“Absolutely. I brought all of my stuff with me.” I walked over and opened the back of my SUV. “But only if you’re comfortable with it.”
“I think that’ll be fine.” She smiled. “He wasn’t happy being cooped up all day anyway.”
Sometimes being a prince had its perks. “Thank you, Katie.”
She blushed a little and bobbed her head again. “Come along, Marty. Let’s get you changed.”
“I’ll meet you inside.” I winked at Marty and turned back to the equipment. I’d raided Alex’s stash, because it had been forever since I had been fishing. He and Sam used to go from time to time, but never came back with any fish. Either they sucked at it or were doing something else out there by the lake.
I juggled the tackle box and two poles into the house and stopped in the foyer. I could hear Marty talking excitedly upstairs, but wasn’t sure where to wait. I didn’t want to just make myself at home. That seemed rude. I looked around the opening and noticed that the drawing from the night before was gone. I couldn’t help but wonder what she had done with it. It certainly hadn’t been my best work. Just a quick pencil sketch.
Marty raced down the stairs in a pair of fishing boots, jeans, and long-sleeved T-shirt. Katie followed behind him making shushing sounds. His grin was infectious.
“Ready?” I asked.
“Gotta get my stuff out of the shed in the back.” He took off down the hallway.
“Are you sure you can handle him? He’s a handful.” Katie looked up at me with a small smile.
“Yeah. It’ll be fine.” I shrugged. “Besides, we won’t be far from the house. You’ll hear my screams for help.”
“I’ll keep an ear open while I clean up the fort in the living room.” She laughed. “He’s a good kid.”
I followed Marty’s path to the back of the house and then the sounds of him rummaging through a shed near an old barn.
“Did you find your stuff?” I leaned my poles against the metal wall in case I needed to climb in there and help him.
“Yeah.” He grunted as he pulled on something. “But it’s stuck.”
“Here, let me try.” I reached over his head and pulled the rod in question up and out of the offending metal stand.
“Thanks.” He rummaged along the floor and came up with a well-worn tackle box. “This was my great granddad’s.”
His face clouded up and I felt my heart tighten.
“Do you think it’s okay if I use it?” He looked up at me with shimmery eyes and I panicked. I hadn’t meant to make him upset.
“Hey, I think he would be glad to know it was getting use.” I knelt down and picked up a twig and rolled it around between my fingers. “When my dad died, there were lots of things that made me think of him. His favorite TV show, a pair of binoculars we used when we’d go birding. At first it was hard to see those things, but then I realized they were little pieces of him still left behind.”
“My heart hurts.” A tear ran down his cheek.
“I know, buddy.” I reached out and pulled him into a hug. “It’ll get better though.”
He sniffled against my shoulder and I let him have a moment. It felt so strange to be holding such a small person, but right, too. There was this odd tug on my own heart, the desire to make him feel better, but I knew the only thing that would help would be time. So instead I held him and offered my support the only way I knew how.
“I think he’d want me to use it.” He leaned back and rubbed his nose along his sleeve.
“I think you’re right.” I stood up and grabbed the tackle box and held it out to him. “Ready to go catch some fish?”
“Yeah.” He grabbed his pole in one hand and the tackle box in the other. We made our way out to a small pier that jutted out into the pond.
“Nice place.” I set my box down and looked around.
Thick trees circled the pond, providing lots of shaded areas for the fish to hide. Wildflowers were scattered around, hogging the areas where the sunlight filtered through the branches.
“Great Granddad loved it. He said it was the best part.” Marty opened the tackle box and looked through the different lures.
“Here, let me help with that.” The last thing I wanted was him to stab himself with a hook.
I searched through the lures, not sure which ones were appropriate for this type of water. The last time I had gone fishing I had used a worm and hadn’t really cared about catching any fish. I’d been busy taking pictures for a project.
“No, not that one.” Marty’s little hand darted into the box and pulled up a different lure. “This one.”
“Okay.” I took the one he handed me and went about attaching it to the line of his pole. I fumbled a bit, but eventually got the piece attached. I looked up triumphantly and noticed Marty was giggling. “What?”
“You’re not really good at that, are you?” He pointed at the pole I was holding.
“What?” I frowned at the lure. Sure it was a little crooked, but that wasn’t a big deal. Was it?
“Here.” Marty took the pole from me and I watched in amazement as his little fingers fixed my mess. “Great Granddad showed me how to do this when we moved here.”
“Huh.” I looked at the lure and then at Marty. “I guess you’re right. I’m not very good at it.”