The morning sun peeked over the horizon, painting the water in a beautiful array of pastel colors. The lake was deserted, just as the man had hoped, though rising before the dawn had helped. His son had grumbled, but not excessively, after all, it was their first fishing trip together, and they'd planned this day for weeks. The man had also hoped today would be a good bonding experience for them since they got so little time together.
Yet, he hadn't expected to share his dark secret that fateful morning, but startling truths have a way of worming their way to the surface when you least expect them.
The pair set their poles and tackle boxes in the small aluminum boat along with the containers of nightcrawlers. The boat had been tied off to the public access dock, so the man could park his rusted-out pickup truck and trailer in the gravel lot near the boat launch.
"Climb in, and I'll hand you the coolers," the man said.
"Yes, sir," the boy replied happily.
The man smiled. The boy was a good kid despite his mother's influence.
With one hand on a dock post for the support, the boy tentatively placed one foot in the boat. It shifted as far as the ropes would allow before bouncing back against the dock. The ten-year-old found his sea legs and set the second foot down on the thin metal floor before taking a quick seat on the front bench.
The man handed over a small blue cooler that contained their lunch; sandwiches, apples, and several cans of soda. The boy set that down in the nose of the boat. Next came a larger red cooler with a white lid that the boy placed that in the open space between the benches. It was surprisingly light, with only a thin layer of ice lining the bottom.
Jumping gracefully into the boat, the man untied it from the rear mooring. The boy did the same in the front, and the man yanked on the starter rope of the old 85' Evinrude outboard. The motor sputtered, fired once, and then stalled.
"Damn it!" the man cursed.
His voice carried across the quiet lake. The boy looked around nervously.
The man adjusted the choke, pulled harder on the rope, and the motor roared to life. He pushed it into gear, the boat puttered towards a drop-off at the far end of the lake. He'd fished in hundreds of lakes in Michigan, but this body of water was new to the man, however, it was not too far from the boy's new home and using a satellite image, he'd mapped out a couple good spots the fish may be hiding.
When they reached their first location, the man anchored the boat precisely, so they could cast easily into the shallows.
The boy snatched his pole from its resting place. "Can I start?"
"Go for it. Do you need help with the worm?" the man asked, secretly hoping the boy would say no.
"I'm good."
The boy removed a fat wriggling nightcrawler from a pale blue container. It eluded the sharp point of the hook twice before the boy could stab the slimy thing through its center. He released the spool lock, cocked the pole back away from his father, and then jerked his arm forward. Worm and line sailed through the air.
Ker-plunk.
It landed perfectly just beyond the drop-off. The man could not have cast it better himself. Ripples cascaded out in ever-growing circles.
The boy reeled it in slowly, pausing, then reeling again to entice the large-mouth bass waiting in the deeper waters for an easy meal. The man stared at the line, willing a fish to take the bait.
