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Under his dark-blue Yankees cap, the boy’s freckled face was locked deep in concentration. His tongue poked out between his front teeth. The line flowed back and forth smoothly and sailed out over the water.
    Pride swelled in Kevin’s chest. Teaching his son to connect with his primitive self on their annual fishing trip always put Kevin in a philosophical mood. Even on a windy morning, it sure beat sitting in his cubicle at the insurance company headquarters in New Jersey. He loved his wife and daughters immensely, but this manly-man time alone with his boy was precious.
    Kevin let out a foot of line and whisked his arm back over his shoulder. With a gentle forward movement, he cast the rod toward the river. The fly soared, and he laid the line down on the water with one smooth motion. The bug touched down with a gentle plop.
    “Man, you’re good at that.”
    Kevin looked over his shoulder. His brother, Tony, emerged from the woods. He crossed the strip of weeds to the riverbank.
    “When you’ve got it, you’ve got it.” Kevin was not telling Tony how many hours he practiced casting in his backyard. Fly-fishing lessons, two hundred dollars. Besting his younger brother? Priceless.
    “Morning, Uncle Tony,” Hunter said with a happy grin.
    “Morning, Little Man,” Tony answered, scratching his belly through his sweatshirt. He tucked his hands into the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie and hunched his shoulders against the chill. April nights were still cold this far north, and the wind that had blown the rains away overnight persisted.
    After a quick check to make sure Hunter wasn’t any closer to the water’s edge, Kevin turned his attention back to his line. Keeping the tip of the rod down, he lifted the line from the water.
    Tony sipped from a travel mug. “Do you actually like getting up this early?”
    “I have four kids. My house is chaos. I haven’t slept past six in more years than I want to count.” Kevin flipped the line back and cast again. Satisfaction welled as the fly set down like the real thing. Still, the trout were MIA this morning. “You’ll see. When’s Jenna due? September, right?”
    “Yeah. Honeymoon’s over, I guess.” Tony grimaced. “Is it really going to be that bad?”
    Kevin laughed and smiled as Hunter sent another fly out over the water. “Kids are great. They just think sleeping is a waste of time.”
    “Fish get up early, right, Dad?” Hunter added.
    “Right.” Kevin played the fly across the river’s surface. “And if you hadn’t tried to keep up with Paul tossing back the Heineys last night, that gong wouldn’t be ringing in your head right now. You’d be enjoying the morning with me and Hunter.”
    Tony bowed his head in mock shame. “I let Paul lead me astray. It’s his fault.”
    “You’re too old to keep up with our baby brother.” Kevin laughed. Just twenty-one, Paul was still in spring-break-no-real-job mode. “Is college boy still sleeping?”
    “Like a dead man.” Tony drained his cup.
    “More like a single man.”
    “No sh—kidding.” Tony corrected himself with a glance at Hunter. “I’m getting out of the cold. I’ll start breakfast and brew a fresh pot.”
    “Cool. I’m starving,” Hunter said.
    Tony grinned. “OK, kid. Coming right up. How does bacon and eggs sound?”
    “Awesome.” Hunter popped his fly across the water like a champ. He stopped suddenly and gave his uncle a pointed stare. “Do I have to eat fruit?”
    “Nope,” Uncle Tony answered. “This is Man Week, a vacation from balanced meals, personal hygiene, and all things pink.”
    “Woo hoo.” Hunter pumped a fist in the air and grinned.
    Kevin winced. His boy was going to smell like a sewer by the end of the week. But he’d be happy. With three younger sisters, Hunter often complained their house looked like the inside of the Pepto-Bismol bottle. They lived in Barbieland. “Since my superior angling skills have failed to land a trout, bacon and eggs sound