Shadows grew longer. Across the bayou a lonely crow put in a long-distance call to an old girlfriend. Alvin bent forward and wiped his forehead with the front of his T-shirt. “Have mercy, it is hot. Let’s peel off some clothes an’ dive in.”
“Too many cottonmouths ’round here,” Lottie said.
Alvin scooted nearer to her. “You got one nice-lookin’ built on ya. That’ll sure bring out the nature inna man.”
Lottie leaned away. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“L’see how big they are.”
Lottie jumped to her feet and jammed her hands onto slim hips. “No way–”
“Gawdammit, there you go gettin’ all riled-up agin. One little peek will hurt none. Please?” he pleaded.
Alvin stood and yawned. “Man can’t always be held responsible for what happens — I better mosey on back. Fish ain’t bitin’ for shit, anyhow.”
“Fish don’t feed good ‘til the sun drops.” Lottie glanced around. “Oh, all right, but you can’t touch.”
She unbuttoned her blouse halfway down. Alvin’s eyes widened. “Mercy! Kin I touch just one?”
“No, you cannot.”
“Gimme a good reason.”
Lottie frowned. “There’s a real good reason.”
They fished in silence for awhile then drew in their lines, packed the fishing gear and trudged to the road that led back to town. A half-mile down the road, Lottie turned off on a path.
“Be fishin’ next Sunday?” he asked.
She paused, but didn’t look back. “I won’t be fishin’ with you anymore, Uncle Alvin.”