“Humor me.”
“They’re packed.”
Daniel nodded as if national security had just been confirmed.
That was my husband.
Full tank before a road trip.
Weather checked twice.
Then checked again because apparently weather could change in the 17 seconds since the last refresh.
Daniel nodded as if national security had just been confirmed.
He had fished that lake for three years.
He knew every launch point, every shallow stretch, and every place the current turned strange after heavy rain.
That morning, I kissed him and told the boys not to live on chips all weekend.
Daniel climbed into the truck.
“Sunday night.”
“I know.”
That morning, I kissed him and told the boys not to live on chips all weekend.
He smiled through the open window.
“Miss me responsibly.”
“Go.”
The boys waved.
I took one last picture as the truck pulled away.
I didn’t know I had just photographed four people I would never see again.
