Carl Hiaasen: Flush

It was none other than the Coral Queen, dearly departed.

A salvage boat was supposed to have hauled it up to the Miami River and loaded it on a garbage barge. Barely three miles into the journey the wreck had broken up during a thunder squall and gone down in twenty-two feet of water. Already herds of hungry fish had made it their new favorite restaurant.

Dusty's Hole.

“It's poetry,” Dad said.

“More like poetic justice,” said Mom.

The morning weather report had spooked everybody else off the ocean and, except for the lighthouse, the horizon remained empty and endless. There wasn't another boat in sight. I lifted Grandpa Bobby's coin from my chest and turned it back and forth in my fingers, the gold catching the sunlight.

“Where would he be coming from? Which direction?” I asked my father.

“Your grandpa? Probably from the southwest.” He made a sweeping gesture. “Out that way, somewhere.”

“How long will it take him to get here?” Abbey said.

“All depends,” Dad answered quietly.

Mom said, “Hey, I've got an idea, but we'll need to hurry.”

It was a good idea, too.

We reeled in our lines and stowed the rods. I pulled up the anchor while Dad started the engine, and Abbey dug the camera out of her backpack.

The sky was already turning rosy as we raced toward the west side of the islands, where we'd have the best view. Mom's sunglasses blew off under the Indian Key Bridge, but she told Dad to keep going. We didn't have much time.

The bay was even smoother than the ocean-it looked like pale blue silk. We stopped at Bowlegs Cut, drifting out through the markers on a hard falling tide. Frigate birds soared overhead, and a pod of dolphins rolled past us, herding mullet.

In the distance, somewhere beyond the Gulf of Mexico, the sun was dropping through a coppery and cloudless heaven. None of us dared to say a word, everything seemed so crystal-still and perfect.

Dad edged closer to Mom, and she leaned against his shoulder. Abbey was kneeling in the bow, aiming her camera as the last molten slice of light dripped out of sight.

I sat there dangling my feet in the ripples, watching the day fade away. I was hoping that wherever he might be, Grandpa Bobby was enjoying the same sunset.

When the flash of green came, it lasted for only a magical flick of time-so brief and brilliant and beautiful, I was afraid I'd imagined it.

But then I heard my father say, “How amazing was that ?”

So excited, he sounded just like a kid.