Page 131 of Before We Say Goodbye
Otis worked his section of river as best as he could. Cam had a way of knowing where the fish were. Otis could only guess. He found a solid place to stand, maybe twenty feet into the river. It was a lovely feeling, the cool water rushing by his legs.
It took him a while to get the hang of things. Cam had reminded him once again to let the line finish its path behind him before he brought it forward again. “Patience, Dad. Patience.” Over and over, Otis set the fly in the same place and watched it drift down.
Twenty minutes in, a trout shot out of the water and nabbed his fly. Seeing that trout hit his fly was something magical.
“Look at that, Cam!” Otis yelled, tugging on his fish and reeling him in.
Cam raised his hands up in the air, a victory indeed.
Otis brought in the fish and was careful not to harm him. Cam had taught him exactly how to extract the barbless hook and get the fish back into the water so it could go on living.
It didn’t take him long to hook a tree that hung out over the water. Cam noticed and climbed out and walked down to help. “I think that’s the longest you’ve ever made it without getting snagged.” He took over and followed the line into the leaves with his hand.
“I’m a fish in. Did you see that trout?” Otis asked.
“I did.”
“How many have you caught?”
“A few.”
“Good for you.”
Cam had to break the line; then he went about tying on a new leader and fly. Otis held the reel in his hand and watched his son. Camden truly was content. Somehow he hadn’t been burdened like Otis with a desperate need to prove himself. It was as if he’d already achieved all his goals, and now he was along for the ride. His son lived like a sailor who had caught the perfect wind, soaring by, unaffected by all the troubles out there.
“Okay,” Cam said, looking over at Otis after finishing up the knot, “you’re all set. Go get ’em, Dad.”
Those were the last words Camden ever spoke.
Go get ’em, Dad.
He flashed a smile and then was gone, going back to what he enjoyed more than anything else on earth.
A while later, Otis looked upriver in time to see a fish tear into Cam’s fly, the silver flapping out of the water. His son set the hook like a master, fully present. He stepped up onto a rock to bring it the rest of the way in, and as the fish surfaced again, Cam slipped.
In an instant, his feet flew above his head, and he came down hard on a neighboring rock, headfirst.
Otis’s chest tightened. “Cam, you okay?”
Cam’s body folded into itself and began to drift down the river, his fishing pole still in the water, tugged by the fish.
Otis dropped his rod and reel. Heart roaring, he started upriver, but it would take him forever wading through the water, so he cut a hard right straight to the shore. He slipped a few times as he fought the current, but he finally reached a flat path and raced out of the water.
On shore, dripping wet and slowed by the waders and boots, he ran as fast as he could, peeling off his vest, keeping one eye on Camden, who still hadn’t raised his head out of the water. The rod and reel floated by.
Otis called Camden’s name, but he was out of breath and terrified, so it barely came out. He navigated the rocky shore, climbed over several tree trunks, and once he was close enough, he splashed back into the river.
Blood rushed from a gap in Cam’s head and swirled in the water. Otis wrapped his arms around his son’s trunk and dragged him to a large flat rock.
Otis wasn’t trained in CPR, and later, it would be one of the million things that would eat him up. How had he not been prepared?
He didn’t know what to do; he didn’t fucking know!
Following his instincts, he knelt and pressed his clasped hands against Cam’s chest and pushed. He pushed again, not knowing whether it was the right spot, but there had to be water in his lungs, and he had to get it out.
“Cam, tell me what to do,” he pleaded.
The gash spread blood all over the rock; the water was red.
