Andre picked up the book and gathered his little boy close, ready to teach him some classic poetry.

"Daddy, what's the Mississippi River?” Henry asked, curiosity sparkling in his eyes.

Andre smiled. "The Mississippi? That's America's mother river."

Henry shot a puzzled glance at his mom.

Mia laughed. “It's your dad's mother river, but not mine. The Mississippi is a big, beautiful river-long, wide, and sparkling."

"Mommy, are there fish to eat in the river?" Henry wondered aloud.

That made Mia sit up cross-legged on the bed. "Honey, have I ever eaten Mississippi River fish?"

Henry scrambled up onto Andre's chest. “Daddy, I haven't had it either.”

Andre let out a patient sigh. "Let's read the poem first. When I get some time, I'll take you both to see for yourselves."

through the poem—he just stuck his little bottom in

just as wiped out. Instead of making it back to their own room, they curled up together

phone with her friends. Molly answered, yawning so hard Mia could almost hear it through

"Nope. Yours?”

he went— even if he got into a little trouble-he brought laughter and smiles in his wake. His face was always lit up with joy, and Mia found herself grinning too, totally caught


here—there's a bird!" Henry called

grandson called him "Grampy." He said it was their own special name, and clever little

outside. "Let's see this

dragonfly. You know, when dragonflies fly low, it means it's about

“Grampy,

and gray-it was supposed to be the rainy season, but Havenbrook had barely seen any rain this year. People were already calling

sons, Andre, if this dry spell keeps up, the crops are

thing about the markets—they're never steady. Bruce

"Bruce,

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