Later, when it’s quiet, we end up outside the tent, staring at the lake. The moon reflects on the water, while crickets fill the comfortable silence. “I’m glad we’re doing this.”
Alex huffs out a breath. “Me too,” he says. “Thanks, Nate.For caring.”
I bump my shoulder into his, “Anytime, kid.”
It’s late in the morning on our last day when I finally manage to get Alex to come fishing with me. I know it ain’t his thing, but dad used to take me, and hell, Alex is as much my boy as anybody, so it’s time to pass on the tradition.
He’s sitting against a tree, guitar perched on his lap. His hair’s a mess, and his clothes are dirty from sitting on the ground, but he looks more at peace than I’ve seen in a long time.
Like being on this trip has released him from whatever burden he’s been carrying around.
“Whatcha playing?” I ask, stopping in front of him.
“Nothing,” he says, but continues to play a pretty tune I haven’t heard before.
Kid’s damn talented.
“Well,” I clap my hands together, “Guitar can wait. C’mon. We’re going fishing.”
“I don’t wanna go fishing,” he complains, “I’m working on something.”
“You can play that thing any time. C’mon.” I grin. “You’ll like it once we get out there.”
He gives me a flat look, but after a second, he sighs, setting his guitar on the ground. “You always do this,” he mutters, grabbing his hoodie from a pile of leaves. “Make me do outdoors crap.”
“Outdoors crap builds character,” I tell him, handing him one of the old rods. “Besides, I’ll do most of the work. All you gotta do is sit there with the fishing pole. Ain’t exactly rocket science.”
Alex pouts, but follows me anyway, grumbling, “I don’t wanna catch fish.”
We settle in on a pair of overturned buckets near a rotting dock, and I bait his hook for him, like Dad used to do for me when I was a kid.
“You remember coming out here when we were younger?” I ask, flicking my wrist to cast out.
“Not really.”
“First time we brought you, you were still a baby, just starting to walk.” I smile at the memory of playing with baby Alex at this same campsite.
He was real cute, all blonde hair and big blue eyes, chubby as can be.
“I remember,” I start, pushing away the sadness that tugs at my heart. “I begged Dad to bring us. It was tradition, y’know? I figured that still mattered even if Mom was gone. He finally agreed, but spent the whole time drunk off his ass.”
“Sounds like dad,” Alex says, not bothering to hide the hatred he has for dad.
We’ve been having a good time, even if Alex don’t wanna admit it.
Telling old stories, teasing each other, goofing off, like old times. But at some point, Alex stops talking, instead focusing on something far in the distance.
“You alright?” I ask, bumping his arm.
“I’m sorry, Nate.”
“What for?” I frown.
“For everything.” he stares down at the water, shouldershunched. “For existing, I guess.”
I stare at him, fishing rod going slack in my hands. “What the hell are you talking about, kid?”
“If I hadn’t been born,” The words spill out fast like they’ve been sitting inside him too long, “Mom would still be here. Dad wouldn’t have fallen apart. You wouldn’t have had to take care of me and miss out on your own life.” His voice cracks. “Everything would be better.”
