I plucked the card and nearly dropped it. I dunno. It felt as if it was tingling in my hand, like it was moving, like it was alive.

I saw a grin crawl across my daddy’s face.

“Very good,” he said.

I was nervous, I realized, all sweaty. An owl hooted outside Pop’s window. The weird way the moonlight spilled through the cracks in the walls cast an eyeball-pale glow on the table.

“Now hold that card behind your back,” said Pop, “and grip it tight, lest you drop it, lest it gets blown away.”

I did it. He snapped the card fans together into one pile, his eyes still shut, his face still turned a little bit away from mine. Then Pop shuffled.

Oh boy, my daddy shuffling cards was a marvelous thing.

The cards flapped in long arcs back and forth, like he was playing an accordion. They flew impossibly high and landed right back down in place, they seemed alive and moving, they danced between his palms like they had a mind of their own, they whirlwinded about his head like any moment they would scatter off and fly away like a flock of birds. But he kept them all under control, he always brought them back together as a deck in his palms. It was mesmerizing, I tell you. I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

Pop clapped his hands together like he was praying, then smacked the deck of cards back down on the table. He opened his eyes and peered at me, his grin wide, that gold tooth flashing.

“Is this your card?” he said.

He turned over the top card of the deck. There it was, the Fish Boy.

“But how?” I said. “I got it right here in my hand.”

I drew my hand from behind my back.

My palm was empty.

I looked on the floor to see if I had dropped it. I mean, there had to be another one, right? There had to be two Fish Boys. I grabbed the deck out of his hand and flipped through it. Nope, every card was unique, an individual, and there were no duplicates.

“But how’d you do that?” I said. “I had my eyes on you the whole time.”

Pop chuckled.

“That, my Buddy boy,” he said, “is your problem right there.”

“I don’t understand,” I said.

“You will one day,” said my daddy. “Of that I am most confident.”

I must’ve seemed pretty disappointed. Pop spit on his hand and mussed my hair with it. “Don’t you worry now. They’ll be time enough for all that talk. I sure am glad you came, Buddy. It’s about the best gift you could have given me.”

That was the kindest thing I’d ever been told. It set all the stars in my heart aglow, hearing Pop say that.

“Now how about we get some shut-eye, eh?” he said.

I realized then how tired I was, from the travel and the food. I couldn’t remember ever being so wore out.