Page 59 of Risky Game

Amelia looked up at me and frowned. “But you don’t have a boat and you play football.”

“That I do, sweetie. That I do.”

“Then how can—”

“Kayaks,” I said loudly. Too loudly. Steve hid his laugh behind a cough and Amelia forgot about helms and boats, racing to the bright yellow, two-person kayaks hanging vertically along a wall.

“That one!” she cried. “I like that one cuz it’s got seats so we don’t fall out and sink.”

I turned to Steve. “We’ll take that one.”

After getting us set up with paddles, two larger ones for adults and a lighter, shorter one that would work for Amelia, she then raced down the aisle where the fishing poles were.

“Look, Daddy! A Tangled pole!”

She shouted so loud, men in the aisle frowned at her noise. My glare had them returning to their business, but I still walked up to Amelia and reminded her of her inside voice.

“But it’s Tangled,” she whined in a half-whisper, half-shout. “Can I get it?”

She’d been right earlier that my dad loved to fish. His father had lived on a lake and we’d taken family vacations there all the time. I hadn’t been fishing in twenty years and I had no idea if the lake we were on was even stocked with fish. Hadn’t actually considered I’d have the time to enjoy it much during the season.

I still pulled my phone out of my pocket, pulled up Dad’s number, and when he answered, I asked, “Hey, Dad. Amelia and I are at the store looking at fishing gear. Got any advice on what we need?”

My dad’s voice boomed with happiness almost as loudly as Amelia had earlier.

At least I knew where she got it from.

Steve left me to the phone call but stayed close in case we had questions.

Thirty minutes later, we walked out of the store with a kayak and extra paddles. Fishing poles for a small army. We had two tackle boxes, a Frozen one for Amelia that clashed with her Tangled pole, but I was smart enough to keep my mouth shut. We had lures and spinners and fake worms and grubs for bait along with bobbers and weight sets. I’d thrown in gloves and pliers.

Our drive home had the kayak tied and strapped to the truck bed, the rest of it filled with everything else we had.

“I need more swimsuits,” Amelia said as we drove down a street near our house and she caught sight of the Target sign.

“You have plenty.”

“Both those are for the pool, not the lake.”

Duh, Dad, might as well have been tacked on to the end of that sentence.

“Please? My pool suits can’t get lake stuff on them.”

She was smarter than I gave her credit for. Although Vanessa was the one who gave her the Target obsession.

I caught her gaze through the rearview mirror. She was smiling. Huge. She’d been happy all day. I knew it was temporary. She’d pushed down the anger and hurt from our talk earlier and that was sure to resurface all over again at some point.

But for right then, I’d do anything to keep that smile on her face.

So we went to Target.

I didn’t buy her a swimsuit for the lake.

I bought her five.

And I would have bought her twelve if she’d asked.

I was dragging the kayak through the grass. I also had one of the paddles and two life vests strung on my arm. Next to me, Amelia was dragging her smaller paddle, huffing and puffing from the hard work.

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