John Grey She's Fishing with Her Lover Quiet, he tells her, you'll disturb the fish, but she's sure the silence disturbs her more than noise does any school of silver trout, cruising innocently along the river bed, ignorant of men. He was up early, with tweezers, magnifying glass, making lures. Even then, it was don't bother me, and hands more excited than touching her. Now, he thinks, with her book, and her back against a tree, she should be enjoying this. Or at least, the sight of her, thumbing softly through the pages, is the closest he comes to putting her out of mind. Nothing's biting but that doesn't seem to matter. She remembers what was hooked at five a.m.: her lover on that tiny fly, his wide eyes like bass snapping at the hook, reeled in by his deliberate hands.

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