Page 70 of Lost and Found

“No,” I hear over my shoulder. Silas stands there with one of his proud, unshakable smirks. He dips his chin at me. “She’s got this.”

I grit my teeth and keep moving the reel, centimeter by grueling centimeter.

“Fish on!” squeals Wren.

I don’t know how long I work at it. Wren and another sailor get theirs in before I’m able to bring in mine. The muscles in my hands cramp, and either a tear or a bead of sweat rolls down my cheek. My bruised, sore ass aches with every tiny movement. Pretty soon, I’m cussing up a storm, growling like an animal, and yelling out crackbrained things.

“I will NOT be bested by some Picasso-ass looking fish! I fucking hate Picasso!” Someone gasps and I think I hear them mumble, “That feels unnecessary.”

“FUCK THIS FISH! AND FUCK PICASSO!” I insist.

“FUCK PICASSO!” Silas echoes behind me.

A deckhand comes over and asks us to cool it since there are also kids on this boat. I see the flash of a white belly surface in the water not far off and the captain yells, “WE GOT A BARN DOOR!”

“Silas, I can’t feel my hands!” I cry.

“I know, baby. You’re almost there.”

Baby? Or Bea? I’m too exhausted to care. “I’m afraid I’ll let go and lose it!”

“You won’t,” he urges. “I won’t let you. Look, I’m right here.” He comes up close behind me, and his hands cup my elbows. I lean back into him and try to tilt the pole up. He helps me by his fingertips but doesn’t otherwise interfere.

More crew members start to gather around, leaning over the boat with tools in hand. One of them tells me I’m going to need to take a big step back when he says.

“Now!”

Silas yanks me back with one arm and holds the pole steady with the other. He collapses into a bench with me in the cradle of his lap. The crew hauls the fish up in a net, still thrashing and thudding violently. Everyone cheers around us, but I look to Silas.

“Tell me it’s a new world record,” I gasp.

“It’s a new world record,” Silas confirms.

“It’s maybe sixty pounds?” says one of the crew, quizzically.

“It’s the biggest fish anyone has ever caught, ever,” Silas insists.

“It’s at least the catch of the day,” the captain amends cheerfully.

Pools of turquoise travel in loops around my face. I can feel my beanie sliding askew, and I’m still trying to swallow back air. My entire body shakes from adrenaline, and my teeth start to chatter.

“You hear that?” Silas asks. “Catch of a lifetime.”

CHAPTER 26

One Day, Five Years Ago

Bea

Merritt skips in from the rain, throws herself into the station seat beside mine, and tosses her wet bangs out of her eyes. Ever since her hair grew back with a new wave, she’s embraced doing new, fun things with it. This thick, messy bob is the best she’s ever looked, I think. Probably has something to do with her color and strength being back overall, too. Being cancer-free wasn’t the sum of the battle. Her road to recovery has been paved with reconstructive surgeries and painstakingly rebuilding her stamina again.

“Good news, BB,” she declares. “I’m finally over my long-standing Silas Byrd crush. I’ve worked him out of my system.”

“Fuck,” I hiss when my shears slip from my hand and stab into my palm. “What do you mean? What are you talking about?”

She spins in the chair to give me a slinky smile. “I went out with him a few times.”

I busy myself by putting my shears away. I was about to give my own bangs a trim here on my lunch break, but I think me and sharp objects are a bad mix at the moment. “Oh yeah?” I say. The decibel and pitch at which my voice just came out solidifies it.