Casting Lessons

Abstract

Casting Lessons Leslie Jill Patterson (bio) Egan Anderson is a big boy. We say big not because Egan’s tubby or even tall, but big because the meat on his bones is so solid he can lift sofas, move refrigerators, trounce bullies without any help. And we say boy not because he’s the youngest hand at Eagle Hill Ranch (though he is) or because he’s incapable of keeping pace with the other trainers (we’ve already established he can kick some ass), but boy because, despite the rifle and bow he keeps well sighted-in and close at hand, what some might call the weaponry of manhood, there’s something adolescent about his laughter, which is less like a rowdy time and more like giggling. Too, his apartment resembles the ramshackle hangout of a college kid: stacks of dishes tilt in the sink; dirty clothes lie rumpled on the floor; there’s only one chair to sit in; and his roommate doesn’t have a bed, just a mattress. In fact, Egan’s so young, by a decade or more, that he still misses college—hence, the Cornhusker’s T-shirt and ball cap. While some cowboys brag about their women like they do their horses, Egan feels more comfortable debating veterinary issues—the threat of West Nile, the causes of colic—his biology degree from Vanderbilt the rope he uses to lasso everyone’s respect. But one night at The Grit, Egan spies a girl capable of making him want. She’s at the bar, eating dinner alone and drinking a glass of water. The Eagle Hill crew, we sit in our usual oversized booth. We’ve finished our meals, and it’s that moment when we [End Page 107] stall, looking for reason not to abandon the day and return to our empty homes, our separate nights. No one has seen this girl in town before, but we all notice the second Egan cocks his head toward her and smiles, so Billy Scales, the foreman in all matters, invites her to join us. When she does, Billy carries the conversation. Unable to speak, Egan stares at her. The girl won’t say why she’s in Colorado for the summer. It’s clear she likes the outdoors: her skin is ruddy from sunshine; her hair is straight, no fuss. Her clothes—a Nike T-shirt, a pair of faded Levi’s, and tennis shoes—hint at something athletic. Maybe she’s here to camp in the mountains. But she also avoids telling us where she’s staying and where she’s from, and though she smiles, she never laughs. With her water, she orders only a bowl of soup, so maybe she’s running from trouble. The signs are familiar to me, recent even, and I should probably warn Egan, but his face, the buzz of potential, makes me long to forget the lessons marriage sometimes teaches a woman. To the girl, Billy says, “Egan’s smart, a degreed man from a swanky university. We don’t know why he keeps us for company.” Egan nods but says nothing. Panic has settled in his eyes. Billy continues. “Unlike the rest of us, he knows more than just horses. He can coach anyone to fly-fish.” Egan doesn’t deny or confirm there’s a pond at Eagle Hill, stocked and ready for lessons. He looks down the throat of his beer bottle, fidgets. Billy lifts his napkin from his lap, swipes his mouth with it, then places it atop his plate. “Consider it an invite, Dolly. Any time.” Then he cues the rest of us, swinging his eyes toward the door. “Old folk hit the sack early or we’re creaky in the mornings, but Egan’s a kid. He’ll stay and visit.” The next afternoon, the crew is working colts in the round pen when Egan arrives after his townie day job at Scott Fly-Rod. His Jeep zips behind the barn. He unpacks his tack boxes and bolts into the office and shuts the door. He doesn’t bother waving at us. Billy says Egan didn’t leave The Grit till 1 a...