Duck Mourning II

I could see a watercolor sunrise pushing out the darkness. What time is it? I thought. I glanced at the watch Momma gave at Dad’s funeral. 5:07 am. I still had some time before Momma or Grandpa would wake up.
I picked up abandoned rocks from the dock. Carefully choosing the flattest ones, I started skipping rocks. Honestly, I never could do that very well. My smooth, dusty colored rock flew straight in front of me, just where I had threw it. Then it hit the water and… plop! The rock sank to the bottom of the lake. I kept trying, but it didn’t work. I finally gave up when I thought I heard my name being called from far away. “Hayden, Hayden” I hit the ground running, sand flying up behind me as I went. I opened the door with a loud squeak. Breathlessly, I listened for a noise, any noise. I couldn’t hear anything except for my own panting and Grandpa’s loud snoring. Maybe no had called for me. I reached for the brass door handle to go back outside again, but I thought better of it. Even I have to sleep sometimes.
It seemed as if I’d barely put my head on my pillow before I woke up for the second time that day to go fishing. Normally Grandpa needed the day’s catch by 3 so he’d be at the market for the dinner rush. It was 12. I grabbed the my shabby fishing rod and was off, back to the dock. I pulled a grimey, thick worm from the rich earth in Momma’s veggie garden. The worm pulsed in my hand. Hooking it onto my fishing line, I cast out the translucent string. Almost immediately, something heavy was caught on my hook. I quickly reeled it in.