by Bob Rich
“I’m so sorry,” Mrs. Reno had said to William. “Cole had a picture that he wanted you to have if anything ever happened to him. I just mailed it to you. Let me know when it arrives.”
• • •
The grandfather and grandson slowed their boat as it reached the mooring.
“So, Kyle,” William said to his grandson, after clearing his throat and taking a deep breath, “Cole is more like a legend to me now, a ghost brother to fish with, a constant reminder to me to truly live each day of my life and to always say the things that need to be said when we still have the chance to say them.
“Life is tough, Kyle, and none of us gets a free pass. Part of growing up is learning that regardless of age or circumstance, everyone is trying to figure it out and get by. Parents are no exception. They’re not perfect. Keep an open mind and an open heart. It gets bad sometimes, but things will work out. I promise you.”
The little boat pulled up to the dock and the grandfather congratulated his grandson on the two pike he’d caught, the second of which lay in the bottom of the boat covered with melting ice from the cooler and an old green towel.
The old man could hear music coming from the bar of the Turtle. The boy gave the old man a smile and said, “So, Grandpa, how much of that story should I believe?”
The old man smiled, too, and said, “As much as you dare, my boy,” and extended his hand. “But remember our deal. You keep this one between us, okay?”
“Okay,” the boy said, giving his grandpa a big hug.
“Now go give your catch to the chef,” William said.
With the pike on a thin rope, the boy jumped up on the dock and began walking toward the restaurant, then paused and looked back at the old man.
“Grandpa?” he asked. “Do you ever wish you hadn’t let the marlin go?”
William thought and said, “I let more go than a fish that day, buddy, a lot more, and I never regretted it for a moment.”
Smiling, the boy said, “Can we go fishing again tomorrow, Grandpa?”
“I think we can work something out,” William answered, watching his grandson proudly bound up the stairs to the Turtle.
The man slowly climbed out of the little rowboat, stretched for a minute, and tied his lines to two dock posts. What had he really let go that day in the storm?
He’d let go of the anger he’d felt all those years over his father walking out on him. It had taken a long time, but he’d finally come to realize what he’d just shared with his own grandson. Parents aren’t as perfect as they would like appear to their children. They are from a different generation, but human, dealing as best they know how with their own sets of problems.
He’d let go of hatred for a sibling—a brother he hadn’t even known he had. He’d walked in that younger man’s shoes, been a part of his life for a short while, and seen the demons that he’d had to confront.
And finally, he’d let go of the smoldering rage that had all but consumed him. He’d realized that loneliness can be a function of loss of faith in those closest to us. And by letting go of the rage, he’d opened his heart to the opportunity to discover love.
As he opened the door of the Turtle, the sound of live music embraced him. He paused to listen to a very familiar song, “Unforgettable,” and smiled.
“Yes, my life has been good,” William said to himself. “I have no complaints. I’m a happy man, and after all, I got the girl and found true love.”
He took off his sunglasses and looked in to see his wife, Jenny, still beautiful in her sixties, singing into the microphone to a cheering crowd.
Jenny’s eyes lit up and she waved to her husband as he walked in.
Over in a corner, William saw his grandson, Kyle, standing with his mom examining an old framed photograph on the restaurant wall. William knew that the old photograph was of three men standing by an old truck in a Florida marina. One was an old angler, the second a swarthy fishing guide, and the third a peculiar fellow with a cut on his forehead in a filthy tuxedo.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Overriding thanks to Zachary “Zach” Dean, a thoughtful and talented screenplay writer/teacher whose creative collaboration gave me so much more than an outline for this, my first novel. I hope that his forthcoming movie, Guide, becomes a box office smash.
My friend John “Swany” Swan, a wonderful naturalist artist from Maine painted the cover, which I believe captures the important interaction between generations in an outdoor setting.
Craig “Bula” Reagor used pen and ink to draw the chapter openers, helping the characters and action to come to life.
Craig also joined Judy “the Good Witch” Roth, Sandy “Sid” Moret and his wife, Sue, to read and candidly critique my manuscript, for which I am grateful. My assistant, Kate Hart, never once frowned about my rewrites.
Thanks to Luke “Meat” Dempsey, an accomplished Brit ex-pat writer/editor, for teaching me how not to waste words and Fred Bimbler, who has represented me for six years.
I also appreciate the efforts of my friend of ten years, Meryl Moss, and am also indebted to my friends Pete Johnson and Kevin Aman.
It’s great to be back with Tony Lyons and Jay Cassell at Skyhorse. So much has happened since they published my first book in 2001.
It was also a pleasure working with their editor, Nicole Frail.
And finally, I want to thank my wife, Mindy, who continues to use her enormous skills as a producer to help me create a life worth living and some books that are, hopefully, worth reading.