And Sons: A Novel

July 12, 1948

Dear Charlie,

Just got back from the big Lake Sawamaui canoe trip and my arms are spaghetti without the meat sauce. I can barely hold this tiny paddle of a pencil, and my eyes see nothing but water water water everywhere. But the trip was great. No injuries this time though there was a massive mosquito attack and we were without any proper ack. Poor Jeremy Fosckett almost got sunk. How’s the leg? Does it still hurt? I can still see you fall and hear you scream and you’re still lucky nothing worse got broken, like your head. It must’ve hurt like hell. Everybody here says hi and get well soon and watch your step and beware of the lemonade. You’re not missing much. I’m jealous you can go to the beach. How are the waves? Charlie buddy I didn’t mean to laugh when you were crying, honestly, but the sound you were making was funny in an awful sort of way. If you saw me laughing I am sorry. When I get home you can throw rocks at me. By the way I found some more stromatolites for you. I have to go now. Tonight’s the epic campfire. I’ll write your name on a log. Can’t wait to get home and sign your cast.

Your pal,
Andrew