Meanwhile…
"Fishing is… boring." Hugo sat on the yacht's deck, his face melting into his palm. "Dad, Uncle Haines, why?"
Charles and Haines, lounging in their chairs, turned to Hugo. Both men couldn't help but wear sympathetic expressions, as it seemed Hugo had expected more from fishing.
"What kind of fishing were you expecting?" Charles snorted. "Doing it by the river and using sticks to catch one?"
"Exactly."
Haines chuckled at Hugo's response. "Today's a little slow, but I'm sure the fun will come soon."
"How soon?" Hugo mumbled, propping his hand on the other side of his jaw. "We've been here for hours now."
They had left home before dawn and arrived here after over an hour's drive. All they had caught were small fish that wouldn't even feed a child. With five adult men on the boat, Hugo was starting to feel hunger pangs in the scorching heat.
