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"Have you eaten, yet?" asked Abby, going to the kitchen.

"I'm not hungry," he muttered, looking more downcast than before. "You're calling it off," he surmised. "I thought so."

"Jake," asked Abby, "have I ever been engaged, before?"

"I don't think so," he replied, looking up at her with a little renewed hope.

"Then stop trying to read my mind," said Abby. "If this marriage doesn't take place, it won't be because of me."

"Then, you think your family will put a stop to it?" he asked, nervously inhaling another puff of his cigarette.

"Listen to me, carefully," said Abby, taking a seat across from his. "I've been thinking a lot about this, and I've come to a decision. I won't go against my family, if they refuse to give their consent. If we loved each other, then it might be different-- I don't know. But they're my family. They've invested a lot of love in me, and I can't let them down. I just want to prepare you for the possibility, so if it comes, you won't fall apart, or anything."

"I understand," said Jake. "I envy you. I wish I had a family that cared what happened to me."

With that, he lit another cigarette.

"Well, you might get your wish," warned Abby, with a smile, "so don't resign yourself to defeat, just yet! Come on, let's go fishing."

Outside, she led him to her favorite fishing spot, and prepared his fly rod.

"By the way," said Abby, trying to carefully select her words, "my family has decided to have a meeting about us, this afternoon."

Jake's startled face fearfully looked at her.

"Don't get nervous," calmed Abby, "but they've invited your parole officer and Dr. Jacoby."

"They're never going to say 'yes,' are they," he said, in dismay.

He handed the fishing rod to Abby, and was about to retreat back to the little yellow house, when Abby ran ahead of him and blocked his way.

"Jake Murphy!" exclaimed Abby. "You give up too easily! If you want me, then you're going to have to fight for me! I can't take on my family, our psychiatrist, and your parole officer, all at the same time! I'm willing to stand by you, but I can't do this alone! Deep down, I don't believe you really want to quit!"

Jake hung his head and remained silent. Then, he took the spare fly rod from her hands and returned to his spot on the shoreline. Seeing that the crisis had been averted, Abby went back to her fishing.

Back and forth, Abby's fly line moved gracefully through the air, before landing onto the glassy surface of the water, most times, without making a single splash. Jake, who still had yet to attain this skill, just stood there, stiffly holding onto the pole, while he watched Abby with admiration.

"Terry was right," he breathed to himself. "Pure poetry."

Back and forth, Abby let out more line each time, making her casts extend further and further into the blue water of Three Mile Bay. Jake reeled in his line and sat down to observe his friend. He pulled out a sketchpad from his back pocket and began to work.

The hours flew by, until at last, Abby heard the sound of a car door slamming shut. She put a hand over her eyes and looked back towards the Johanneses' home. Jake followed her gaze, and saw the familiar vehicles of Sheriff Peterson's squad car and Dr. Jacoby's minivan. A third man was also present. It was Jake's old prison warden, Dick Doyle.

"I didn't know he was coming," mused Abby.

The men stood afar off, looking at the two on the beach, until they were greeted by John and Terry. Jake stared back at his sketchpad, nervously.

"Are you okay?" asked Abby.

"I'll be all right," said Jake, putting away his drawings.
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