Chapter 18

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This was the end to what had been a transient existence for Mitch.  Apart from college the five years he had spent at the lake was the longest he had ever spent in one place.  Now he had put down real roots.  Mitch liked Willow Lake, liked the people of Willow Lake, and the people of Willow Lake liked him.

After putting the groceries away Mitch grabbed some more grapes then went to the living room.  He peered out the large window, through the porch, and onto the lake.  There were shanties spread across the ice near the cabin.  The ice fishing was good on this side of the lake.  Mitch stopped humming, put two more grapes in his mouth, and rubbed his nose with his index finger.  He thought that fresh trout would be delicious for dinner and wondered if anyone at the Stone Bar may have some for sale.  If Mitch could see any quads out on the ice he could go out by a shanty for a visit to see how the catch was going.  Mitch picked up the binoculars he kept on the log he used as a table under the window.  The only quad he could see belonged to the Lacroux boys.  He had just seen the two in the village so Mitch knew they were just now dropping lines.  He would have to wait for the evening after the hockey game.  Maybe Abby would want to join him for dinner.

Mitch was silent now and had stopped chewing his grapes.  He slowly stretched his head from side to side his eyebrows lifting high.  “Maybe Abby would want to join him for dinner,” he iterated in thought.  He resumed chewing and reached down to pickup his black lacquered acoustic guitar then spun to his left, landing on his old quilt covered couch.  Eyes fixed to the far corner of the room he put his last two grapes in his mouth, chewed slowly, and then swallowed.  Mitch tapped out a beat on his guitar and started to hum.  He stopped, plucked three strings, tuned the guitar, and started to hum again.  Mitch started to play his guitar, improvising words as he went along until he found a melody he liked.

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