Mac was only seven-years-old when he found the toe; the first toe, anyway. Hidden among the small rocks by the shore of the creek, he might’ve missed it if he weren’t in the habit of being so observant. Never knew where a crayfish might be hiding, after all.
Seven Mile River snaked most of the way through Hobson, and even a second grader knew that made it far more than seven miles long. Mac suspected the people who made the first maps of the area took a wild swing, not much caring how close they got to the ball, and the name just stuck. He’d heard Dad talk about the river’s stupid name on the rare occasion he arrived home in time for dinner, but the main reason Mac knew was he’d walked the length of the river more than a few times with Charlie and Eric. Only to the town line, but the rive
