunched as they stared at the flounder. He draped an arm across her shoulder.
“He’s a beauty,” Freddie said. “You caught a beautiful fish.”
END OF EXCERPT
Excerpt from The Sheila Stories
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