Paddled

Fiction

If Mick Holtman saw one more bruise on his nephew’s arms or anywhere else, he swore his sister Savannah was gonna wake up a widow.

Mick’s knuckles heated up when he heard Savannah’s douchecannon husband say “kid’s gonna be the best quarterback in the SEC one day,” and Donnie Carkin said it about twice an hour.

Mick got Savannah’s permission to take Colt canoeing the weekend after the 4th of July, and Donnie handed Mick a list of upper body exercises that “were to be performed” as a stipulation for the permission.

Colt looked at the list like someone looking at a dead skunk on top of their favorite comic books in a garbage can.

Out on the Dealm, deep into the river, past Corcoran Bridge just south of Kodiak Valley, Mick lost his nerve to ask his nephew flat out if his father was abusive. Not garden variety stern and physical, but something that Mick could latch onto and use the information to somehow change the situation.

How?

No idea, nothing actionable anyway.

They canoed as far as Fox Island, which had a native name that had nothing to do with foxes, where kids flipped pennies into the tiny bay on the island for good luck.

Mick told his nephew about the tradition and handed Colt a penny.