Saving Rain

by Kelsey Kingsley

Grampa's tackle box creaked open to reveal his treasured collection of bobbers and hooks. Last year and every year before it, he never let me touch them myself. I was too young, he'd said. I could hurt myself, he'd said. But now, he was showing me how to attach the hook to a line and bait it without his help. “Look at you go,” he said, watching with a glimmer of pride reflecting in his tired eyes as I hooked the wriggling worm with ease. I didn't poke myself once. “Cool.” I grinned, holding the line up to smile at my handiwork. Grampa laid a hand against my shoulder and squeezed. “Soon, you won't need me anymore.” All at once, my pride was wiped away by an unfamiliar, unexplained sadness and dread. Billy's grandfather had died a couple of years ago, and ever since then, I'd been acutely aware of Grampa's wrinkled skin and white hair. He wasn't as fast as he used to be, and he couldn't go up and down the stairs without complaining about his knees. I was doing more of the chores around the house because Gramma had insisted Grampa couldn't do them anymore, and I didn't like it.