Chapter 1 - The Last Photograph
"Everybody look at me for three seconds."
Grant was checking the boat straps for what had to be the fourth time. "Three seconds. That's all I'm asking."
"Dad's squishing me," my youngest complained.
Grant tightened the arm around his shoulders. "Good. Maybe you'll stay still."
The boys laughed. I took the picture. Click.
Grant glanced toward the truck. "Life jackets?"
Three groans. "Yes, Dad."
"Whistles?"
The middle one threw his head back. "Dad."
"Humor me."
"They're packed."
Grant nodded like national security had just been confirmed. That was my husband — full tank before any road trip, weather checked twice, then checked again because apparently the forecast could shift in the seventeen seconds since the last refresh. He'd fished that lake for three years. He knew every launch point, every shallow stretch, 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. Grant climbed into the truck.
"Sunday night," I said.
"I know." He smiled through the open window. "Miss me responsibly."
"Go."
May you like
The boys waved. I took one last picture as the truck pulled away.
I didn't know I'd just photographed four people I would never see again.
