“Now, I want you to stay seated, okay? Can you swim?” I ask as I buckle her life jacket.
She nods. “Mom takes me when it’s hot outside to the pool.”
“I’ll thread your line and show you how to cast it.”
“What’s casting mean?” she asks.
“It’s how you throw your bait in to try and catch a fish.” I mimic the move. “The farther away, the easier it is to draw them in. We want to be nice and quiet so we don’t scare them off.”
“I can be quiet,” she whispers, to prove her point.
“Good job.” I give her a high five. “Let’s get out there.”
Poppy chatters away about her day, telling me about her friends as we get farther away from the shore. I don’t know who any of the people she’s talking about are, but I love hearing about her day.
Finding a good spot, I come to a stop and grab the tackle box and our poles.
“Pick a lure and I’ll help you bait your line and then we’ll cast them.”
Poppy picks a bright orange one and I show her how to do everything. She’s a natural as her line sails into the water.
“Did I do it right?”
“You did. Great job.”
“Did you do this with your dad?” she asks.
Poppy is full of questions.
I shake my head. “My dad wasn’t around much when I was your age. But you know who showed me how to fish?”
“Who?”
“Verne.”
She giggles. “Mr. Verne liked Miss Betty’s secret milkshake.”
“What’s a secret milkshake?”
“It’s a secret.” I don’t miss the duh in her tone.
“Right.”
“My dad hasn’t taken me fishing.”
If only she knew.
“Do you want him to take you fishing?”
She shakes her head. “No. Because he makes Mom sad.”
“He does?” I ask, turning my attention to my daughter. She’s sitting cross-legged in the boat.
She nods. “Ever since we left Dad. He made her sad, so we left.”
Dad. It hurts to hear her call someone else that when I’m heractualfather. When that douche Paul got this time with her. He doesn’t deserve her. Hell, he doesn’t deserve either one of them.
“She left?”
