Tony Fahey sat on the cabin porch, watching two fishermen in a blue bass boat trace the reef. He ate whole wheat toast with butter and creamed honey. The fishermen might be the oldest Flanagan brothers, 
each forty pounds heavier than he remembered them. Tony hadn’t seen any of the Flanagans in twenty years and didn’t recognize the boat.
Beyond his small bay, the north wind topped the gray-blue water with whitecaps. A green and yellow sail fluttered on the opposite side of the lake, half a mile away. The Faheys hadn’t had a sailboat in the water this season.
