Backcast (37 page)

Page rolled her eyes.

“But I have to tell you—I never would've been able to predict the breadth of raw insight, angst, and sheer honesty they've shown
me in the work they've produced up here.” She shook her head. “It's downright humbling.”

Page was studying her. “So when they finally dug beneath the surface, they uncovered some real depth?” She pointed at the figurines. “Like your little fish here?”

“Exactly. Just like any woman. Like
every
woman.” Barb smiled at her. “Like you.”

Page ignored her observation and continued to examine the tableaux of figurines.

“This is an odd configuration. What's the significance of it?”

“It's supposed to replicate the constellation, which has thirteen stars tied to planets.”

Page thought about it. “Thirteen essays. Thirteen planets. That part certainly makes sense.”

Barb nodded. “I like the symbolism of how it came into being, too. Aphrodite and Eros changed themselves into fish to escape being brutalized by a monster.”

“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!”