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Shore Leave

September 30, 2026 by Dianna Sinovic in category Columns, Quill and Moss by Dianna Sinovic, Writing tagged as fishing, short fiction, terminal illness

Mist hovered over the lake like a shroud. Hope stood at the point, past the flagpole and orange mums ringing its base. Nothing moved on the dark water. Too early for even the trawling fishermen. No one to witness.

Fall was brushing the trees on the opposite shore with touches of bronze and copper, but the brilliance was lost on her. Her mother had three months left, gone by the end of the year. She shivered.

How will I survive without her? Or, more accurately, she thought, why? What was there to live for? Giles had never wanted kids, so they’d had none. Last she heard, he was in Florida, with his second wife—and three children.

“You look too forlorn for such a stunning start of the day.”

With a yelp of surprise, Hope turned to locate the voice. On a camp chair hugging the water sat a woman whose face and salty hair put her into her seventies. She had a fishing line in the water, a travel mug in one hand. It was her gaze that anchored Hope in place.

“You don’t have to do it, you know.” The woman sipped her mug and continued to watch Hope. “There are alternatives. Always are.”

Hope raised her chin. How dare the stranger interfere. “Mind your own business.”

But the woman’s words fizzed in her head, distracting her. She forced herself to face the lake again. To be done with it.

“Dear, grief comes to all of us at some point. We open our hearts to love—and thus to its inevitable loss.” The woman sighed. “I’m Claire. I don’t mean to make light of your situation.”

A vee of Canada geese crossed overhead, settling onto the lake surface with a jumble of honks. Come, the lake called to Hope.

She closed her eyes, the wetness of tears spilling onto her cheeks. “It’s so hard,” she said.

“I didn’t say it was easy.” Claire spoke softly, gently, as though a whisper in Hope’s ear. “But you are strong enough to bear it, I think.”

Hope shifted, expecting Claire to have moved to her side, but no, she was still seated at the lakeshore. “You don’t know me.” She passed the back of her hand over her eyes to dry them. “I’m a coward. I can’t even take one step into the lake.”

The fishing line tugged once and then raced out along the water’s surface. With a swift grab, Claire picked up the rod and worked the line, her attention no longer on Hope. But Hope was also now focused on the interplay between the fish and the fisher.

“Probably smallmouth,” Claire said. “It’s a fighter.”

And so was Claire. The woman might be half a head shorter than Hope and twice as old, but there was power in her arms and shoulders. The minutes ticked past, and Hope moved nearer to Claire, as though pulled by another reel.

“Do you need help?” Hope said. How absurd was that? She didn’t fish, didn’t eat fish. “Not that I know what to do.”

“You can just watch … or not watch,” Claire said. “It’s catch-and-release. I’ll have the fellow free again very soon.” She spun in the line until the fish was at the water’s edge. With a quick grasp, she removed the hook and let the bass slide back into the lake. “Done.”

It was now full morning. The mist on the water had dispersed, and the sun turned the lake surface into glinting diamonds. Claire stored her fishing gear, collapsed her chair and swung it over her shoulder. She turned her fierce gaze back to Hope.

“How about you, dear?” she said. “You’re done here, too? No use lingering when the rest of the day beckons.”

Just as Claire had freed the bass, Hope no longer felt the lure of the lake water. She stood straighter and stepped away from the shore. I can do this. Her mother still needed her, even if the remaining time was short.