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Chapter Seven - Hook, Line, and Sinker

"You can't fish with a broken arm," I said for the tenth time. She didn't answer. The little thing, as quick as a mosquito, was maneuvering around me, lining up an overwhelming amount of gear. She paused for a moment and opened a large bag.

As she rummaged around in the bag, she surveyed her progress. Finally her fingers pulled out a hunk of unidentifiable black strap. She wrapped part of the strap around her waist and a lower part to her narrow thigh. I didn't see what she did next, but when she turned around I was almost knocked in the head by the fishing rod that was lodged in the contraption. I ducked, my hands falling to my knees and my head hovering somewhere around 'crotch.'

"The StrikeFighter let's me fish with a broken arm," she said happily. "It's a poor substitute for both hands, but since you didn't want to wait around a week for me to prove my fisherwoman-ship, I had to pull out this bad boy. And y'know what? I bet my rod's bigger than yours."

She wiggled her hips and the rod sailed back and forth over my head like an erection. I scooted back and stood up.

"You're right, I bet it is," I said. Deep down, I knew she was just trying to get a smile out of me, but sexual jokes had been lost upon me for a long time.

Even so, her smile didn't flicker. She pointed at the other pole she had brought along. "Why don't you join me?"

"I don't feel like fishing," I said. "I kinda just want quiet."

Rosie pursed her lips and made a zipping motion. She turned her back on me and fiddled with the fishing rod sticking oddly out from her body. A few minutes later, she cast her line.

I went back to my chaise with good intentions to ignore her. She stood there, feet planted apart, and admittedly pretty darn quiet. But I couldn't not know she was there. I tried reading, but she was still in my peripheral. Her hips swayed slightly as if it was killing her to remain in one solidary position for so long. She kicked up one leg, her heel almost touching her ass before doing the same thing with her other leg.

"Do you want a chair?" I found myself asking after witnessing fifteen minutes of this aerobic action. She turned her head, shook it back and forth, and made an O-K sign with her good hand.

Steven King was failing in his job as a writer. After another ten minutes, I put my book down. I went below deck, but I stood there, unsure of what to do. After brushing my teeth and combing my hair, I climbed back up.

I was just in time for the show.

Rosie had gotten a bite. Her good hand was on the reel and she was staggering backwards, her knee jerking spasmodically at the contraption.

"Oh God, c'mon you stubborn sonofabitch! You don't just bite and think you can get away!"

Her flip-flops were causing her to go helter-skelter. They slapped loudly at the deck; the reel seemed to be causing her problems. For as many steps as she progressed, suddenly she started flinging forward.

What the hell did she catch...a shark?

Maybe it was the sight of someone who was maybe barely five-feet-two on a good day struggling or the fear that she would break her ankle and sue me for injuries occured on my boat, but I sprung forward. My arms went around her shoulders and I grabbed onto the pole. I locked her in tight. Her hand still spun on the reel and I yanked both of us backwards.

My best of intentions sent me falling on my ass, the wind knocked out of me. Rosie, as much of a clutz as she appeared, stayed firmly on her feet. As I took a silent inventory of all my bones and muscles, her green flip flops straddled either side of my body. Large drops of water fell on my crotch as she held up a gigantic king fish.

"Say you're sorry for knocking him over, fish!"

It was ridiculous, but for a minute, I thought the damn fish really did open its mouth. I sat up, scooting back from the shower I was getting.

"Thanks for the help!" Rosie said, smiling brightly. "Hey...I know I'm supposed to be quiet, but do you realize you haven't told me your name?"

I looked up at her and blinked rapidly. The sun...the sun was making her look like she had a bodily glow around her. Her head tilted slightly and I could see how the excitement had caused the heat to rise in her cheeks.

"You don't know who I am?" I asked slowly. She held up a finger. "Hold that thought."

I watched as she turned from me. She croutched down low next to the rail and fiddled with the line. She whispered something that I couldn't decipher. In one swift movement, she lifted the fish over the rail and dropped him back into the water.

"Why did y--"

"I don't keep what I know I won't eat. Or display," she said gently. She turned back around and walked towards me. "Now, how would I know who you are?"

Every now and then I had a bad habit of assuming that everyone knew who I was. It was the curse of being famous. I had forgotten how nice it was just to be nobody. It didn't happen often.

"I--I dunno," I said stupidly. I stood up and held out my hand. "I'm Nick Carter."

Rosie smiled and put her tiny hand in mine. "Rosalyn Talikahominiganoka."

She said it so fast that I was sure I didn't hear her right. "Come again?"

She laughed. "Rosalyn Talikahominganoka."

I took her in, I mean really took her in. Blonde hair. Green eyes. Very white, very ivory skin. Curvy hips. Nice chest. Very nice c--

"Is that Hawaiian?" I asked, cutting my mind off.

"Yeah. My mom married a Hawaiian dude when I was two. He adopted me since my own dad couldn't get away from his Bud Light to go change a diaper. Uncle Tito's my stepdad's brother."

"So he's really your uncle?" I asked, my voice actually coming out in a tease. She beamed.

"Yup, that one I know for sure."

"So do your mom and dad help with the restaurant?"

"They died when I was seven," she said without missing a beat. "I just have Uncle Tito and the rest of my non-family, family."

"I'm sorry," I said quickly and instantly regretting it. It was the same reaction that I hated getting from people who asked about Lauren.

"It's in the past. They're in a better place, y'know? All this," she spread her arms wide. "Is just kinda the waiting room for something much better."

A waiting room. I knew exactly what she meant. "Yeah, it is," I said quietly. I looked back up at the sky.

"If that's what you're trying to find, I think you've got a long wait," she suddenly whispered. I looked back at her in surprise.

"What?"

"I think you've got a long wait," she repeated. "You're going to be waiting a long time. The long line on your hand shows you're going to be very old when you die."

"What long line?" I asked in confusion. She grabbed my hand and turned it, palm up.

"You have a very long life line," she pointed out, her nail tracing it. "Why waste it being miserable?"

I didn't answer. Rosie shrugged and maneuvered the rod, once again almost hitting me.

"Sure you don't want to fish?" she asked. "You obviously know how, Nicky."

I scowled. "No one calls me Nicky," I said.

"Nickers? Nicko-las?"

"Nick," I said. I picked up the spare pole.

"Just Nick."