“After you stab it in the mouth with a hook?”
“Yes . . . I suppose so.”
The kid looked so conflicted. I knew he didn’t want to hurt the fish. And while it wasn’t a dilemma that had ever kept me up at night, I could see how fishing might seem cruel.
“I have another idea,” I said.
And that was how we found ourselves standing on the edge of the pond, feeding canned corn to the fish in Grandpappy’s pond.
The murky brown water churned around the brim and catfish as they fought one another for a snack.
With sticky fingers and a big smile, I watched George laugh as he threw another handful.
I grinned too, even as the happiness in my heart was accompanied by an underlying sort of ache. George had been through so much. And despite the loss he’d endured, he was still a good-natured, big-hearted kid. He was smart and thoughtful, inquisitive and kind. He cared about animals and people. He told everyone to have a nice day. What seven-year-old did that?
George deserved goodness and light. He was owed some normalcy from the universe. Some happiness. And if I got to be a part of that—even for a little while—I wanted it.
I’d take him hiking or teach him every single thing I knew about farming. I’d let him feed the fish instead of catch them. I’d do whatever it took to make this little boy smile, to be a small part of his life.
Later, when our hands were clean and we sat side by side on the bench watching some geese float in the distance, I said, “We should invite Ian to feed the fish.”
“That’s okay,” George said simply.
I’d noticed some friction there and was curious why the kid was standoffish with his uncle, a guy who was trying so hard. Every time Ian caught sight of my friendship bracelets, he got this look on his face. Part pride and part longing. It was painful to watch George ignore him, especially when the boy was so attached to me, someone who’d been a stranger until very recently.
George had been with Ian for nearly a year. I would have thought that, by now, their relationship would be a little less rocky.
“You don’t think Ian would like feeding the fish?” I asked, making sure my tone held no judgment.
“Nah. He’s a movie star. He has big, important meetings. He doesn’t have time for fun stuff like that. He doesn’t have time for?—”
He cut himself off, but the “me” was loud in the stillness of the chilly afternoon.
With my gaze focused on the distance, I said, “Your uncle is pretty famous. I was nervous around him at first.”
I felt George’s attention on the side of my face. “You were?”
“Oh, sure. It’s weird to see someone in real life who’s been on a movie screen. Was it like that for you, too?”
“No. My mom never let me watch his movies. I didn’t know about all that until I came to live with him.”
I turned just enough to meet George’s gaze. “I bet that was real hard, moving to California.”
He nodded and looked down.
“But once I got to know your uncle,” I said, “I wasn’t as nervous. I realized he’s pretty silly sometimes. Not like a big, serious celebrity.”
George smiled a little and agreed, “He is pretty silly.”
“And don’t you see him every evening? Doesn’t he read you a bedtime story and tuck you in?”
I knew Ian did this because he’d told me it was the best part of his day. He didn’t always make it in time for dinner. And George didn’t always let him watchWheel of Fortune, but the bedtime story was something Ian consistently made time for.
“Yeah, I guess,” George admitted. “He does the voices. He’s pretty good at it.”
Smiling, I told him, “The movie stuff is just your uncle’s job, like farming is mine. If you really needed him, George, he’d be there for you. He’d find a way. He loves you.”
“It’s a weird job.”
