After falling off the dock and into the bow of Tawny’s boat… The anchor lying on the open deck left a welt on his back… But it was Rusty’s pride that hurt the most. He wanted, more than anything in the world, to be seen as confident…large and in charge.
An idle mind was something he had never been accused of. It was quite the opposite. Rusty’s thoughts, specifically those related to Ms. Tawny Bishop swirled and twirled like a topwater musky bait.
–Was she an alpha personality? 1000-percent.
–Did she think twice about telling him what was what, regardless of whether he was supposed to be the boss? Not once ever.
–Were her years of experience on the lake insurmountable even if he spent the next decade of his life living on this island? Absolutely.
–Did her overall smoke show attributes create a permanent lump in his throat to which he constantly felt as if he were trying to swallow an oversized bobber? A million times, YES.
“Just get off the floor of the boat, and don’t say something stupid,” was his final thought that got his racing mouse of a brain off the spinning wheel. Then he moved toward the stern of the boat, near Tawny, as she continued to speak with Cosmoid while securing the skiff to the dock.
She then turned to face Rusty as he simultaneously mumbled something as if there were twenty-three lead head jigs in his mouth, and it came out as “You….god love….happy here….see you.”
“Jeez Flathers. Pull it together. You hit your head on that tumble?” she replied. And then Tawny punched him forcefully in his right shoulder as he attempted to perform his patented arms stretched forward—butt out—awkward Rusty Flathers hug. Of which she was obviously not participating.
“Ouch!” he grimaced. But the pain was brief. As if she knew the exact amount of force required to bring him back to pay attention. “You were the last person I expected to see pulling into the harbor.”
“Last time I checked… My name is Bishop,” Tawny replied. “And I made a promise to you—first by agreeing to get you through your first season—then by replacing myself with Uncle Clarence who would honor my word.”
“But now he’s gone,” replied Rusty. “And somehow I feel responsible.”
“Well, you’re wrong. Bishops don’t just disappear… And you are in no way to blame for whatever it is that’s happening.”
The way she addressed Rusty (her words made him tingle), so directly—confidently—reassuringly—It made him shrug his shoulders in such a fashion as to get the collar of his jacket to rub the goose bumps off his bare neck.
“But you were gone,” Rusty continued. “Australia… Part of the Three Eagles… The Kraken… How did you get word about what’s going on?”
“The spirit world, Rusty. Least you forget my origins as a First Nation Ojibwe.”
“Somewhat familiar,” he continued. “So, were you contacted by the sky or the water?”
“Neither.”
“What do you mean? I thought all spirit messages traveled by sky or water?”
“Not all of them. Now, let’s get up to the lodge and see what your posse of clowns is up to.” And with that… She hopped out of the boat and marched her way up the pier.
Rusty followed suit with Cosmoid close behind and Link bringing up the rear. If the pup could talk, he most likely would have said something along the lines of, “Can you two knuckleheads not put two and two together… Or was I the only one watching Sally send out text messages before she left… Spirit world my paw!” And then he barked TWICE, because at least he knew the truth.
Inside the lodge was a roaring fire. Wet jackets over the backs of chairs were steaming. Stash McGivern attempted to hold court at the head of the dining room table but eventually sat down in frustration as everyone insisted on talking over each other. Wendigos—Clarence—Moose Island—Oscar and Grover—and then Tawny Bishop appeared like a prophet, outfitted in her top-of-the-line Helly Hansen Skagen Offshore sailing jacket.
Drops of rain slid free from the ends of her jet-black hair and with it the sure scent of cedar carried itself across the room. There was no brushing back the dampness of her hair that carried a weight of certainty.
Then something clicked. The light bulbs in the dining room flickered twice, drew dim, and extinguished. A sudden breeze hammered on the lodge windows. The trophy northern pike, mounted on the wall nearest the harbor, fell from its position and crashed to the hardwood floor.
Silence. Dead silence.
Minister Neville Thorne looked to the ceiling and crossed the Father, the Son, the Holy Ghost. His gaze then went directly to Celine, and she slowly stopped chewing a splintery acorn-oatmeal breakfast concoction.
Rusty thought, “WENDIGO!” And went full-on Doobie Flathers running toward the hearth to grab a burning log.
“It followed us!” shrieked Celine. “The creature with the insatiable taste for flesh is here!”
Then Tawny walked over to the breaker panel near the entrance to the kitchen and yelled at Cos who had bread going in the toaster and was warming coffee in the microwave. “Your generator connection is still overloading. Did you forget you can’t run those two things at the same time?”
After that she turned back to the crowd of would-be Wendigo victims, shook her head in disbelief and addressed them by saying, “Alright, let’s calm ourselves, everyone please take a seat, I have a gameplan.”
In his haste… Rusty was going to need a bit of ice for his hand. Turns out the bright orange burning end of a log was not the exact location in which one would want to grab a log from a roaring fire.
MNR Officer Marlin Salty witnessed Rusty’s faux pas and watched him quickly grab a wet flannel to conceal the sting. But it was Tawny’s voice, the one that Floats His Boat, that quickly took away the ache as he found a place at her table.
–To Be Continued—
Rusty Flathers 