Fishy

Colorado, Rocky Mountains, log cabin, lake, creek, moose, elk, fireplace, meadow, aspen tree, & pine tree.

**

When Jill had kissed the aspen tree, my knees had gone watery. She had loved this place. The meadow and the log cabin. The elk head and lying on moose fur near the fire place. Tracing her sleeping form with my eyes in the morning sun had dimmed the Rocky Mountains.

But Jill was gone.

"Daddy, is that a Christmas tree? Why are there so may Christmas trees?"

Luke. My son. Our son. Always asking questions.

"Luke, they are called pine trees, not Christmas trees."

"But you didn't answer my question!!"

And I didn't care to either. Luke only liked questions.

When I parked by the lake and drew out the poles, he jumped around me a little, ripping off his shoes and tugging on his little rubber boots.

"Daddy, did Momma like fishing too?"

"Yes, she did."

"Daddy, will I catch a BIG fishy?"

"Yes, you can try!"

"Daddy, will--"

"Luke, grab those hooks and follow me."

Sometimes, you had to interrupt. At the creek, he walked slowly, his blond head bent down as he looked at where his feet were placed.

"Daddy, is this scary?"

"No, Luke. Just be careful."

And so we stood there. My three year old and I. In the middle of Colorado. I caught my first one and reeled it in, the flapping making Luke nervous. His eyes went wide as I slit it open.

"You okay Luke?"

He nodded feverently. Maybe my sister had been right. Maybe he was too young for this. I busied myself again with tying another hook. He watched me, and took a step away to give me space to stand by him again.

And then the tears came. Sliding down his sweet chin.

"Luke!"

I held him, and the little boy sobbed.

"Luke! Lukey, whats wrong? Are you scared? Did something happen?"

He peered up with his nose red. Red, just like Jill's used to get when she wept.

"But Daddy, why did Momma like killing the fishy!?"