Dead Madonna Read Free Page B

changed his life.
    Thanks to that fly rod, he would enjoy extraordinary evenings in breathtaking streams, followed by enchanting nights in the arms of a woman he had never expected to meet: a woman who fished. And one who was so impressed with his willingness to spend money on a good rod—not to mention take instruction from a female—that she agreed to teach him the basics of fly-fishing. To their mutual surprise, they caught more than trout: each hooked the other by the heart.
    The late morning sun fell warm across Osborne’s shoulders. Overhead the air was still. Wisps of white cotton clouds brushed a Dresden blue sky. A perfect July day. Resting his hands on the oar handles, he let the boat drift, pulling Cody’s bobber along.
    He couldn’t help but congratulate himself for spending time and money to restore the old Rhinelander rowboat, a sturdy antique that he had inherited from his father. The money spent on the boat, the new spinning rod—even the buck fifty on angleworms—all added up to a look on his grandson’s face that he couldn’t buy.
    Having cast a respectable twenty feet out from the boat, the youngster sat perfectly still, breath held and eyes fixed on the gentle rocking of the red and white bobber. Across from him, Osborne sat just as still but with peace and gratitude brimming in his heart.
    “Grandpa?” Mason broke the silence from where she had let her kayak drift down the shoreline. Osborne glanced her way. In her white, one-piece swimsuit, orange life vest and blue-green kayak, she was as colorful as a water lily in full bloom. Waving her paddle, she said, “Did Mom tell you we found the secret passage yesterday? We went all the way up to Hidden Lake. Found secret treasure, too, Grandpa.
    “I wanted to bring you a present ‘cause all the secret stuff is so cool, but Mom said no. She thinks it has to belong to somebody but I know she’s wrong. Why would you put stuff way out in the woods? So Mom and I made a deal—if it’s still there next summer, I get to keep it. And I know right where to find it, too, but you have to be in a kayak or a canoe ‘cause it’s pretty shallow. Too shallow for your fishing boat, you know.” She spoke with an authority that made her grandfather grin.
    Keeping an eye on Cody’s bobber, Osborne said, “Good for you, Mason. You’re wise to listen to your mother and I’m impressed with your kayaking. You’re becoming quite the expert, young lady.”
    “Yep,” said Mason, tilting her head as she grinned with pride, “that’s what Mom said.” She dipped her paddle, pointing the kayak towards the rowboat. Osborne was about to warn her not to crowd Cody’s bobber but decided to keep his mouth shut, trusting she would use her head and not need a scolding.
    Mason was his daughter Erin’s middle child. Overshadowed by twelve-year-old Beth, an excellent athlete and student, and by her little brother Cody, the first boy and an exuberant, easy-to-love child—Mason had a habit of going to extremes to get attention. Osborne cut her more slack than her parents did; he knew just how she felt.
    He, too, had been overshadowed. Mary Lee’s attitude towards him had changed after Erin’s birth. The intimacies of their early years together seemed to vanish overnight. Instead, Osborne found himself treated as an irritating but necessary appendage to a life in which a house and two daughters came first. No matter what he tried, he couldn’t win: if he wasn’t boring his wife, he was doing something wrong.
    At first he had no idea how to handle the new family dynamic. His own mother had died when he was six. His father, who never remarried, sent him to an all-boys Jesuit boarding school. So Osborne wasn’t sure what to expect from a wife. Then one evening, over drinks at a Knights of Columbus dinner, he stumbled onto a secret: many men were married to women like Mary Lee.
    And what did they do? They fished—but for more than just fish. Boats and lakes, rivers and