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304 pages, Hardcover
First published March 23, 2021
“I suppose I’ll get in there now,� said Bread. His shakes had nearly stopped. “Seems quiet.�
“Okay,� said Fish. He felt himself swallow.
They were always awkward about parting when Bread had to go home. � Bread laid his bike in the weeds and stepped up the concrete porch. He looked small and dried up, like those turtles looked. � And Fish felt dried up and weak for abandoning him again. He hated it.
The door to Bread’s house rattled tight, and Fish pedaled as hard as he could down the gravel street. Every time he left Bread, he’d race his bike back to his grandpa’s farm, trying to pray for help, or trying not to, until the quiet of the fields and fireflies offered solace again. This time, though, something different happened inside him. This time, from somewhere or something, a reply seemed to come from all that stillness and sky.
Fish clenched his fists on his handlebar tape. He wasn’t going to leave Bread this time, and the bravery of that thought seemed so foreign to him it was almost as if it belonged to someone else. � Something deep in his gut, something bright and dangerous and match-like, made him stop on that road.
Fish looked out toward the marshes. Then he looked back at Bread’s house. The moon witnessed the decision. Fish turned his bike around.
Fish felt accusation rise in his heart, guilt, shame. He closed his eyes and opened them. Forget it, he told himself. At least for now. That’s something his mom used to tell him when he couldn’t sleep and worried about not sleeping. You have permission to forget it, she’d tell him. Just for a minute, just enjoy your pillow, just rest, let it go. Close your eyes and sail away from troubles on a raft made of stars.