My Son Brought

lake water, holding a gas station breakfast sandwich, and carrying the leather notebook he had given my father the Christmas before.

“Grandpa brought it,” he said.

I looked at the notebook.

The edges were worn now.

“He uses it?”

“Yeah.”

Caleb opened it and showed me.

Inside were fishing notes in my father’s tight handwriting.

Dates.

Weather.

Bait.

And on the continue reading …