An old man tells his granddaughter stories from the old days while they fish in the creek under the walking bridge in Everly Heights.
”Why, I remember bringing your mama out here to fish when she was your age,” Grandpa said.
”I bet Mom was awesome at fishing,” Mable replied.
Grandpa leaned forward, letting the bait brush against the murky creek water. “You’d lose that bet. Why, the first time I took her out, she wouldn’t even bait the hook!”
Mable scrunched up her face, confused. “But Mom said she was good at fishing.”
Grandpa smiled and closed his eyes. “Not at first, but in time, your mom figured it out. You will too.”
The fishing pole jerked in his hands. He braced his bare feet against the mud of the creek bed. “I’ve got a live one, Mable! Give your old Grandpa a hand.
Mable grabbed the base of the fishing rod, holding on so tight her fingers turned pink.
”Is this good, Grandpa?” she asked.
Grandpa just smiled at her, then helped her pull the fish up out of the water. It wiggled back and forth, splashing Mable’s face in the process.
”Gross!” she squealed. “Fish water.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
Grandpa grabbed his net and brought in the fish. “That’s a big one you caught, Mabel. I bet your mom is gonna be real proud of you.”
Mabel smiled. “Really?”
”You bet.”
Grandpa pulled a worm from its styrofoam container, then held it out to Mabel.
”Wanna bait the hook?”
Mabel carefully grabbed the worm from Grandpa’s hand, then slid it onto the hook. Grandpa smiled at her with pride, then tossed the line into the creek.
