“Does it usually rock back and forth like that?” asked Rosy.

“Ah, don’t worry too much ‘bout it,” said Otto. “Gets that way when the wind picks up. But that’s alright. Fish like the wind.”

Rosy laughed. His tension eased. “What do you mean they like the wind?”

“Shit, I don’t know. I catch a lot more of ‘em, though.”

The wind blew them over towards the point, where a couple of fallen pines jutted out into the lake.

“Try right over there,” Otto instructed, motioning beside one of the waterlogged trunks.

Rosy cast his line, but he couldn’t get the timing right. His bait plunked into the water a few feet from the boat. He gathered the line and tossed it a second time, landing closer.

A mosquito buzzed in his ear. Another one feasted on his leg.

Rosy Richardson settled into his seat and waited.


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