It was November and getting near the end of the season. The cabin had no central heat and soon the snow would close the dirt road. It was their last trip to Eddy's and Jack was hungry for the perch. The fried perch was Eddy's Saturday special. Eddy's sat off the state road and overlooked the Allegheny River.

Jack and Emily looked out over the river from their fishing boat. The wind blew the water white and the fishing boat rose and fell over the whitecaps. The pounding gave Emily the beginnings of a migraine.

It was two miles up river from the cabin to Eddy's. A cold drizzle fell and the rain made Emily's face look younger than Jack wanted her to be. She was younger than Jack and much younger than Jack's wife. Emily loved the weekends with Jack and knew she'd never have him totally. She loved to watch him work at his desk the early weekend mornings. She'd cook him a large breakfast then watch him eat at his desk. She didn't care about the work and she'd rub his back as a prelude to their lovemaking. Jack loved how her cheeks stayed red long after they'd make love.

“What are you drinking tonight?” Jack yelled from beside the outboard.

Emily turned to Jack, her eyes red. “You decide. I'm sick. Maybe I'll take the boat back to the cabin.”

“Headache or seasick?”

“I'll take the boat back. You can stay with her tonight. You'll be calling her?”

The boat slid over the mud and Jack steadied it with his leg. He tasted the rain on her lips and thought she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. He watched the boat disappear around a long bend in the river.

The beer was good with the fried perch. After the sixth bottle he remembered to call his wife to check in with still another weekend weather report, “cold with occasional drizzle, darkness followed by light.”

WILLIAM R. STODDART lives in Pennsylvania. His poetry has been published most recently by The Adirondack Review and The Pedestal Magazine. Other publishing credits include Transference - a bilingual journal of poetry, and The Writer.