Chapter 8: The First Proposal

Over the summer, Will and I meet in Corpus Christi to spend the weekend with John, one of his clients, and John's wife Abby.  On the Friday-evening journey there, my flight is canceled and I sweet-talk Delta into re-booking me on an American flight so I could still make it in time for our departure for Laguna Madre the next morning.  The agent even stays on the phone with me as I sprint across the atrium from South Terminal to North Terminal to the American Airlines counter.  I make it to the plane with five minutes to spare before they close the doors. 

Saturday morning, we're riding in Will's friends' custom Shallow Sport for the thirty-minute boat ride to the cabin for the weekend. I remember that Will told me the place was “in the middle of nowhere”, but I have never heard it described so literally.

When we arrive at the cabin, I am agape.  Oh, holy mother of pearl, what in the world did I agree to? I think to myself.

It is a fishing shanty, originally a bait shack built in 1953.  Sea-beaten white with turquoise trim, the paint is peeling off and the old dock rickety and splintered.  Abby takes me on the nickel tour, showing me the new chemical toilet out in the outhouse, the “sleep shack” (a trailer outfitted with a generator and air conditioning - a Godsend in Texas coastal summer weather), and the outdoor shower – probably the best thing in the initial tour, in my estimation.

We settle in and get back in the boat to fish.  Driving all the way out to “the Hole” – an area on the map the locals call “Nine Mile Hole” and features the remains of a WWII plane wreckage near the entrance, the tail still visibly peeking out of the water - it is peaceful and quiet, with only the sound of the motor and the waves licking the sides of the double-hull construction.  We eat strangely delicious bacon, cheese, and mustard sandwiches, and cast our lines out for hours, having no luck until later in the evening, when three redfish - all over 20 inches long - are caught by Will and John. Celebration ensues.

John's friend Maynard pulls aside in his boat with a beautiful young woman in a bikini.  Will and I both think it's his inappropriately-young girlfriend until he starts talking, and we realize it is his 18-year old daughter - she has just caught her first redfish and is reluctant to pick it up for a photo op.  Maynard is a little drunk, loud, and obnoxious.  Abby swears he is a great neighbor and an engaging storyteller, and he stays tied to our boat for a little while. The lull of the boat and the quiet of the inlet give me more patience than usual, and I let the stories wash over me, happy to soak in the sun and the atmosphere. 

That evening, we head back and arrive at the shack about 30 minutes before the sunset.  Sitting on the front porch, and cocktails with lots of lime in hand, we capture photos of the beautiful colors of the sky and watch the full moon rise on the other side.  I take advantage of the outdoor shower while Will and John start the grill for a feast fit for a king:  filet mignon with blue cheese, redfish fillet with a three-pepper blend, Caesar salad, and corn on the cob. 

We play dominoes until 11 PM, and all of us are tired out from sun and fishing.  Will and I take the double bed by the window in the sleep shack after Abby and John claim the twin beds – “It’s too hot and the bed’s too small,” Abby says.  I suppose, after being married for 22 years, all pretenses are off – if you’re hot, you’re hot.

Before we go to sleep, out on the dock Will says “Will you marry me?” but he is a little tipsy and I know that this is not the real proposal.  I tell him that I do want to marry him but he can’t ask me that way.  I say it with a grin, because I knew that when the time is right, our engagement will be spectacular.   I can’t wait to be married to him.

The next morning is Sunday, and we wake with the sun and head out to go fishing again.  The mullet are plentiful, jumping all around us and nearly into the shallow boat, but redfish are nowhere to be found.   We're moving slowly, dripping sweat as we pack up the cabin and take the boat back to the dock to wash, fillet the other fish, and head back to John and Abby's house for a real indoor shower. As the final packing is done, I feel as though I might melt, even in the shade.  I wonder if I've ever been so hot in my life. [Note: that's still my benchmark for incredibly hot and humid.]  Still, it has been a great weekend and one I will never forget. 

At the airport, Will and I sit closely together for dinner at the only restaurant in the Corpus Christi airport.  As I leave to get on my plane, tears start rolling down my face as I hug him goodbye.  I can’t stand to be away from him.  I see tears in his eyes as well even though he tries to hide it.  As I approach the gate agent, she says, “Oh, don’t cry.  Going back to work?”  I nod and she gives me a sympathetic look as she takes my bag, and I'm off again.

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Sharp-eyed readers will notice that this actually takes place before Chapter 7, but I couldn't miss the opportunity to remember this part of the story!

Next chapter: Savannah, and the real thing

Read the whole story, chapter by chapter, right here.