“My Fenwick!” Janice yells, rushing to the side of the boat.
“Whoa, Fran.” I hurry over to her. “You’re bleeding.”
Her fingers, still wrapped around Paul’s phone, slip out from the sleeve of her shirt. “Am I?”
“You are.” With the tail of my cotton T-shirt, I dab at the cut Paul’s pole has caused.
“What was that?” Paul yells, snatching his phone from her hand, limp at her side.
Fran’s honey-brown eyes flick from me to Paul. “It was a joke. You know, Joe Bradley fromRoman Holiday. Just a ‘my hand is gone’ gag.”
“Hey, I know that movie,” Janice says, her arms and upper body wet—but somehow, she’s saved Paul’s fishing pole.
Paul exhales dramatically. “That wasn’t funny, Fran. I thought myphonewas gone.”
She clears her throat, her gaze darting from Paul to me, to the section of stomach I’m currently showing to the world. I guess I am a little close, and my shirt is currently only covering half my body, but she’s bleeding. Someone needed to apply pressure. Janice was worried about her fishing pole. And Paul just kept shrieking about hisphone.
“Oh, hey,” Paul says, his tone a little less horrified. “You’re still videoing. Perfect.” He scans his phone around the boat and over the water.
“That’s enough, man,” Zev tells him. “No more videos.”
People rarely argue with six-foot-five, broader-than-a-bear Zevulun Hayes.
Obediently, Paul tucks his cell into his pocket.
“Move over, hero.” Rosalie bumps her side into mine. She’s got actual gauze in one hand and the boat’s first aid kit in the other. I suppose that might work better than my shirt.
I help Fran sit on one of the few seats of this boat, then move out of the way to let Rosalie work.
My shoulder rams into Paul’s as I push past him to stand next to Zev.
“Hey, Superman,” Zev says, a grin playing at his mouth, his eyes wide and purposefully traveling down to the red-blotched stain on my shirt. “You saved the day.”
“She was bleeding,” I mutter.
“I saw that.”
“What did you say you were doing?” Mira asks. “A Joe from what?”
Rosalie stands over Fran, dabbing antibiotic ointment on Fran’s head. She moves an inch to the side, giving Fran a view of Mira. “It’s a scene from one of my favorite movies. You’ve never seen it?”
“I haven’t,” Mira says.
“There’s this scene where the main male character, Joe, tells Ann an ancient tale about a stone face at the Spanish Steps. He pretends the face bites his hand off.”
Mira’s brows cinch.
“It’s funny. And playful. And sweet.” Franblows an exhale through her nose. “Maybe you need to watch it to understand.”
“It sounds…sweet,” Mira says, though her sentence sounds like a question.
“It sounds childish,” Paul says. “Not sweet. Not at all.”
Rosalie carefully places two Band-Aids over the cut on Fran’s head. “She was just trying to have fun,” she says in Fran’s defense.
This is what Rosalie means when she says Fran is a little crazy but the sweetest. It’s true. She’s just trying to make things memorable. And this is a fishing trip I will never forget—I’m guessing none of us will.
“It was supposed to shock you—but in the end, make you laugh.” Fran lifts her hand and presses two fingers to the bandage Rosalie just placed on her head.
