voices. The meeting lasted less than thirty minutes, but Sammie could feel the tension in the room. Her uncle and Littleton had raised the awareness of these confused and desperate people. A line of people formed next to the circulation desk, where Bella was waiting.
Sammie approached the Indian woman. “Dr. Patel?” Sammie shook hands with the doctor, and after a brief conversation, she joined Bella to help record contact information.
They ended up with twenty-six names. The first three were Thomas Malone, Wendy Jones, and Edith Easter.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE FISHING HOLE
SUNDAY, AUGUST 23, 1992
The Davis family was running about an hour late. Davis knew that Morty had already gone through his tackle box in anticipation of an afternoon of fishing, drinking beer, smoking cigars, and bullshitting. As usual, Morty would make his ham and cheese sandwiches with spicy German mustard. The two had been fishing together since 1975, and Morty always made the same type of sandwich and made the same bad joke about “two Jews eating ham in a row boat.”
This time Davis brought along Liza, their children, and Sammie. Bringing the family was an extra bonus. The whole family loved Morty, and he got a kick out of being with the children. They were the grandchildren he never had. Davis wanted Jake to learn how to fish with him and Morty. Liza, Sammie, and Caroline would play Frisbee and have a picnic lunch while they waited for the main course of the evening’s catfish dinner to be caught by the men. After they pulled into Morty’s driveway, Ben sent the three females to the pond in one of the golf carts so they could set up their picnic lunch.
Since Goldie’s death from cancer on July 4th, Morty had been living like a recluse, never leaving his farm, Squeeze Bottom. He had aged in the last month and now looked used up. Davis invited the old man to hishouse for a home-cooked meal at least a couple times each week, but he politely refused.
On May 8th, Morty retired completely in order to spend more time with Goldie. He hoped that they would share more than a few weeks together, but God had other plans.
The younger man tried to stay in touch via the telephone. However, his family and a busy law practice preoccupied him. He tried to go fishing with Morty as often as possible because he knew that those trips were the highlights of Morty’s weeks.
Davis and Jake walked in the house without knocking; Davis had been there more than a hundred times. “Sorry we’re late. Let’s not keep those catfish waiting.”
Morty’s grandfather Abe had purchased Squeeze Bottom, a house and 288 acres, in 1914. Despite its age, the main house appeared almost new due to a fresh paint job.
As they left the house, Davis held the screen door open and took the fishing rods and tackle box from his older friend’s hands. It was a glorious day. The sun was shining, the sky was dotted with cotton ball–looking clouds, and the birds were singing.
The trio stepped into the other golf cart parked in the circular gravel driveway, and Jake drove, sitting on Davis’s lap, to Dear’s Pond, which had been named in honor of Morty’s mother, Deidra. Morty took great pride in his private fishing hole.
As Davis and Jake unloaded the gear, Morty took a seat on his usual stump and began peppering Davis with questions. “How’s the practice since I left? How’s my girl Bella doing? How’s Sammie working out? Is sheas smart as you thought she’d be?”
Davis laughed. “Everybody’s doing fine. You know Bella is the one who keeps things moving along and on track. Sammie’s got some skills. She can work the computer and she knows how to research, but she’s raw and inexperienced. She also has an annoying habit of listening to music while wearing headphones. It’s very unprofessional.”
“Don’t sell her short just because you’re related by blood. Give her a chance. She’s smart. She needs to be taught,” Morty reminded him. “And with hard work and
Sammie approached the Indian woman. “Dr. Patel?” Sammie shook hands with the doctor, and after a brief conversation, she joined Bella to help record contact information.
They ended up with twenty-six names. The first three were Thomas Malone, Wendy Jones, and Edith Easter.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE FISHING HOLE
SUNDAY, AUGUST 23, 1992
The Davis family was running about an hour late. Davis knew that Morty had already gone through his tackle box in anticipation of an afternoon of fishing, drinking beer, smoking cigars, and bullshitting. As usual, Morty would make his ham and cheese sandwiches with spicy German mustard. The two had been fishing together since 1975, and Morty always made the same type of sandwich and made the same bad joke about “two Jews eating ham in a row boat.”
This time Davis brought along Liza, their children, and Sammie. Bringing the family was an extra bonus. The whole family loved Morty, and he got a kick out of being with the children. They were the grandchildren he never had. Davis wanted Jake to learn how to fish with him and Morty. Liza, Sammie, and Caroline would play Frisbee and have a picnic lunch while they waited for the main course of the evening’s catfish dinner to be caught by the men. After they pulled into Morty’s driveway, Ben sent the three females to the pond in one of the golf carts so they could set up their picnic lunch.
Since Goldie’s death from cancer on July 4th, Morty had been living like a recluse, never leaving his farm, Squeeze Bottom. He had aged in the last month and now looked used up. Davis invited the old man to hishouse for a home-cooked meal at least a couple times each week, but he politely refused.
On May 8th, Morty retired completely in order to spend more time with Goldie. He hoped that they would share more than a few weeks together, but God had other plans.
The younger man tried to stay in touch via the telephone. However, his family and a busy law practice preoccupied him. He tried to go fishing with Morty as often as possible because he knew that those trips were the highlights of Morty’s weeks.
Davis and Jake walked in the house without knocking; Davis had been there more than a hundred times. “Sorry we’re late. Let’s not keep those catfish waiting.”
Morty’s grandfather Abe had purchased Squeeze Bottom, a house and 288 acres, in 1914. Despite its age, the main house appeared almost new due to a fresh paint job.
As they left the house, Davis held the screen door open and took the fishing rods and tackle box from his older friend’s hands. It was a glorious day. The sun was shining, the sky was dotted with cotton ball–looking clouds, and the birds were singing.
The trio stepped into the other golf cart parked in the circular gravel driveway, and Jake drove, sitting on Davis’s lap, to Dear’s Pond, which had been named in honor of Morty’s mother, Deidra. Morty took great pride in his private fishing hole.
As Davis and Jake unloaded the gear, Morty took a seat on his usual stump and began peppering Davis with questions. “How’s the practice since I left? How’s my girl Bella doing? How’s Sammie working out? Is sheas smart as you thought she’d be?”
Davis laughed. “Everybody’s doing fine. You know Bella is the one who keeps things moving along and on track. Sammie’s got some skills. She can work the computer and she knows how to research, but she’s raw and inexperienced. She also has an annoying habit of listening to music while wearing headphones. It’s very unprofessional.”
“Don’t sell her short just because you’re related by blood. Give her a chance. She’s smart. She needs to be taught,” Morty reminded him. “And with hard work and
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