Free Tides of Truth [02] Higher Hope by Robert Whitlow Page B

pain.
    “Do you want me to reel it in?” I asked.
    “Yeah. My hand is really hurting.”
    I took the pole. The fish was sitting in the water, not fighting to free itself from the hook. It felt like a rock.
    “This is a huge one,” I said.
    I cranked the reel, but it did little more than bend the rod more sharply. I backed away from the water. The line twitched to the left. I moved past the quilt, dragging the fish to the surface. Zach approached the water.
    “Can you see it?” I asked.
    “Not yet.”
    “It’s going to take off when it gets close to shore. I’ll have to let out line or it will snap.”
    The twins dropped their poles and ran over to us.
    “Here it comes,” he said.
    “It’s a turtle!” Ellie called out.
    I walked toward the water as I continued to reel in the line.
    “You hooked it at the edge of its shell,” Ellie said. “How did you do that?”
    “Ask Zach. It’s his line.”
    The large turtle churned up the mud in the shallow water. Its mouth opened in overt menace.
    “What are you going to do with it?” Zach asked.
    “I don’t mess with turtles,” I answered. “And we don’t eat turtle soup. If you put your finger in his mouth, you wouldn’t have to wait for an infection to lose it. Emma, cut the turtle loose. The hook won’t hurt his shell.”
    Emma ran to the tackle box to get a knife. After she cut the line, the turtle snapped its jaws one more time for emphasis and returned to the depths of the pond.
    “I thought we were going fishing at a peaceful pond,” Zach said.
    “This is more like an African safari.”
    “It’s all about knowing how to live in a world that may be hostile but doesn’t have to be.”
    The twins continued fishing. I cast into the water. Zach left his pole by his side. We sat on the quilt. Zach’s hand was beginning to get puffy. Inflamed red streaks ran across his palm.
    “Are you sure you don’t want to go to the house?” I asked.
    “No, it’s feeling better.”
    “It’s swelling.”
    He opened the tackle box and handed me the pocketknife.
    “You do it,” he said.
    “What?”
    “Amputate. That way you’ll know I trust you.”
    I chuckled. “Let’s give it a few more minutes.”
    We sat quietly. True to Bobby’s prediction, no fish showed an interest in the bait on my hook. The twins laid their rods on the ground and continued wooing the butterflies. The pond stilled.
    “Sorry about your hand,” I said, watching the red streaks grow longer. “I wanted this to be a nice weekend.”
    “It’s not over yet.”
    “But in less than twenty-four hours you’ve had a run-in with my mother, shocked every member of my family, upset me twice, and taken a dose of catfish venom.”
    Zach shrugged. “That sums it up pretty well, but I’m having a good time.”
    “Why?”
    “I’m with you.”
    I felt a streak of red run up the side of my neck. I concentrated on my fishing line.
    “I can see you’d like to change the subject,” Zach said, eyeing me closely. “Maybe now would be a good time to talk about the office.”
    “Okay.” I touched my neck with my hand.
    “What are you working on?”
    “Not much.”
    “Should I give you a project?”
    “No,” I answered quickly. “Mr. Carpenter called me into the conference room just before we left on Friday for a meeting with a client and asked me to help with a new case. I’m going to be very busy for the next few weeks.”
    “A lawsuit?”
    I hesitated. “Yes, it’s set up as a slander case, but the real reason behind the litigation is to force a church to sell its property to a real-estate developer.”
    “Who does the firm represent?” Zach sat up in interest.
    “The developer.”
    I laid out the dispute between Paulding Development Company and Ramona Dabney.
    “I know the area of town but can’t remember the church,” Zach said. “What does Mr. Carpenter want you to do?”
    “Be his rabbi. He thinks I have special insight into what motivates Sister Dabney. I’m not