Kevin waded in up to his knees.
Progress, thought Walt.
"How's that working out, anyway?" Walt asked.
"I'm good with it."
Walt had thought he might get a thank-you. He'd pulled strings to get Kevin on as a bellboy at the Sun Valley Lodge. Better than workingas a fry chef.
They moved downstream in tandem, keeping their distance from each other in order to avoid tangling lines. Walt's brother, Robert, had taught his son to fly- fish at the ripe old age of eight. Kevin had taken to it like a prodigy. Walt studied Kevin's technique, hoping some of it might rub off on him. He tried casting his line.
"We're trying to hook them, not whip them to death," Kevin said, sounding just like Robert.
"Ha- ha!" Walt replied, a lump in his throat.
Walt stiffened his arm. His second try was an improvement.
Walt's radio crackled. He and Kevin exchanged a look.
"I've got to monitor it. That's all."
Walt bit his tongue. Kevin was asking the impossible, and they both knew it.