And kiss her neck, smell her hair. I look up and see the artist watching me. I can feel her pencil on the back of my neck as she draws. Is she drawing...me? The woman on the lawn? She stares at me looking at her for a few seconds, appraising me, then goes back to drawing, looking at the strawberry blonde. I start to breathe again, feeling her drawing on my neck. My neck is how my husband first seduced me. My most erogenous zone, he calls it. Actually, he calls it my "ero-genius" zone. Still. Saturdays meant up before what passed for dawn in Alaska, and out the door for hour after hour of floating this creek or that river. Home late smelling of algae and sweat and, damn it, fish.When he was home, they were both either cleaning, curing, packing, and cooking, or cleaning up after cleaning, curing, packing, and cooking pound after pound of Silvers and Kings.She hated fish.She hated fishing season. She loved him, but she hated pixies and fly rods and those fucking feathers that littered. More

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