Ch. 3 | The Weekend Dad

Be patient, Ernesto. He’s only nine, the man muttered to himself.

Ernesto Cabrillo was spending the weekend with his son, Marco. After an acrimonious divorce, the court gave primary custody to his ex, which — much to Ernesto’s dismay — left him a weekend dad. It didn’t help that Yeserella had already moved in with her affair partner, Mack, who made significantly more money than Ernesto. Well, technically, his title was groundskeeper, but to anyone who’d listen, he called himself a maintenance technician. It sounded more proper.

Mack was all too eager to buy Marco’s affection — a plan that worked expeditiously well. They even had a nickname for each other: M2.

Which is why Ernesto thought it’d be a good idea to take his son fishing at Lake Mead. Sure, he’d never be able to compete with Mack financially, but at least he could show his boy the art of fishing. And since summer was winding down, it wasn’t the usual, unbearably hot day. You can’t buy memories or life skills, he thought smugly.

“Do we have to stay out here so long?” Marco whined. They’d already invested three hours on Ernesto’s boat — boat being a generous term for the aging and dilapidated vessel.

“We haven’t even caught anything. And there’s no Wi-Fi.”

“Mijo,” Ernesto sighed. “It’s a beautiful day. No need for Wi-Fi on a day like this that God provided. You can’t have an experience like this on your Nintendo.”

Marco rolled his eyes and grumbled. Mack was supposed to be taking him to the new Raiders stadium today. But it was the weekend, and he knew his father would never give up his time — especially for Mack. Still, Marco had a plan. He just needed a good excuse. Maybe if he faked sick. Yeah, that could be the ticket, he thought.

Ernesto cast his line and set down his rod. He turned to Marco, who was peering into the water with unusual focus. That’s the spirit, kiddo, he thought. At least he isn’t complaining right now. This trip might turn out alright.

He turned back to check on his line.

“Uh, Dad,” Marco said cautiously. “There’s something in the water.”

“It’s fine,” Ernesto replied absently, still facing the rod. “The drought’s made the water recede a bit. Probably just some trash or other goodies. I’m sure people have left behind a bunch of junk. That’s all it is.”

“Uh, Dad,” Marco repeated, his tone rising. “It’s more than junk. That’s a car — and I’m pretty sure there are people in it.”

Ernesto whipped around and rushed toward his son. The water, while shallower than usual, was still murky. He grabbed a pair of goggles. Leaning over the side of the boat, he took a breath and plunged his head into the water.

It only took a second to confirm his son’s suspicion.

Horrified, he yanked himself back up and fell hard into the boat, the jolt sending a sharp pain through his lower back.

“Argh!” he cried out, clutching his side.

“Dad!” Marco rushed to his side.

“It’s okay,” Ernesto grunted. “Grab my phone. We need to call the police.”

Marco solemnly nodded and dug the phone out of his father’s jacket pocket. As terrified as he was, he found a silver lining in the ordeal.

This definitely warrants a good excuse to go to the Raiders stadium.