He came back five minutes later with a cane pole. Twelve feet long. Old. The line wrapped around the end.
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“Found it in the shed,” he said. “Behind the grease guns. Next to the tackle box.” He handed it to
Mom. “Figured somebody’d want it someday.”Track Pregnancy
There was a strip of white tape around the bottom. The ink was faded almost to nothing. But you could still read it.
SHERYL.
I baited her hook. With a nightcrawler from the coffee can, the way Grandpa taught me. Mom clipped on her bobber. Her hands were still shaking.
Then the three of us sat at the end of the dock. Mom in the middle. Brit on one side, me on the other. Three cane poles out over the water. Three red and white bobbers sitting on the still, dark pond.
