Kurt waits at a red light in his pickup truck and sips strong coffee from a travel mug while listening to the news on a local station. The light changes and he shifts into first and shuts off the radio. It is 7:37. The best fishing would have been early this morning but it was a bold move to ask Diane to go fishing at all – he didn't quite have the nerve to ask her to get up before sunrise. What made him propose such an unlikely outing, anyway? Maybe it harkens back to the Costa Rica plan. Could be he never quite abandoned his vision of Diane laughing with the sun in her hair in front of a backdrop of rippling water.

He drums his fingers on the steering wheel. He still doesn't know what to make of Diane's impromptu visit the other night. It would be an understatement to say that he was taken by surprise. His home is remote enough that visitors are rare. Uninvited guests are unheard of. It was instantly obvious that she had come to spend the night, and maybe he shouldn't have let her. On the other hand, what kind of an idiot would he have to be to turn away Diane Lockhart – especially after she paid for a forty-mile cab ride just to be with him?

Now that the radio isn't there to distract him, Kurt finds that his conversation with Diane the night before is playing on repeat in his head.

I could use a little direction here. What is this?

It's me missing you. And hoping you feel likewise.

Their roles are reversed from when they first met, he muses. Back then, she was the one doing the talking, as well as the one with misgivings. Last night it was Kurt who wanted to talk and Diane who answered his question with a kiss. She seems to have gotten over her scruples about dating a Tea Party member, but now it is Kurt's turn to have scruples. He can't help feeling apprehensive. The two of them have made a habit of walking in and out of each other's lives and the truth is, he doesn't want his heart broken again.

Not that she's the only culprit. He winces remembering her stinging retort after their first long hiatus.

Where've you been? she asked then.

Here, there. You?

Here.

Then as now, he stayed away from her because he couldn't tell if she wanted him around. Sometimes he thinks she only likes the concept of Kurt – not the actual guy. Don't talk, she once told him. How can I be with someone who likes me better when I don't talk?he wonders. For his part, he enjoys listening to Diane's opinions – even when they are antithetical to his own.

Today, he'd like to know where he stands. If Kurt is honest with himself, this is the real reason why he invited Diane to do something out of her comfort zone. He wanted to find out if she would go out of her way to spend time with him. The excursion itself will test their relationship, too. If nothing else, he hopes it will prove they can still have fun together.

Either Kurt was overeager or traffic was unusually light, because he arrives at Diane's townhouse twelve minutes early. He climbs the step, rings the bell and waits.

After a short wait, Diane unlatches the door and beckons him inside.

"Hello. You're early. I have to get a few things upstairs, wait a minute."

She disappears.

Kurt digs his hands into his pockets and glances around at the familiar surroundings. Ink drawings done by Diane's grandfather hang on the wall above the staircase. He listens to her soft thumping and rustling as she gets ready.

In a moment she emerges and he has the pleasure of watching her come down the stairs. He's always surprised by the difference in her height when she's not wearing heels. Today she has opted for sandals – it has been unseasonably warm all week.

"Ready," she says brightly. She embraces him. Then she steps back and says, "What time were you thinking... I mean, is it possible we could be back in the city by one o'clock?"

"There's better fishing later in the day," he says a bit tersely. He realizes too late how it sounds, and then decides he doesn't care. Why should he give in easily?

"I have an event to go to this afternoon."

"What kind of event?"

"My friend's son's senior recital. He's going to Oberlin for trumpet next year. The boy won't care if I go, but it will mean a lot to his mom."

"Oh," whatever excuse Kurt was expecting, it wasn't that one. "Sure, we can be back. Not a problem."

"Good."

Kurt tries to quash his disappointment. He had hoped to spend the night – or at least part of the afternoon – at Diane's place when they got back. But after all, he's always had a thing for elusive women.

He opens the passenger seat door for Diane before climbing up beside her. Diane dons sunglasses and smiles at him as he pulls away from the curb.

They don't talk much during the drive, but already Kurt feels better. He couldn't have asked for a more perfect day. It's warm and clear and the morning sky is a dazzling blue.

He pulls into the lake's parking area – a gravel lot surrounded by leafy trees and large signs denoting the creel limits. He grunts in annoyance at the profusion of parked cars. Families are everywhere. Nearby a young woman sits in the back of a station wagon slathering sunscreen on the arms and backs of two small children. Kurt has to wait for another car to pull out – no doubt a serious fisherman who was here bright and early – before he can park.

"It's better during the week, of course," he tells Diane as they stride across the lot. "Too many people here on a Saturday."

"People?" she mocks, pretending to shudder. "Horrors!"

He smiles at her teasing, but says seriously, "What's the point of 'getting away from it all' if everyone and his brother is in the next boat over?"

"Yes? And what are you trying to get away from, Mr. McVeigh?"

"Fuss. Mess. Complications," he says.

"'Simplify! Simplify! Simplify!'?"

Kurt is pleased that he recognizes the quotation. "Yep. Thoreau had the right idea. I wouldn't mind retreating to my own Walden."

"I've been to Walden Pond, you know," she says. "It was crowded there, too."

"No!"

"Yes! Thoreau is spinning in his grave."

Kurt hasn't brought any lures, so he leads the way into the bait shop, a small wooden shack with a pretty, hand-painted sign. Inside, the walls are lined with what look like little plastic fish.

Diane peruses the selection with interest.

"Look at these names! Jig, spinner… pad daddy? Clackin rap crankbait? It's a whole other language, isn't it?" She continues, "This isn't quite what I pictured when you said you'd do the baiting. You don't use worms or leeches or other mucus-covered, rock-dwelling, blood-sucking creatures?"

"You seem disappointed."

"Hardly. Well. I don't know. I'm feeling a little blood-thirsty today. So: what do we need? What are we fishing for?" she prompts.

"Large mouth bass or walleye if we're lucky. More likely we'll catch little stuff… bluegills, maybe crappies."

Kurt chooses his lures with care. If his primary objective is to find out where he stands with Diane, his secondary one is definitely to catch a bass. He hasn't managed it yet this spring and it galls him. He doesn't want to tell Diane though. There's no reason she needs to share his frustration if he comes up empty-handed again. He pays at the counter, which is manned by a skinny teenager in a White Sox cap.

"How much for a rowboat?" he asks.

"Fifty dollars for eight hours."

"We'll do it."

"A rowboat?" Diane says, as they walk back into the sunlight, aiming for the wide, brilliantly blue water and the dock. "I was picturing something a little more substantial. With a deck, perhaps. And a motor."

Is she serious?

"Sorry if I misled you."

"Oh, no… these look very, uh, …cozy." She gestures at the line of boats bobbing beside the dock.

He decides to tease her just a little.

"I hope you're a good swimmer…"

It's too easy. Her eyebrows have already shot up.

"…Because if we capsize, I'll need you to help me flip 'er over."

She crosses her arms.

"I am not getting into that boat unless you promise me we will not capsize."

"Alright, alright. So help me, God, we won't," he swears, raising his right hand.

Then he offers her his arm, which she grabs to steady herself as she steps off the dock

He climbs in, finds the life vests under the seat and tosses one to her. He half expects her to complain about wearing something so unbecoming – it's a dirty yellow and very bulky – but she puts it on gamely and grabs a paddle. They row for the far shore and maneuver into the weeds, where Kurt has had good luck catching bass in the past.

"What did you mean when you said you were feeling 'bloodthirsty,'?" he asks, slowing his paddling and then stopping altogether and resting the paddle on his knees.

She waves a hand. "Nothing really. But work has been crazy."

It's a familiar line, and although he doesn't mean to, he can't help but give her a look.

She sees and hastens to add, "Crazier than usual. You must have heard about Will's suspension?"

He nods. He attaches a lure to the end of his line and casts the line into the weeds before he asks, "How's he holding up?"

"Hm." She considers. "A month ago I would have said confidently that if Will had to choose between medieval torture and giving up the law, he'd choose torture. But he's taken it fairly well. I mean, he was going stir crazy at home, but luckily, he's back in the office now. He can't try cases, but he can update associates on the background of his cases."

"Sounds a little…murky."

"Yes. I seem to spend my life navigating murky waters – so to speak. How do you like teaching?"

"Better than I expected," he says frankly. "It's satisfying."

"Mm," Diane says. "Molding minds. You know, I can't quite picture it. You standing up there at the blackboard with a piece of chalk –"

"—At the whiteboard with a dry erase marker – "

"Oh, dear me. Chalk is outmoded now? I must be getting old."

He laughs. "My students make me feel old."

"Are they all as bright as Miranda?"

"They're hard workers. But she's far and away the best of the bunch. Oh, Hell," he says abruptly.

"What?"

"That was a hit. I missed it."

"A hit? As in a fish? I'm sorry, I'm distracting you from your sport," she smiles. "Let's get serious about this, shall we?" She glowers at the water as if it's a hostile witness.

He chuckles. And to his very great surprise, the next time he casts he feels another hit on the line. This time he focuses on landing the fish. Within seconds he's carefully separating the silvery fish from the lure.

"Nice one," he says appreciatively, holding the wriggling thing toward her so she can see. "He's a bluegill. Maybe two pounds. Here, take a picture." She snaps a photo of him with his catch. He reaches down with both arms and allows the fish to slip out of his hands and back into the cloudy water.

"You just let them go?" she says, surprised. "I thought you were the type to play for keeps."

"Nah, these waters are overfished as it is. It's better to let 'em go."

Diane's cell phone rings and she looks at it with distaste before she answers.

"I don't want to discuss it anymore," she says to the caller. "There are several reasons… I will be happy to enumerate them for you on Monday. Enjoy your weekend," she says pointedly and hangs up.

"Trouble at the firm?"

"No. Yes. I'm just dealing with – fallout."

"Oh?"

"One of our associates threatened to go to another firm unless we gave her a significant raise. I wanted her to stay and I wasn't at all sure the vote on her raise would go my way, so I invoked managing partner prerogative…"

"'Managing partner prerogative'? Now what's that? Sounds impressive."

"Something I get to…invoke." She smiles flirtatiously, then adds more seriously, "Some of the partners are still complaining about my decision. I'm so tired of the whole thing. She could hardly have had worse timing, but she deserves the raise. I don't really blame her."

"Don't you?" he says incredulously.

She laughs. "Maybe just a little." She stares across the water and her face clouds again. After a moment, she says, "It just feels like there aren't many people or many things I can count on anymore. Like I'm holding the firm together with my two hands and... The firm is my life."

He already knows that, of course. It's why he admires her, but it's also been a hindrance. She certainly puts the firm before him. She was even willing to burn him as a witness in a deposition.

She lets out a long, tired sigh and her shoulders sag a little.

If it weren't for the fishing rod and the oars and the tippy boat, he would take her in his arms and hold her.

Count on me, he wants to say. But somehow it's never that simple. So he gazes silently at her and lets his eyes do the pleading.

The fish are biting today, and within an hour Kurt has caught another bluegill and three crappies.

"Don't you want to give it a try?" he asks her after releasing the third one. When she looks reluctant, he goads her, "Or are you frightened of a little fish?"

"Fine," she says, exasperated. "I'll do it. Give me that," she casts the line into the water and settles back into her seat. "Let's find out if I have any talent for water sports… My Law School boyfriend rowed crew. We used to go watch the regatta at the Head of the Charles every year."

"What happened to him?"

"He's in New York. Very successful. Two grown daughters. His wife sends a Christmas card."

"He the one that got away?"

She laughs. "Very appropriate metaphor. And no, thank God. He's so…" she shivers, "…dull. Hello! I think that was a hit."

Her face is radiant with excitement.

Kurt shifts to help her land the fish, which he can see by the way the rod is straining is a big one. Diane can't stop laughing as they pull it into the boat and she finally gets her hands around it. It's a walleye, and a whopper of one. Maybe four pounds. He takes her photograph.

He smiles at her as she releases the fish.

"Nicely done! What a fish! And on your first trip! The perfect end to the day," he says, glad that he didn't mention the bass he was secretly hoping for.

"That was wonderful!" Diane says. "I do understand why you enjoy this."

Kurt renews his resolve to catch a bass before the spring is over.

They row back to the dock, tie their boat and clamber onto a sandy shore, where they manage to claim the last unoccupied picnic table.

Kurt retrieves a cooler from the truck and unpacks it, laying out two water bottles, two sandwiches and two plums.

Diane looks fretful and distracted as she chews her sandwich.

"Food alright?" he asks.

"Yes, great," she says.

She is knitting her brow worriedly. He wants to lighten the mood so he says mischievously,

"What are you doing election night, Ms. Lockhart?"

She comes out of her reverie.

"Celebrating! Let's hope it's more like '08 than like '04. I'd like to go to bed early and happy, if you please."

"Going to bed early and happy sounds okay with me. I know I'll sleep very soundly after watching Obama concede."

"Tell you what. If Obama's re-elected, I'll buy you a drink. If not, you can buy me one."

"I don't see a downside to that arrangement," he says, grinning.

"Except that that's a long way off. I know we're both busy but don't you think we can find a way to see each other again before November? Or are we that kind of couple…? 'What are you doing New Year's Eve'?"

"We don't have to be," he says.

Her brow furrows again. Something has clearly been troubling her, so he goes ahead and asks.

"Something on your mind?"

"Yes. Kurt, I need to be honest about something. When I drove out to your place the other night, it was after another man stood me up. And I had a date with him last night, too."

Kurt tells himself that he shouldn't be surprised. He too has seen other people. So why does he feel like he's been punched in the gut?

"So I was - what? A consolation prize?

"No. I like him, but we just met. You and I have something different."

"What's that?"

"When I came to see you it felt like – coming home."

He wonders how that can possibly be true. When she came over she found Miranda, a heated political argument, and a perplexed Kurt. In what way was that "coming home"?

"I'm going to see him again. That is – unless –" she clears her throat and doesn't look directly at him as she says, "I won't see him if you don't want me to."

It's a lot to process.

"I think you should do what you want," he says, consciously echoing something she once said to him.

"I'm still figuring out what I want," she admits.

He gives her a long look. He can't pretend to be happy with this answer. He can be patient, though. He likes to think patience is one virtue he has in spades.

"Let me know when you do," he says at last.

He picks out a cloud in the sky and watches it arrange itself into a bird, a turtle and a snake successively.

Diane stands and begins repacking the cooler. Kurt gets to his feet as well. He doesn't want to leave things like this, but he doesn't know what to say. He puts a hand on her arm just above her elbow, meaning it as a friendly gesture. But she melts into him, leaning back against his shoulder. A little hum escapes her and the sound is so sweet he wants to kiss her until she's breathless. He doesn't, though. They stand like that and listen to the water lapping against the side of the dock.

They reach Diane's home at 1:59.

"Right on time," he says.

"We'll talk soon? Before November?" she jokes.

He gives her a serious look.

"Count on it."

It's as close as he'll come to saying what he wanted to say when they were in the boat.

"I mean it. Let's not let so much time go by this time," she says.

"Well, you know where to find me."

"Ditto." Then, seeming to realize how unsatisfactory a parting line this is, she adds, "I had fun today. Thank you."

She kisses him but it's brief and absent, as if her thoughts are already a million miles away.

Sunday morning before six am Kurt finds himself out on the lake again, rowing into the weeds. After two hours, he catches a bass – a huge one, a real beauty. He doesn't bother taking a picture before he lets the big fish slide through his fingers and into the water.