“NEXT YEAR I want you and I to go bonefishing together,” Dad says from his chair as I walk by him. I’m frozen in my step and dread fills my gut. I’m unable to form words for a response. He fumbles with the tablet in his blanketed lap and, with trembling hands, is somehow able to open a website with pictures of turquoise flats. “I’ll pay.”
Scattered around him is an aluminum walker, a pile of wading
