Free Time Is a River by Mary Alice Monroe Page B

Her little brown fly was dangling with a bright green leaf she’d been admiring earlier.
    “Noooo,” she groaned, and tugged at it. The tip of the rod bent in a curve, but that fly wasn’t budging.
    “Careful of that rod tip,” Belle said, then laughed softly as she walked to the tree. Reaching up on tiptoe she tugged the branch closer till she could bend it down and clip the line free. The little brown fly sprang back, still wound on the branch. “We’ll leave that victory to the tree.”
    “I’m hopeless.”
    “No, you’re a beginner.” She took the rod and began reeling the line.
    Mia felt frustrated, ready to toss the rod into the river. “Some of the other women at the retreat were naturals.”
    “This isn’t a competition, you know. Go at your own pace.”
    “Can you possibly come up to teach me a lesson?”
    Belle sighed and grimaced. “I wanted to talk to you about that. Remember I told you I was going to Scotland? Well, I leave in a few weeks and I’ll be gone for a lot of the summer. So I’m really slammed right now just trying to tie things up with the business. I wish I could give you another lesson before I go but I just can’t promise it. Hey, don’t look so crestfallen. I brought all this gear up so you can practice on your own.”
    “I don’t know what to do out there.”
    “Oh, yes you do. You learned all the basics at the retreat. Now you just need practice, patience, and confidence. And the only way to get them is to get out on the water. Get yourself a local guide if you want to explore other rivers and streams.”
    “I don’t want another guide,” Mia said petulantly. “You’re the best.”
    “Well, thank you, but there are some really good ones right close. And you don’t have to rely on a guide, you know. The main thing is to get off the couch and get out on the water.” Belle hugged her, then gave her a sisterly shake. “You’ll be fine. And Mia? Have fun.”

    Mia went back to the cabin, removed her fishing gear, and carefully put it in a closet. Her waders hung with the feet attached like a dress form. She’d heard some folks just took to fly-fishing and others never did. She feared she was in the latter category.
    “Maybe I’m just not cut out for this,” she said with disappointment as she closed the door on her gear.
    She quietly and perfunctorily went through the motions of preparing a meal in the little kitchen, thinking about what it meant to be up here in the mountains without Belle in shouting distance. The thought that it was a good thing she didn’t buy more supplies formed in her mind as the concept of going home took root. The rotisserie chicken looked like a skeleton in the plastic container. She sliced bits of dry chicken, a tomato, the last of an onion. She put a piece of bread into the new toaster oven she’d bought in town, then pushed down the lever. The silence was rent by a loud, snapping spark. Then the lights went dead.
    Mia’s mouth dropped open as she stared at a thin curl of smoke at the outlet. A sooty stain blackened the wall. This couldn’t be happening, she thought as she opened the fridge. It, too, was dead. Cursing, her mind whirled with questions. She didn’t have a clue what to do. On a whim she looked out the window, but Belle was long gone. Mia stood in the middle of the room feeling utterly helpless.
    She was an intelligent woman. But nowhere in college did she take Fix It 101. She figured that she blew a fuse, but she didn’t know how to change it. She didn’t even know where the damn fuse box was.
    Night was falling fast. Mia felt panic compounding her fears as an owl hooted from a nearby tree. She hurried from window to window, slamming them shut and locking them. Soon after she finished, the cabin was plunged in blackness. She grappled in the dark, searching for the flashlight, and released a ragged sigh when the narrow beam of light pierced the black. She hurriedly lit a fire with the last of the wood, feeling her