Be Brave, Grandson
Grandpa stealthily motioned at me. I was only halfway done with my enchiladas but he was waving me to his truck. His beat up Silverado ("It can handle any terrain", he'd say) had two rifles peeking out the back. I excused myself from lunch and got in the passenger seat. We listened to old Spanish hymns on the drive and he whistled along. Ollie was in the back panting gently. I rubbed her head and noticed he'd packed my camo gear in the backseat too. And hopefully that cooler just had snacks. "Where we headed?" I asked. "Roan." "Hm, solid drive." "Yeah," he said, with his usual grunting sound. "We'll just see what we can find out there today." The car hit a bump and I heard the clink of bottles. I didn't bother asking if he'd told anyone we were leaving. Because now I knew he hadn't. Grandpa's hat had those breathing holes in the sides and the tip of the bill was worn from use and lightly decorated ...