Outside Guadalupe, Mexico; Sunday [12/01 FT].

True to his promise, Ron rented a cabin in down in Mexico, for them to get away for the long holiday weekend, since Astrid had time off from school. No phone, no electricity, he even left his computer at home. In the rivers and lakes around Guadalupe, they fished in high green rubber boots to their waists. Ron showed her the fly reel, how to cast like a delicate spell, the glistening steelhead trout like secrets you could pluck from the water. Claire pored over bird books, wildflower guides, intent on naming, as if the names gave life to the forms. When she identified one, she was as proud as if she herself created them herself. Or they’d sit in the big patio around the firepit, while Ron played cowboy songs on his harmonica, “Red River Valley” and “Yellow Rose of Texas.”

( Astrid felt at home there, the silence, the spectrum of green and yellow under a resonant sky. )

“Astrid, don’t.” Claire looked at her with her tenderest wild-flower expression.

Astrid took the hammer and whacked the fish in the head. Claire turned away. Astrid knew what she was thinking, that she was siding with Ron, with the world and its harshness. But she wanted that fish. She took out the hook and held it up, and Ron took a picture of her like that. Claire wouldn’t talk to Astrid for the rest of the afternoon, but she felt like a real kid for once and she didn't want to feel guilty about it.

[[ NFB/NFI on this one, modified a little from Chapter 20 of White Oleander by Janet Fitch to fit my adjusted timeline, blah blah blah ]]