old man was weird.”
“You thought so, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“I thought he seemed friendly at first,” Patrick said. “But then he did get kinda weird, didn’t he?”
Caleb nodded.
Patrick glanced over at the bait container on the passenger seat. He grabbed it and raised it into the air so his son could see. “You wanna open it up and take a look?”
Caleb quickly shook his head.
“No?” Patrick smiled.
Caleb shook his head again.
“No creepy, crawly critters for Caleb?”
The boy smiled, but the answer was still an emphatic no.
Patrick smirked and set the container back down. “Okay…but we’re gonna have to look some time, brother-man.”
16
Two wooden docks bordered Crescent Lake, each one extending close to twenty feet out over the water—more than enough distance to cast a decent line into the belly of the lake.
As the family settled in on the dock closest to their cabin, Amy was skeptical but amused by her husband’s child-like determination for the afternoon’s activity. His enthusiasm for family adventures that held low but harmless odds for success was one of his many charms she loved, finding it irresistibly adorable.
“Wait and see,” Patrick told her, head down, fiddling with the crank on his fishing pole. “Just wait and see, my poor pessimistic wife.”
Amy snorted. “I will see, my dear, dopey, delusional husband.”
“Ah—three. Touché. However I got three in the car with Caleb on the way back from the bait shop. All with the letter C. So that’s actually four if you count his name, which of course I used.”
“Sorry, four-year-olds don’t make credible witnesses for the absurd, asinine, alliteration affairs you make me take part in,” she said.
He cast her a sideways glance, raised an eyebrow, looked at the sky for a rebuttal. His shoulders eventually slumped. “I’ve got nothing. Kudos, baby.”
She took a bow and blew him a kiss.
“Dad?” Caleb said.
“What’s up, brother?”
Caleb looked down at the pole in his hands, to the bait container on his left, and then finally up at his father.
“I’ma comin’, pal.” Patrick started towards Caleb to help him prepare his hook. He looked at Amy first, smirked and said, “Baby, can you hold my rod while I help Caleb?”
Amy tilted her head to one side, bit down on her lip, gave her husband a look that read: Darling, that double entendre was so blatantly obvious that it would belittle us both if I even attempted to retort with some equally juvenile quip.
She took his fishing rod from him all the same, but had released the bite on her lip, no longer capable of fighting off a devilish smirk of her own. Patrick’s smirk remained, a naughty pumping of the eyebrows joining it, adding to their foreplay, the notion that such actions were limited to the bedroom a foreign concept to the couple.
“Carrie, sweetie, do you want to watch Caleb bait a hook?” Patrick asked his daughter, who was in the process of trying to hold Oscar in her arms for more than two seconds at a stretch before he wiggled out.
“No,” she said bluntly as she scooped the dog up again, managing three seconds this time.
“ Women, ” Patrick said, winking at his son. Caleb winked back and smiled. “Alright, brother-man, dig me out a good one so we can bait that hook of yours, okay?”
Caleb walked over the wooden planks and picked up the Styrofoam container. His tiny fingers worked at the plastic lid, eventually peeling it off and dropping it to the ground. He looked at the dirt and the slimy critters therein, then back at his father with an uncertain face.
“They won’t bite, pal, I promise. They’re just a bit slimy.”
Caleb looked back down at the container, closed his eyes, and dug his little digits in.
“That’s my boy,” Patrick beamed.
Caleb withdrew his fingers from the soil and immediately placed his catch into his father’s hand. He would dig and he would grab, but he wasn’t about to hold just yet.
Patrick
“You thought so, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“I thought he seemed friendly at first,” Patrick said. “But then he did get kinda weird, didn’t he?”
Caleb nodded.
Patrick glanced over at the bait container on the passenger seat. He grabbed it and raised it into the air so his son could see. “You wanna open it up and take a look?”
Caleb quickly shook his head.
“No?” Patrick smiled.
Caleb shook his head again.
“No creepy, crawly critters for Caleb?”
The boy smiled, but the answer was still an emphatic no.
Patrick smirked and set the container back down. “Okay…but we’re gonna have to look some time, brother-man.”
16
Two wooden docks bordered Crescent Lake, each one extending close to twenty feet out over the water—more than enough distance to cast a decent line into the belly of the lake.
As the family settled in on the dock closest to their cabin, Amy was skeptical but amused by her husband’s child-like determination for the afternoon’s activity. His enthusiasm for family adventures that held low but harmless odds for success was one of his many charms she loved, finding it irresistibly adorable.
“Wait and see,” Patrick told her, head down, fiddling with the crank on his fishing pole. “Just wait and see, my poor pessimistic wife.”
Amy snorted. “I will see, my dear, dopey, delusional husband.”
“Ah—three. Touché. However I got three in the car with Caleb on the way back from the bait shop. All with the letter C. So that’s actually four if you count his name, which of course I used.”
“Sorry, four-year-olds don’t make credible witnesses for the absurd, asinine, alliteration affairs you make me take part in,” she said.
He cast her a sideways glance, raised an eyebrow, looked at the sky for a rebuttal. His shoulders eventually slumped. “I’ve got nothing. Kudos, baby.”
She took a bow and blew him a kiss.
“Dad?” Caleb said.
“What’s up, brother?”
Caleb looked down at the pole in his hands, to the bait container on his left, and then finally up at his father.
“I’ma comin’, pal.” Patrick started towards Caleb to help him prepare his hook. He looked at Amy first, smirked and said, “Baby, can you hold my rod while I help Caleb?”
Amy tilted her head to one side, bit down on her lip, gave her husband a look that read: Darling, that double entendre was so blatantly obvious that it would belittle us both if I even attempted to retort with some equally juvenile quip.
She took his fishing rod from him all the same, but had released the bite on her lip, no longer capable of fighting off a devilish smirk of her own. Patrick’s smirk remained, a naughty pumping of the eyebrows joining it, adding to their foreplay, the notion that such actions were limited to the bedroom a foreign concept to the couple.
“Carrie, sweetie, do you want to watch Caleb bait a hook?” Patrick asked his daughter, who was in the process of trying to hold Oscar in her arms for more than two seconds at a stretch before he wiggled out.
“No,” she said bluntly as she scooped the dog up again, managing three seconds this time.
“ Women, ” Patrick said, winking at his son. Caleb winked back and smiled. “Alright, brother-man, dig me out a good one so we can bait that hook of yours, okay?”
Caleb walked over the wooden planks and picked up the Styrofoam container. His tiny fingers worked at the plastic lid, eventually peeling it off and dropping it to the ground. He looked at the dirt and the slimy critters therein, then back at his father with an uncertain face.
“They won’t bite, pal, I promise. They’re just a bit slimy.”
Caleb looked back down at the container, closed his eyes, and dug his little digits in.
“That’s my boy,” Patrick beamed.
Caleb withdrew his fingers from the soil and immediately placed his catch into his father’s hand. He would dig and he would grab, but he wasn’t about to hold just yet.
Patrick
Similar Books
