Going Full Throttle

Chapter 6

There was nothing better than waking up early on a day where you didn't have any plans. Somehow the lack of responsibilities made the mattress softer, and the blankets warmer.

I nestled into my pillow, enjoying the quiet sounds of the lake waking up outside my window. The lyrical chirping of birds kept me from falling back asleep as I tried to separate the gurgled whistle of the Jays from the wavering wail of the Loons.

The pitter-patter of small feet above me made me stretch my neck to listen closer. The old creaky cabin allowed me to keep track of Finn as he crossed the hallway upstairs to the bathroom. It was honestly sad how much relief washed over me at the sound of the sink water running, indicating he had washed his hands.

Four-year-olds are gross when it comes to personal hygiene.

When the light footsteps jumped down the stairs I braced myself for impact. Soon my door would be thrown open and Finn's small indignant face would pop up next to my bed, wondering what's for breakfast.

I frowned, though, when my door stayed closed. I cranked my neck, listening for the sounds of the unusually quiet boy. I lurched out of bed when the back door clicked open.

The backyard was still mostly in shadow as the rising sun hadn't passed over the cabin yet. As I stepped out on the back deck, I caught sight of Finn running barefoot towards the dock.

My first instinct was to yell out for him to stop. He knew the rule was that he had to wear a lifejacket on the dock. But something in his determined actions this morning made me too curious to stop him. So instead, I slipped down the stairs quietly to the lawn and followed him.

The morning dew on the grass dampened my feet, making it impossible to stay quiet as they slapped against the wooden dock. Finn sat at the very end with his legs crossed, staring out at the water. He must have heard me coming, but he never turned around.

"What are we staring at?" I asked as I sat next to him.

"Shhhh!" Finn hissed, bringing his finger to his lips.

"Sorry," I whispered, "what are we staring at?"

"The weeds," Finn responded in an equally hushed tone.

I was confused until I followed his line of sight out at the lake, I raised an eyebrow at the tall green reeds that sprang up sporadically from the water. They mostly clustered off towards the edge of the point where land met water; the ground there being soft and marshy.

"Finn, why are we staring at the reeds?" I whispered after it was clear he thought he'd explained himself enough.

"I'm twying to catch him." Finn narrowed his eyes towards the long, oversized lake-grass. "The Gween Weed Gwizzly," he added when my puzzled expression only grew.

My gaze moved back to water as warmth spread throughout my heart. "Who told you about him?"

Finn dropped his chin on his small fists and huffed, clearly frustrated the Green Reed Grizzly wasn't making an appearance.

"Beau," he finally answered.

That made sense.

The Green Reed Grizzly was a story that Beau and my dad had made up when we were kids. The intention had been to scare us from going too deep into the water when we were still learning how to swim. Every time we'd start wandering too far away from the beach we'd inevitably hear, "Careful! Go any farther and the Green Reed Grizzly might getcha!"

Unfortunately for them, much like Finn, I'd become obsessed with catching a sight of the big guy. Poor Scotty had been forced along on many adventures where I'd been sure we'd see him.