The house is just as beautiful inside as it is outside, with worn wood floors and a grand staircase. I follow George to the back of the house as my eyes scan the place. Everything is antique and feels so authentic to the house. The smell of food wafts in the air, causing my stomach to grumble. It’s been so long since I’ve had a home cooked meal and my stomach is eager for it.
“George!” A tall, black boy calls as he comes barreling down the stairs. He’s younger than George. If I had to guess, he’s maybe seventeen, and extremely handsome.
“Cameron.” George grins as they slam into each other, giving one another a hard pat on the back. “Good to see you, little brother.”
So this is the little brother.
Cameron pulls away and his gaze finds mine. “And who do we have here?” he asks as he swaggers toward me.
George rolls his eyes again. “Charlotte, this is my little brother, Cameron. Cam, this is Charlotte.”
“Nice to meet you,” Cameron says, as he eyes me.
“You, too,” I add. “I didn’t realize George had a little brother.”
“Well, he doesn’t tell many people. It’s obvious I’m much better looking so he tries to hide me from the world.”
“Yeah. I’m jealous of your good looks,” George retorts.
“How could you not be?” Cameron asks. “I mean, look at all this,” he motions his hands down his body, “this beautiful mocha skin, these mahogany eyes, and this stellar smile.”
“There’s no denying it,” George agrees mockingly. “You’re much better looking.”
“And let’s not even get started on the size of my—”
“Cameron!” Beverly scolds as she approaches.
Cameron smiles and pulls her in for a hug. “I was going to say heart, Mom. I have the biggest heart in the county.” When she pulls away, she gives him a knowing look. “What’d you think I was going to say?” Cameron asks coyly. “You didn’t think . . . oh no . . . come on, Mom,” he feigns disbelief. “Get your mind out of the gutter, woman.”
George and I are fighting hard not to laugh as Beverly turns bright red. Ike, on the other hand, is laughing loudly. “Cameron McDermott, I’m going to beat you senseless.”
“Gutter mind and abusive,” Cameron tsks. “Charlotte, save me,” he whispers. “I have such a young, impressionable mind, and I’m being raised by a really twisted woman, here.”
Beverly smacks Cameron’s arm. “George,” she says. “I may need you to dig a hole out back. One big enough for a body.”
We all laugh as Cameron picks her up and twirls her around. “I love you, Mom. You know you’re the best.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she replies as he places her back on her feet and she touches at her hair to make sure it’s still in place. “I’m still going to beat you.” Turning to me, she takes my hands. “It’s so good to see you again, Charlotte.”
“You, too, Mrs. McDermott. Thank you for having me.” I smile.
“Dinner won’t be ready for a while, but I know George can keep you entertained. George, your father is down at the river, fishing. Why don’t you take Charlotte down and introduce them.”
“Sure,” George agrees. “You coming, Cam?” George asks.
“No, he’s not,” Beverly adds. “Cam is going to set the table.”
“Did I mention she’s an advocate for child labor?” Cameron says to me.
“Is that so?” I laugh.
“Cameron,” Beverly mumbles. “You better get in there and set that table.” At this point, Beverly is fighting hard not to laugh herself.
Cameron leans toward me. “That’s code for she’s going to beat me,” he whispers.
“I’m glad I’m not you,” I whisper back. “She looks tough.”
“You have no idea,” he replies.
George leads me out the back door and onto the porch. There he slips off his boots and puts on a long pair of rain boots. Picking up some poles and other belongings, we head down toward the water. As we near it, an older man comes into view, flinging his pole back and forth over the water.
“Hey, Pop,” George shouts, and the older man waves in response.
“The trout are biting, today, son. You better get in here and get your line wet,” his father yells back.
Once we’ve reached the water, George drops everything and points to some overalls-looking thing with rubber boots attached to it. “Put that on.”
I look down at my outfit. I’m wearing my best jeans and a fitted, black, long sleeve T-shirt. Not the nicest outfit, but I don’t look like a schlub and I don’t want to ruin my jeans.
“It’ll protect your clothes,” George adds as he picks up his pole and starts playing with the string attached to it. It doesn’t look like your classic fishing pole.
“Protect them from what?”
“The water.” He points.
“Oh. I’m not doing . . . that,” I state adamantly. “I’ve never fished before.”
George’s mouth curves into a smile, but he doesn’t look at me. “Then you’re about to learn.” I look to Ike but he just smiles as he stares at his father.
“You’ll like this, Charlotte. Fly-fishing is a religion in these parts.”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Whatever that’s supposed to mean.