“Scotty has a new venture.” Dad peered over his paper, clearly reliving nightmares of Scotty’s entrepreneurial spirit.
“Is it … What is it?”
I was five when Scotty roped me into a lemonade business. It may have worked but he got the sugar mixed up with salt. His grilled cheese emporium went under after a rare virus ravaged most of his customers. Only the neighbors two dogs escaped but I’ve never been convinced they ate the discarded sandwiches. His t-shirt business never took off. We have t-shirts for days stashed in the garage.
All of this flashed through dad’s mind, I could read it on his face.
“Honey, should we continue supporting these things? He’s insanely smart, he’s going to go far but …” Mom held her hand up silencing the criticism.
“Do you want to kill his spirit?”
As his snot nosed kid sister, I would call that an ok idea.
Dad sighed and set his paper to the side. “Fine. Let’s go see.”
Scotty stood proudly in the street, a tugboat with fresh blue letters bleeding down the side sat behind him.
“Son, you’ve never been on a boat. We don’t live anywhere near water.”
Word Count: 197
For Sunday Photo Fiction