Page 24 of Every Beautiful Mile

Finn nods, “yeah, it’s basically a big spear you stab at the fish.”

Her face twists. “Wait, so we go out into this water that’s overflowing with all of these things and start stabbing them… in the dark?”

“Mhmm. Basically,” he says. “Or netting them.”

“What’s the tub for?” she asks.

“For whatever you catch.”

His tone is so nonchalant, I bark out a laugh.

As terrified as I am by the idea of it all, I’m excited. We’ve spent a lifetime living on an island, but this feels different. Like a glimpse of a secret world I didn’t know existed before now.

Finn throws another log on the fire, smoke billowing into the air before he settles back into his chair and pulls out his phone.

I yawn as I stand up.

“I’m tired and need at least four hours of sleep before I gig in the dark,” I tell them, heading towards the camper.

As I open the door, the most beautiful thing happens—they both smile at me and say goodnight.

Ten

“Finn. Shut that thing off. This is stupid.”

Marin covers her head with a pillow as Finn’s alarm beeps loudly at 1:45 AM.

“Shut up, Marin, this is going to be epic. Life changing. Get your ass out of bed.”

I groan as I slide open my curtain. “Language.”

I struggle to pry myself from my mattress, so tired my eyelids physically ache, as Finn skips around like he’s had a full night’s sleep.

When Marin and I make it out of the Avion, we look like we need to be resuscitated with paddles and a high dose of electricity.

As soon as we find Dickey at the office shack, he looks at our feet and nods in approval at the rubber boots we’ve worn. A small light on the porch is the only thing shining in the darkness.

“Well, now.” Dickey lets out a low whistle. “I wadn’t sure y’alls gonna make it dis mornin’, but here y’are surprisin’ ol’ Dickey.”

My tired face attempts to smile, but it is entirely too early for third-person conversations. Or any person conversations.

“I spose y’all didn’t crawl outta ya beds just to hear me talk, so let’s get on with it. Gotta get movin’ if we wanna even see if we gonna get a jubilee. Can’t just stand here all day.” He waves us over to a wagon. “Now in here, we got us some nets, gigs, a coupla numba two washtubs, and headlamps. Now some dem boys like to use big lights, but dis here headlamp frees up ya hands, ya see.”

Marin and I stare at the wagon like zombies while Finn goes full speed ahead and investigates every item.

“Now we gonna walk down to the wada, and we’ll know right away if we gonna be havins us a rush… jubilee, as dey say. Tides comin’ in. If it’s gonna happen, we gonna see some critters hangin’ in de shallows dat we wouldn’t usually be seein’. Maybe an eel, maybe some shrimp, maybe a mullet. Just no tellin’ what’s gonna be lettin’ us know if it’s happenin’. Y’all just grab some lights, and we gonna go shine it on down de shore.”

We all do as he says, Finn asking a million questions about fish and tides while Marin and I stay quiet. I swear he says something about phytoplankton, but at this crazy hour with that many syllables, I cannot compute it. We wander down a short path to the edge of Mobile Bay. The darkness is so infinite it makes my skin crawl.

“Well, whatcha’ll waitin’ on? Less find us some breakfast!”

He turns toward the water, and we all follow his lead, pointing our lights down toward our feet. We spread out from each other slightly. For the first few minutes, we’re quiet as we carefully look in the water, or wada, as Dickey calls it.

“I see something!” Marin yells.

“Me too! I think a needlefish? Dickey, over here!” Finn calls.

I keep my lamp pointed at the water. A piece of seaweed and shell bits are all I see as I walk along the shore. Then my light flickers over something that moves. A leg. Another leg. A crab.

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