Her father had never liked flowers. He thought they were a waste of money. And he never saw the point of putting flowers on graves. So she wasn’t going to take him flowers. She put the chewing tobacco in the same bag that had the fishing lures she’d taken out of Dad’s tackle box. She’d also taken a moment to use a pair of snips to clip the hooks off. Couldn’t have a stupid bird or mammal seeing the lures and deciding they were lunch, only to be hooked. Now the lures were rendered useless. At least at hooking.Along with the tobacco, the lures seemed like the perfect thing to put on Dad’s gravesite. The drive was long, he’d asked to be buried near the coast he liked to fish so much. So she’d found the cemetery closest to his fishing spot, off the jetties in Port O’Connor and gotten him a plot there. It was the best she could do at the time. But little did she know it would have the cotton fields right next to it. Dad loved cotton fields. Said they reminded him of his childhood.She parked her car and jumped out.
