Generations

Generations Part 1, Chapter 9

At four o'clock, Emit walked to the parking area by the lakefront, about ten yards down the shore, to start loading the gear back into his truck. He wanted to leave plenty of time to get Nate home before Audree was off work. He'd already be there in the house with Nate, safe and sound, when she came in. He knew she'd be mad, but when she saw how happy Nate was after his day out, saw that Emit was straight and sober, he'd have proved something. Emit could be a good guy for Nate to have in his life if she'd just give him the chance. Emit hummed to himself as he arranged the rods and tucked his old plastic tackle box under the seat.

Nate was by the pier. There were rows of picnic tables and public barbecue pits there, where vacationers and campers could eat lunch by the dirt shore. It had been the site of what Emit had called "our grand feast"­— a greasy meal of burgers and onions rings from the fast food chain down the road. Nate had begged Emit to make a fire for marshmallows, but Emit had said no. Audree probably wouldn't like them making a fire, and besides it had been years since Emit had built one.

The lake glowed orange in the afternoon, and Emit let himself get lost in the beauty of it. His humming became soft singing as he gracefully rolled an invisible hat down the length of his arm.

Emit was shaken out of his dance by the sound of breaking glass. He thought of Nate and his heart stopped. Emit raced toward the pier, his boots barely keeping traction in the mud.

He found Nate crouched by the water, blessedly alive, with the wet bag of Lone Stars sitting at his feet. His shoulders were hitching up and down and Emit could hear him moaning.

"What's wrong, Chief?"

Nate sucked up his runny nose and held his hand out to his uncle. "Wanted to see." He had to scream his words between sobs. "Pulled the rope up. Only took one." His breathing was torn and ragged. "Put it right back. Back where you had it. But then the rock and I slipped and the bottle—" Nate's face crumbled, the pain overwhelming him.

A Lone Star bottle was crushed into the boy's hand. Dozens of bloody shards of glass wedged deep into the flesh. Nathan's pinky and ring finger were hanging limply down from his hand at sharp angles. They were both sliced deep at the bottom joint, pumping thick blood out onto the dirt. Emit couldn't tell how attached the fingers still were.

Emit took off his over shirt to hold onto the wound and then thought better of pushing the glass in further. "It's okay. It's okay," he breathed. Emit was shaking all over, his chest so tight it felt like his ribs were being crushed.

Nathan only screamed in response. Emit looked back and forth for anyone else on the lake, but they'd been alone all day. He took Nathan's hand gently by the wrist and guided the boy to the truck.

"It's going to be okay. There's a lake office by the road," Emit said. He was pushing down vomit in his throat just to make the words. "They have a nurse there. They'll have you all better in no time." Emit was crying now, too. A raspy, frantic crying that betrayed all his panic. He worked to push words like "tendon" and "mangled" from his mind.

Nate yelped with every bump along the gravel path that followed the water. "It's okay to let it out," he told Nate. "Cry loud. It helps." The boy let out a wail, screaming with all he had.

"There you go. That's better, right? You'll see. This isn't anything. An accident, is all. I'll call your mom when we get to the lake office. You'll see. Everything will be fine."