Free In Reach by Pamela Carter Joern

dying fish.
    They stretched their legs by walking across the dam. The lake itself was narrow and twenty-six miles long, east to west. The sun squatted low on the horizon, orange and coral fanned above it like a peacock’s tail. Buttons of color shimmered in the sun-streaked water. Along the shoreline sprouted pockets of willow trees, here and there a cottonwood. Cattails waved in the marshes. Jason and his dad stood and propped their arms on the railing.
    “Beautiful,” Dave said.
    “Nobody fishes with fish eyes,” Jason said.
    After breakfast next morning, they set out to find the ranch. Jason wore his jeans, a T-shirt, and tennis shoes. His dad wore his Western regalia with a clean red plaid shirt. They drove to Lewellen, all the way around the south side of the lake, its waters glistening now and then through a gap in the hills. They passed Ash Hollow and Windlass Hill. Dave told Jason a lot of pioneers died there until they figured out a pulley system to get their wagons safelyup and over the ridge. They went past a hillside cemetery, boots upside down on every fencepost.
    “What’s that for?”
    “Pointing home,” Dave said.
    When they got to Lewellen, they couldn’t find the cutoff to the Porter Ranch. Dave circled through the three-block town, then turned back and circled again.
    “There’s a gas station back there,” Jason said.
    “It’s got to be here,” Dave said. “I know Shorty said out of Lewellen.”
    Dave U-turned the Jeep to make another swipe through town.
    “Dad, it’s not here. Why don’t you stop and ask?”
    “Don’t tell me how to drive. This is my car and my trip.”
    Jason pushed down on the door handle. The door flew open. Even though they were moving slowly, a gust of air caused the car to careen to the side. Dave lurched the Jeep to a halt in the gravel alongside the gas station. “What the hell is the matter with you?” Dave shouted.
    Jason already had one leg out the door. By the time Dave followed him into the gas station, Jason had gotten directions from the attendant. Turns out the ranch wasn’t exactly out of Lewellen.
    “Let me see the map,” Jason said, when they got back to the Jeep.
    “You heard the guy. Porter Ranch is out of Arthur, and Arthur is north of the other end of the lake. We’ll have to go all the way back.” Still, Dave waited until Jason had wrestled open the map.
    “There’s a different road around the north side,” Jason said, his finger pointing at the map. “It’s closer.”
    “I forgot about that road,” Dave said, leaning over. Jason could feel his dad’s breath on his face. “Goes right through Lemoyne. Don’t blink or you’ll miss it.”
    By now, the weekend traffic had picked up. Progress was slow because the road was narrow and hilly, crammed with campers and pickup trucks.
    “Christ,” Dave said. “We’ll be lucky to get there by noon.” He thumped his hand on the steering wheel, took chances passing, dove in and out of the traffic. Jason hung on to the dashboard with one hand.
    “My dad used to drive us out in these parts. There’s a town north of Arthur, way up there in the Sandhills, where several millionaires lived. Hyannis, I think it’s called.”
    Jason tried to picture his dad as a boy, thumping along in the backseat of some washed-out Chevy. “What was your dad like?”
    Dave did not take his eyes off the road. “Stubborn. And weak.” Dave snorted. “Now that, right there, is a lethal combination.”
    They made it to the Porter Ranch by 10:00 a.m. Shorty was waiting for them. He’d driven down from Cabela’s to make sure the transaction went smoothly.
    Shorty wore jeans and a short-sleeved shirt, boots. After shaking their hands, guffawing, pats on the back all around, Shorty introduced them to the other two guys. Leo, the owner of the ranch, may have had some Indian blood in him; he had the coloring and high cheekbones. Amos, Leo’s friend, was tall and lean, like Jimmy Stewart in My Darling