Page 37 of Forbidden Dreams
“So first thing is make sure you don’t stab yourself in the finger while you put the worm on the hook,” I instruct him, and he watches me with all his attention. I pick up a worm. “When I was younger, my father would make me stab the worm, and the guts would fly out.” I laugh. “But when I got older, I learned from my friends that there was a better way. Grab a hook and follow me.” He grabs a hook and then grabs a worm without being squeamish. “You stab the bottom of the worm.” I do it and watch him do it right away. “Push it up to the top of the hook.” I show him. “Now wrap the worm around the hook until a little is left, and stab it again.” I show him, and he slips the first time but gets it the second time. “Good job,” I praise him, and he smiles at me and everything, and I mean everything, in my body shifts. The smile is one that I will always, always remember. It’s also a smile I’m going to spend the rest of my life making sure he has on his face. “Now we fish.”
He nods at me. “Now we fish.” He stands next to me, and I show him how to cast into the water.
“Nice and slow,” I tell him, reeling mine in. We do that for about two hours before he gets a nibble on his line.
“Brady!” he shouts my name, reeling it in slowly. “Brady, I think I have something.” His excitement is everything. I watch as he brings it even closer, and the fishing rod curves a bit.
I step behind him to offer him help if he needs it. “You let me know if you need help,” I say as he reels it in faster and faster, the anticipation too much for him. The minute the fish is out of the water, he is so excited he almost drops the rod.
I catch it right before it slides into the water. “Sorry, Brady,” he says, his voice soft. I see him start to get nervous and my stomach goes tight. “I didn’t mean it.” His voice is shaking,
“Hey.” I laugh, trying to get him to see it’s not a big deal. “I did the same thing my first time,” I share with him, reeling in the line. “Except my rod is stuck down there somewhere.” He looks at me, then I hand him back the rod. “Take it out of the water, buddy.”
I watch him reel it in seeing a small fish on his hook. His eyes light up. “I did it.”
I get down beside him and take the fish off the hook. “You did,” I say, holding the fish in my hand, trying not to drop it as it flops. “You want a picture with it?” I ask him and he nods his head.
“You have to be gentle with it,” I say softly as he holds out his hands for the fish. Transferring it from my hand to his, I keep my hands under his just in case he drops it from being too slimy. Once I see he has it safely in his hand, I pull my phone out of my back pocket and aim it at him. “Say cheese,” I tell him and he smiles at me. “Okay, you ready to release it?” I ask him and he nods his head. “We are going to have to do it gently so he doesn’t hurt himself.” Holding his hand in mine, I lower it until it’s under the water. “Okay, let him go,” I tell him and he opens his hand and the fish surges forward. “You did it.”
“I did it,” he repeats my words with pride, “even though I almost lost your rod.”
I put my hands on his shoulders. “Mistakes happen,” he looks up at me, “accidents happen.”
“That’s what Mom says,” he mumbles, “but…”
“I can promise you this, I will never fault you for making a mistake. I will never hurt you because there was an accident.” I stop from saying I’m not like your father. “You’re safe with me,” is the only thing that I think to say. “Your mom is safe with me too.” Just so he knows that they are both safe with me.
“My dad,” he starts to say and I shake my head.
“He’s not going to get to her.” I squeeze his shoulder again, trying to give him courage. “He’s not going to hurt either of you again.” The words come out almost as a hiss. “Now let's see if we can catch another one, yeah.” I wait for him to look up at me, giving me a smile before I let him go and grab my own rod. “So far, it’s Wyatt one and Brady zero.” I cast my rod. “Let’s see if I can tie it up.”
“Or it’s Brady zero Wyatt two.” He follows my lead, casting his rod like we’ve been doing this forever. I can’t help the smile that forms on my face, happy today that I taught him something I hope he’ll one day teach his own son.
CHAPTER 22
Harmony
I put the rolls in the oven at the same time I hear the front door open and then my name being screamed, “Momma!” I shut the oven at the same time he turns the corner and walks into the room, his face beaming, and I mean beaming, even more than on his birthday and Christmas morning. “Momma,” he says, and I see his hands are filthy. It’s not just his hands. Dirt is also smeared on his face, his beautiful face, but the smell; it’s the smell that makes the smile escape my face. “I caught a fish.” He jumps up and down in front of me, causing the smell of fish to linger around me. “And Brady caught none.” I look over my shoulder at Brady standing there not looking dirty at all, but his face is just as beautiful as my boy’s and just as happy.
“He didn’t?” I ask as I push him toward the sink where I turn on the water and point at his hands.
“Nope,” Wyatt confirms, pumping soap into his hand before washing them, “only me, and it was a big one. Brady said it was bigger than the first fish he ever caught.” I look over my shoulder at Brady, who is now standing in front of the island and looking around.
“Wow,” I reply as his eyes go from the counter to the stove to the oven and then back to me. “Isn’t that fun?” He just nods.
“Did you sleep?” Brady barks out, and I don’t think he’s even aware of how tense his tone is. But when he sees Wyatt looking at me and then at him and he stops smiling, he quickly adds, “You were supposed to get rest, not clean the house.” He shakes his head. “You had one job,” he mumbles this time, making Wyatt laugh.
“Why don’t you go up and take a shower?” I urge Wyatt, who nods. “Then we can eat.” He dries his hands by waving his hands up and down before running out of the room and then stopping.
“Thank you for taking me fishing, Brady,” he says with his megawatt smile before running up the steps.
We both wait before the door slams shut before either of us talk. “Yes,” I quickly say, walking around the island, “I did nap.”
“For how long?” he asks. “Ten minutes?”
“You guys have been gone for close to four hours.” I look over and see it’s just a bit after one. “I was not going to sleep for four hours, but I did nap for two, and then I?—”
“Then you got out of bed and cleaned my house and cooked?” He chuckles.