Haunted (Michael Bennett 10)

Shawna said, “Did you have to feed your family?”

“No, darling. But we used to camp, and I liked to fish. In fact, I could fish your Gramps under the table.”

Chapter 38

It was like a duel in eighteenth-century France. The fishing contest was on. Old Irish against young Irish. It couldn’t have been more exciting if one of them had slapped the other across the face with white gloves.

I couldn’t believe how quickly the kids got ready and found all manner of fishing rods in the garage. They each set about a task. Fiona grabbed some bread from the pantry. Ricky and Eddie dug for worms at the edge of an overgrown garden. And I checked the structural integrity of the dock, which ran from the shoreline more than seventy-five feet into the water, where it opened onto a wide platform.

The family divided into two factions. Those who wanted to see if Seamus was telling another of his tall tales and those who wanted to see what Mary Catherine was bragging about. It was fun from everyone’s perspective.

Out on the dock, I was impressed with the way Seamus handled the rod. He pulled in two decent bass before I had the first bite on my line. Then he started explaining to Ricky the subtle nuances of casting and reeling the worm in slowly.

Then Trent hooked something that made his reel whine as it swam out to deeper water. Trent put on an odd accent and said, “That’s a big fish.”

Eddie immediately said, “Aye, that’s a twenty-footer.”

Trent came back with, “Twenty-five. Three tons of him.”

I laughed out loud when I realized my sons were doing a scene from Jaws. I smiled as the boys worked the line until whatever they were pulling in broke free.

Then I heard a shout from the shoreline. My natural instinct as a father made me race down the dock toward shore. As I leaped onto solid ground, I saw Juliana up to her knees in the cold water and Mary Catherine standing on the shore.

Just as I skidded to a stop, I realized they were helping a squealing Chrissy pull in what appeared to be the winning fish. She tried turning the handle of the small kids’ reel as the rod bent nearly in half under the weight of the fish.

Mary Catherine gently coaxed Chrissy to walk backward and helped her with the rod. Ultimately it was Mary Catherine who pulled the giant lunker onto shore.

It was a catfish unlike any I had ever seen. It had to be six inches across at its head and almost two feet long.

Chrissy looked down at the fish and said, “We aren’t going to eat that, are we?”

By now Seamus had walked up, and he chuckled as he said, “Of course we are. Catfish is even tastier than cat.”

Chrissy was suitably horrified, while the rest of us laughed in the warm sunshine.

These were the days I lived for.

Chapter 39

Our first dinner at Mildew Manor looked like a feast from a medieval lord’s castle. We pushed two tables together and covered them with a long tablecloth. On top were baskets of bread, a platter piled high with roasted corn on the cob, and plates heaped with trout, bass, and, of course, catfish.

I was impressed with Ricky’s ability to cook the three kinds of fish in different ways. He sautéed the trout, fried the catfish, and baked the bass. It was a wonder to behold, and he never looked happier.

As we sat down, a couple of the kids looked ready to pounce on the bounty we had placed on the table. But the sight of my grandfather at the end of the table as he cleared his throat froze everyone in place.

He bowed his head, and everyone followed his example. In what we liked to call his prayer voice—a serious and solemn tone he rarely used in other situations—Seamus said, “Dear Lord, thank you for allowing us to all be here together and experience the wonders of nature and the beauty of this land. And thank you most of all for giving each of us the ability and insight to realize what a great day this was and how important each of us is to the family. And, dear Lord, please protect our sweet Brian as he works to overcome the obstacles placed before him. Amen.”

In unison, the entire table followed with “Amen.”

The trout went first, then the bass. I noticed a hesitation among the kids to try the breaded catfish. It wasn’t the typical entrée served on the Upper West Side of Manhattan.

I winked at Seamus, who immediately understood what I wanted to do. We both reached for a piece of catfish and then pretended to fight over it. That drew the attention of the kids, and before I knew it, all the pieces of fried catfish were being devoured. It was such a big hit that I wondered where I would be able to buy catfish in the city when we got back.

As the meal wound down and we looked out over the lake and the setting sun, I knew I had to treasure these moments with my family. How many times had I let something like this slip past me because I was focused on work?

As amazing as the whole day had been, I couldn’t help but think how much better it would have been if Brian had been able to join us.

I thought back on my grandfather’s prayer. I needed to have the insight to appreciate how great a day like this could be. I also felt a touch of sadness at how rarely days like this happened.