by Ann McMan
“Why are they all connected to each other with string?”
“Ah.” Barb lifted a loose end of the string that linked all the fish together. “Aphrodite and Eros tied their tails together so they wouldn’t get lost in the sea.”
“Sounds like a plan. Someone should’ve suggested that idea to Quinn.”
“Think it would’ve helped her out?”
“Probably not.”
Barb laughed. Page never minced words. She’d always been that way. Ever since they were kids.
“Well? What do you think of it?”
“I think the entire NEA is a ridiculous waste of taxpayer money. But if it’s money that’s going to get spent anyway, I’m glad some of it came your way.” Page looked at her. Her clear, blue eyes were full of approbation. “It’s incredible work. I’m proud of you.”
Barb knew it would be difficult to respond without stammering, so she didn’t reply. And that was okay. Her cousin understood her better than most people, and she knew how much her approval would mean.
Page took hold of her arm.
“Come on. You’ve worked enough for today. Let’s go back outside and sit in the sun.”
“The Gut” was a bay-like area located west of the drawbridge over Route 2. It was reputed to be a good spot, even though it was a stretch of water that saw a lot of boat traffic. Bass were rumored to like hanging around near the bases of the concrete and stone support pillars. Quinn could imagine that on hot summer days, these shaded areas would be a lot cooler for the lazy fish. Plus the water was a lot deeper through here and the bass liked the safety that provided. She guessed the constant rumble of cars and trucks roaring by overhead didn’t bother the fish too much. Probably because they knew they didn’t need to fear them. The majority of their predators crept up in high-priced boats.
Ladd Point, on the other side of the bridge, had pretty much been a bust—at least for largemouth. This part of the upper Inland Sea had plenty of rock ledges and weed beds to explore, but Quinn thought all the marina traffic had probably churned things up too much. It was a beautiful day, and the gentle winds and calmer waters were luring recreational boaters out in droves. Quinn eventually gave up, and Montana moved them along to one of their last spots on Junior’s map.
They were all feeling pretty somber. It was nearly one o’clock, and the final weigh-in of the tournament would commence in about an hour. Quinn knew she was running out of time. She feared that what was shaping up to be her biggest catch of the day would only win her points in certain “specialty” shops. But she did have to admit it was pretty funny when Marvin slipped the enormous dildo into the live well while Montana was distracted grilling their hot dogs.
Quinn was fishing around the bases of the big support pillars. She could tell that Marvin was antsy about spending too much time beneath the bridge. He’d flinch whenever a big rig would roll over the drawbridge above their heads. Quinn wanted to tell him to relax. They were nearly finished. It wasn’t going to happen today. Not today, and not any other day, either.
But she’d had a good run. She wasn’t sorry about any of it. She gave it her best shot, and she learned a lot. Coming to this place had been one of the best things she’d ever done. She proved to herself that she was good enough to do something nobody else believed she could. And even though she wasn’t going to be leaving Vermont as a winner, she understood that this experience had changed her life forever.
A lot of that was due to Phoebe—the cranky old fish who refused to play by anybody else’s rules. Quinn had learned more from her in two weeks than she’d learned in all twelve years of school.
She knew that Phoebe thought she was thickheaded. A human lunker—big and slow. That much was certainly true. It took her a long time to figure things out. But during the last couple of days, she had started to gain some insight. The process was a lot like watching photos taken with old Polaroid cameras. Landscapes and images of people you knew would slowly materialize from nothing. The old anglers said that clarity like this was what you got when you spent a lot of time on the water, alone with your thoughts and your fishing pole. There were even spots on the lake that Junior called his church pews—the places where he felt the most peace and contentment.
She still couldn’t find the words to describe what had changed for her, but she was aware of it just the same.
Another big truck rumbled overhead. She didn’t need to see Marvin to know he was flinching. They needed to move on. Nothing was going to happen here.
She pulled in her line and signaled to Montana that she was ready to give up.
“Are you sure?” Montana pointed at the opposite side of the bridge. “We could try over there.”
Quinn could tell by the tone of her voice that she didn’t want to quit. Even though Montana started out this process thinking she was nuts, it hadn’t taken long for her to be infected by the thrill of competing in the tournament. Quinn hated for her to be disappointed. But the sooner they got it over with, the sooner they all could get on with returning to their everyday lives. They were having a big party at the inn tonight, and they’d all be pulling out tomorrow right after Kate and Shawn tied the knot. Of course, when that happened depended on how long it would take to get those Bible beaters to clear out so they could use the beach for the ceremony.
Quinn was glad they had at least one happy ending to look forward to. She hoped it would take some of the sting out of losing today.
“We’ve got one more spot we could think about trying on our way to Plattsburgh.” She stashed her rod. “But I think we might as well call it quits and head on in.”
She didn’t need to tell Montana that she had no faith that their luck would change once they got to the Middle Reef. From there, it was pretty much a straight shot down to the ferry crossing and the Dock Street Marina.
Quinn guessed that Montana probably wanted to argue with her, but she was relieved when she didn’t. When the engines started, she could feel the soft rumble beneath her feet. The boat slowly pulled away from the shadows beneath the drawbridge and moved into the open water.
“Is that it?”
Quinn looked at Marvin. “Is what it?”
“Are you finished?”
She shrugged. “I guess so.”
Marvin got up from his recliner and came over to stand beside her. They stood together and watched the water roll past the boat. Montana was picking up speed.
“I know I gave you a ration of shit, but I’m really sorry it didn’t work out.” He slowly raised a big hand and left it hovering in the air for a few seconds before allowing it to land on her shoulder.
Quinn nodded. Marvin was good people. He was a lot softer on the outside than Mavis. She understood that now. He needed Mavis. He wore her like a suit of armor.
Marvin dropped his hand and shoved it into his front pocket like he was embarrassed about what it had done, and wanted to hide it from sight.
“So what happens now?”
She looked at him. “You mean with the tournament?”
“Yeah.”
“We go check in and report that we have no catch. That’s pretty much it.”
“You sure you don’t want to try that last spot?”
Quinn nodded.
“Do we at least wait around to see who wins?”
“We can if you want to.”
“Don’t you want to? You’re in second place. You might still finish near the top.”
Quinn sighed and looked out over the blue water. They were moving into the channel now, heading south. In the distance, she could see sunlight glinting off cars on the ferries. All day, three hundred and sixty-five days a year, the big, slow boats carried people back and forth from Grand Isle to Cumberland Head. Rain. Wind. Snow. It didn’t matter. In the worst of the winter months, the bows of the ferries were outfitted with icebreakers. They never stopped. They always kept moving.
They were like Phoebe.
Quinn stared down at the water ahead of them. Right now, their
boat was dead center in the channel—probably straddling the line that divided Vermont from New York.
That figured. Quinn was always in the middle—never quite here and never quite there. It was the story of her life.
She drummed her fingers against the pocket that contained Laddie’s box of flies. She hadn’t used any of them yet.
“You take them and use them when the time is right.” That’s what Junior said.
Well. She was nearly out of time, so that had to mean now or never.
Bixby Island was off to the left—port, as Marvin kept correcting her. There were shoals there. The Sister Shoals, if she remembered right—near Bixby and another small island. That meant sheer drop-offs into deep water—perfect lounging places for bass.
“Hey.” She turned around and waved at Montana. “Let’s go over and give it one last shot by the shoals along those two islands.”
Montana beamed at her and slowed the engines. Quinn thought she had never seen the girl look happier or more beautiful.
Marvin grunted and shook his head.
Quinn pulled the Lucky Strike tin out of her pocket and stared down at the flies. She had no instinct about which one might work, so she closed her eyes and allowed fate to chose. The winner was a beauty. A jointed yellow tail—intricately tied with deer hair that had been dyed black and bright yellow. She began to ready her line.
“You are one crazy woman.” Marvin clucked his tongue.
Quinn smiled at him. “You gotta try, right?”
He shook his head. Quinn could tell he was trying not to smile. “Where’s that net?”
“You think we’ll need it?”
“Who knows? It’s better to be prepared.”
She pointed it out, and Marvin crossed the boat to retrieve it.
Quinn added weight to the line. She wanted the tip to sink to about mid-depth so she could work the fly along the edges of the shoal.
Montana cut the engines and allowed the boat to drift within a safe distance from the islands. She was becoming a master at maneuvering the thing into exactly the right spots. She walked back to join Quinn.
“Ready?”
Quinn nodded and yanked out a big length of leader.
“Okay.” Montana took a deep breath. “Remember what we practiced. Ten. Two. Cast.”
“Right.”
Quinn gave the rod a couple of practice bobs before setting her feet and allowing the line to fly. It unfurled and came to a perfect, soft landing right at the edge of the shoal water on the Vermont side of the Middle Reef buoy marker. She began to jerk the fly by slowly moving the tip of her rod to the left, then to the right.
“Good job.” Montana patted her on the back. “Now strip the line a little bit.”
Quinn didn’t get a chance to comply. Something hit the end of her line with a vengeance. She reflexively yanked back on the rod, as much to hang onto it as to try and set the hook.
“Strike!” Montana was yelling. “Bring it in, bring it in!”
Quinn was fighting the thing. It was running fast. And hard.
“I don’t know if I can hold it—it’s really pulling, and it’s strong.”
“Keep the tip of the rod down. Keep reeling it in. Let it play itself out.”
Quinn’s pole was bent at an impossible angle. She was struggling to wind up her line.
“Keep the damn tip down!” Montana waved Marvin over. “Get ready with that net.”
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” Quinn was amazed that the fish had the stamina to keep resisting. “What is this damn thing? A whale?”
Montana was on her knees, scanning the water. “There it is!”
“Where?” Marvin was leaning over her. “I don’t see it.”
“There!” She pointed at something flashing near the surface of the water. “Rounding the buoy. Good god. It’s huge.”
“Hey.” Quinn shook the handle on her reel. “Something’s wrong!”
“What is it?” Montana scrambled to her feet.
“I don’t know. It feels like it’s stuck. I can barely reel it in.”
“Is the line snagged on something?”
Quinn tried again. The handle turned, but slowly. At this rate, it would take her half an hour to bring the fish up, and that was if her line didn’t break first.
“No. But I don’t know what’s wrong with it. The line keeps hitching when the fish changes direction.”
“It sounds like a bad drag washer.”
Quinn looked at Marvin with surprise.
He shrugged. “I borrowed some Bass Angler magazines from Page.”
“I don’t think it matters.” Montana was pointing at the water. “It looks like we’ve got bigger problems—that thing is coming in on its own.”
“Holy shit!” Marvin was leaning over the side of the pontoon. “What the hell is this—a remake of Jaws? That damn thing is charging the boat!”
“No, it isn’t.” Montana corrected Marvin. “It’s going under the boat.”
Quinn saw the flash of something familiar in the water. It was brown and silver. It moved with ease and determination. It was there, and not there—all at the same time.
The hitch in her breathing matched the action on her line. Her heart started thudding in her chest.
It wasn’t possible.
“What am I supposed to do?” She began to panic. She didn’t want to mess this up. Not now.
“Take up as much of the slack as you can.” Montana took off for the bridge. “I need to turn the damn boat around.”
Marvin was suspicious. “What the hell is this thing up to?”
Montana started one of the engines and slowly swung the back end of the boat around so Quinn was facing the right direction.
“That bitch is trying to lead us into the shoals!” Marvin glowered at Quinn. “Why didn’t you let me bring my damn weapon?”
“We can’t shoot the fish, Mavis—Marvin.” Montana cut the motor. “Kill shots are against the rules. If we have to, we’ll cut the line.”
“We won’t have to.” Quinn’s reel was working more easily now. “She’s not fighting as hard. I think she’s played out.”
“I don’t trust her.” Marvin took up the net again. “Bitches like that never get enough.”
“She’s not a bitch.” Quinn kept taking up the line.
“It’s her, isn’t it?”
Quinn nodded at him. “I think so.”
“Her, who?” Montana rejoined them.
“Look!” Marvin pointed at the monstrous fish cutting through the water toward the boat.
“Oh, my god.” Montana clutched Marvin’s arm. “We’re gonna need a bigger net.”
“You think?” Marvin got down on his knees and shoved the net into the water. “Don’t try to lift it with the pole. Let me see if I can get the net under it.”
“She won’t fight you.” Quinn stopped turning the reel. The big fish was alongside the boat now.
“From your mouth to god’s ear.” Marvin pushed the net deeper into the water.
Quinn was right. Phoebe didn’t fight. She calmly drifted into Marvin’s net and waited for him to haul her up into the boat.
“Jeez Louise!” Marvin used both hands to raise the net. “This fucker has to weigh at least twenty-five pounds.”
“I can’t believe this, I can’t believe this.” Montana was practically in shock. “You got her. You actually got her. And she’s huge.”
Quinn dropped her rod to the deck and scrambled over to help Marvin.
“Help me lift her so I can get the hook out of her mouth.”
Marvin looked at her like she’d taken complete leave of her senses. “I am so not touching this slimy thing.”
“I’ll do it.” Montana knelt beside him and quickly plunged her hands into the water so they were good and wet. “Mavis—Marvin, go turn on the aerator.”
Quinn knew she had to work fast. This wasn’t like her dreams. Phoebe wouldn’t last long out of the water. There was no time for chitchat
or to kick back and ponder the enormity of the event. She needed to remove the hook, and transfer Phoebe to the tank, pronto.
After she wet her hands, she gingerly took hold of the giant fish and lifted her up—being careful to support her weight on both ends. Junior told her never to lift them up by the jaw. That approach never would’ve worked here, anyway. Phoebe was definitely a full-figure girl.
Montana took hold of her underside to lend support while Quinn took out the hook.
When she reached into Phoebe’s mouth, something incredible happened. She heard a soft, popping noise—almost like a belch—and Laddie’s fly shot out.
Quinn caught it in her hand and stared at it with disbelief.
Montana was stunned. “Tell me that did not just happen.”
Quinn gaped at her.
“She wasn’t hooked?”
“I guess not.”
“She was just holding that thing in her mouth?” Montana was shaking her head. “This just can’t get any weirder.”
Quinn dropped the fly and took hold of the fish again. “Let’s get her into the tank.”
She carried Phoebe over to the giant cooler and carefully lowered her into the water. Marvin had the aerator running and was already at the fridge getting out the frozen bottles of water.
Phoebe sat calmly in the tank, just like she’d always planned on being there. Quinn watched her to be sure she was okay. It wasn’t like she had a lot of room to maneuver, even if she’d wanted to. She was a big fish and she made the huge cooler look small.
Montana followed her over to the tank and knelt beside her. Quinn looked over at her with concern.
“Do you think she has enough room?”
“Oh, yeah.” Montana nodded. “It’s not like she’s got anyplace to go.”
Quinn wasn’t sure about that. She knew that one thing Phoebe liked was moving around. For the better part of two centuries, she’d had her pick of about five hundred square miles of lake to call her own. The interior of this jury-rigged live well could hardly hold a candle to that.
At least she wouldn’t be in there for long. After the weigh-in, she’d be released. Quinn was glad they weren’t too far from Plattsburgh. At least Phoebe wouldn’t have far to travel to get back to whatever she was doing in this part of the lake.