by Lexi Whitlow
“Nice place you got here,” he says. “You a farmer? You look like a farmer.”
I nod. “Something like that,” I say. “I do whatever it takes to keep all the pieces in motion.”
“So do I,” Joes says, his tone clucking with humor. “Up in Indy, it’s probably a little dirtier work than it is here. More heads to crack together. Not so many mint julips to sip. But you guys down south here, you sure do have pretty houses and good food. Up in Indy, the only thing we got is burgers and corn, and lots of snow.”
“Explains why so many of ya’ll are moving down here,” I observe. “Better weather. Much nicer people. Explains why the good people want to leave.”
“Yeah. Ya’ll should come visit us up in Indy,” Joes says, mocking my southern drawl. “We could use the tourist dollars.” He turns his attentions back to Maddie. “You know who you are, Maddie. You know what we’re about. Don’t be a sucker to this fairy tale bullshit.”
“What fairytale bullshit is that?” I interrupt, looking down on this piece of shit, wanting to break him into small pieces.
Joe rolls his eyes, giving Maddie a knowing look. Without saying another word, or even saying goodbye to Justin, he casually strolls back to his car, climbs in, and drives away.
Watching him drive away, a dust cloud rising in his wake, I make a solemn promise to myself; if that motherfucker so much as disturbs a hair on Madison’s head, no one will ever find the body. He’ll become chum for shark bait; small pieces of him shredded, eaten, then shat out the assholes of mean fish, sinking to the bottom of the ocean floor, fodder for bottom feeders, right where he belongs.
Chapter 21
Maddie
He’s going, but he’s not gone. He’ll be back. He’s never going to give up.
“That motherfucker has made an enemy he never anticipated,” Jeb seethes. I feel barely contained rage boiling inside him. He turns to me, his eyes dark, but his expression warming. “He’s delusional. He’s also dead wrong. This ‘fairy tale bullshit’, it’s very real, and he can’t touch it.”
Jeb circles his arms around me, pulling me into his chest. I want to melt into him, forgetting everything. I just want to disappear.
“Everything okay?” Stu asks, coming up from across the yard.
Jeb nods. “Yeah,” he says. “Can you do us a favor? Justin and the boys are in the barn. Can you keep an eye on them? Keep Justin occupied? Tell him Joe’s gone. Maddie and I need to talk.”
“Sure,” Stu says. “I’m all over it.”
Jeb pulls back, taking both my hands in his. “Let’s walk,” he says. “My place.”
Rose is putting the baby down for a nap when we come in. She’s heading to work. There’s a tour group coming in to see Blanc-Bleu at noon.
“When she wakes up, she’s going to want a snack,” Rose says, smiling, placing her hand on mine. “Are you okay?”
I nod. I hate being the fragile one, the one everyone is worried about.
Jeb and I sit down at the kitchen table. He pulls his chair close to mine, facing me, an earnest expression lining his face. He takes my hands in his again and he begins to speak.
“Maddie, I’m not a gambling man. I don’t take on fights I’m not sure I can win. I know you don’t want to hear it, but I have to say it. I love you, and I’m going to fight for you, and for Justin…”
My tears, so long held inside, push out. I can’t contain them anymore. I’m tired of fighting.
“… I love you so much, and not saying it is just painful.”
How can he love me when he knows what a catastrophe I’ve made of everything? How can someone like him, who’s got everything, possibly love someone like me? I’m just a dumb kid from the wrong side of the tracks, with nothing to show for my life except a kid who’s scared of his own father.
“You and I are perfect together,” he goes on, ignoring my tears. “You know it as well as I do. You’re afraid to say it because you’re afraid of getting hurt again, but baby, it’s going to be my life’s work to make sure no one ever hurts you – or Justin – ever. This fairy tale is just getting started. Whatever scary story Joe is trying to keep going, it’s over. He just doesn’t know it yet. But he will.”
I fall apart, just like I knew I would. I fall to pieces in his arms, crying my eyes out, unloading years’ worth of pent up angst, letting it all go. Letting Jeb take it, letting him carry it for me. He shushes me, soothing me, rocking me like he rocks Emma, telling me it’s all going to be okay, and that he really does love me.
When I’m all cried out, wiping my eyes, certain my face is all puffy and my eyes, swollen and red, Jeb kisses me sweetly, lifting my hand to his lips, kissing my fingers. He’s taken all my grief and my guilt, all my worry and doubt, and turned it into bursting hopefulness. He’s taken my fear and turned it into love.
“I love you too,” I tell him. “So much it hurts.”
Jeb smiles. “There’s one other thing,” he says, and I can’t possibly imagine anything he could say or do to make me love him more.
He reaches into his pocket, producing a familiar key – the key to his Honda.
“I damn near suffocated following you home last night. Park the RV. Sell it if you can. Scrap it if you can’t. The Honda is yours. Insurance is paid through the end of the year. I signed the title already. Take it to the DMV and have it registered in your name.”
“What?” I ask, hardly believing him. “I don’t understand.”
“You can drive a straight shift, can’t you?” he asks, grinning. “If not, we’ll take it to Charleston and trade it in on an automatic. Your choice.”
Unbelievable.
It’s almost time to head out for work. I’m on Jeb and Rose’s front porch, rocking Emma with a bottle. She’s staring up at me, her big green eyes wide and attentive. Out in the yard, Jeb and Stu are playing with the kids. They’ll pulled some old plyboard panels out of one of the barns and made a race track in the yard, complete with ramps and cinderblocks to crash the little electric car into. They’re having a big time, making lots of noise.
Rose ambles across the yard, coming back from Blanc-Bleu. Her tour group must be on their way back to wherever they came from. She climbs the steps, then settles beside me on the porch swing, watching Jeb and the rest fool around.
“I see things have settled down,” she observes. “Are you and Justin okay?”
“Yeah,” I say. “We’re good.” I nod out toward the yard. “They all look pretty happy, don’t you think?”
She nods, taking a deep breath. “How about you?”
“I’m happy too,” I admit. “It’s hard sometimes, to let myself be happy.”
Justin sends the remote-controlled car up a tilted ramp at top speed. It flies high in the air, flipping end over end, then crashes on the grass with a thud, its doors flying open, it’s wheels spinning in the air. He shrieks with laughter as Jeb runs to retrieve it, Justin following on heel, hurtling himself into Jeb, the two of them falling to the ground in a playful heap.
“It’s just hard to think that after where we come from, this is where we landed,” I add. “I can’t see how we deserve it.”
Rose puts her hand on my knee, patting it gently in a motherly way. “Honey, you’re exactly where you belong. And you’re right where we all want you to be.”
Emma hiccups, pushing her bottle away. She peers up at me, smiling, slimy milk bubbling between her lips. Her little hands reach up, touching my nose. She babbles something that sounds a little bit like ‘love mama’.
Yeah. I’m exactly where I belong.
Chapter 22
Jeb
Weather Underground, or wunderground.com, is every coastal dweller’s best friend once storm season approaches. It’s early in the year for tropical storms, but Mother Nature doesn’t seem to care. I’m watching a looping satellite image of a small but growing storm that’s still far out in the Atlantic. It’s just beginning to enter the warm waters of the Gulf Stream. What it does in the next two days is anybody’s g
uess, but I can’t afford to take any chances. It takes at least four days of hard labor to get ready for a storm. I can’t wait to see exactly where it’s going to go or what it’s going to do. I have to behave like it’s going to land right here on Maiden Island with a blunt force, high wind, high water event.
I look at my watch. It’s noon. The crews are all out on the water, turning and churning oyster grows, dropping green shell, and checking spat bags. That’s all well and good, except there’s potentially a hurricane coming this way.
I pick up my radio, calling the guys in. “Pack it up boys. I need everybody back within the hour. Looks like this storm might turn into something, and we need to go over the Operational Plan.”
Manuel is the first to come back to me. “On our way, boss,” he says, wind crackling over his transmission. “Are we sinking the grows?”
“I dunno yet,” I reply. “Too early to tell.”
All our oyster growing cages are floating gear. They’re designed to be easy to work, easy to maintain, and secure against weather and predators. That’s great until the wind hits fifty knots, or a storm surge comes in, ripping everything up. When a real storm heads our way, we sink the gear to the bottom of the sea floor where it’s protected from wind and floating debris. It takes a couple days to sink everything we have, and weeks to bring it all back to the surface. Sinking the gear is the last thing I want to do, and it’s the last thing to be done, if the storm looks like it’s coming to us.
I reach up to the shelf over my desk, pulling down my Operational Plan binder. It contains lists of everything to be done for hurricane prep. Getting enough ice and fuel on-hand is the first order of business. Evacuating a few million oyster larvae and breeding stock to higher ground takes plenty of cold storage and generators to keep the place cold while the power is out. It’s time to start making phone calls.
By the time all the guys are back, I’ve ordered a thousand gallons of diesel fuel and two thousand gallons of ice, both to be delivered tomorrow morning. There’s a lot of gear to get out of storage today to be ready for those deliveries. Tomorrow, we break down the hatchery, moving everything to high ground in the middle of the farm.
At almost eight o’clock, just as we’re finishing securing the last of the coolers onto the trailer to take them to safety, my phones rings. It’s Stu.
“I’m sitting here at the bar at Flo’s looking at Joe. Ronny said he’s been here for hours, nursing one beer after another, watching Maddie work. He’s seriously creepy.”
Motherfucker. “Put Ronny on the phone,” I tell him.
A couple minutes later, I hear Ronny’s voice. “What’s up, Jeb?”
“How busy is it tonight?” I ask him.
“Not real busy. It started off busy, but it’s winding down. Why?”
“Well,” I say. “I’m trying to figure out exactly how much money it’s going to cost you – and therefore cost me – when I come down there and yank that asshole off his barstool, drag him by his ears out into the parking lot, and kick his ass. It’s gonna cause a scene.”
There’s a lengthy pause on the other end before Ronny comes back. “Now Jeb, that’s probably not the best way to handle this.”
“I realize that,” I say. “But it’s either that or I choke him out where he sits at the bar. That’s likely to cause a bigger scene, as I don’t know my own strength and I could break his neck, which means the police get involved and the restaurant’s shut down ‘til they can clear the crime scene.”
“Jeb, hang on just a second. I’m gonna let you talk to Maddie.”
“Great,” I say.
Two minutes pass. While I wait, I’m find someone who can give me a lift to Flo’s.
“Jeb?” Maddie’s voice chimes over the line. “I’m okay. He’s just sitting here. He’s not doing anything. He’s just watching me work. I was going to call you when it got closer to closing time.”
“Yeah,” I say. “The thing is, he’s trying to intimidate you. I really don’t appreciate it.”
“I’m not intimidated,” Maddie says. “I’m surrounded by friends here. I’m okay.”
“I’m on my way down, just the same,” I tell her. “It’s been a long day. I could use a cold beer.”
I get to Flo’s just after dark. There are only a few tables still occupied with lingering tourists. Stu is still at the bar, waiting for me. I drop in next to him as Ronny pulls me a beer, giving me a curious look.
“You okay?” he asks.
“I’m fine,” I reply, tipping my glass to him before taking a long swig of the cold, hoppy goodness. “Thanks for calling me,” I say to Stu. “I wish Maddie had.”
“Any time,” Stu says. “So, by my count, Joe has knocked down about seven Miller Lite’s. He’s got to have dead taste buds. I think he’s working on building up his courage for something.”
“God, I hope so,” I mutter. “That would be a gift from above.”
“Hey! If it isn’t the farmer!” I hear a loud but familiar voice call from the other end of the bar. “Yeah. You were here the other day too. Now I remember.”
Joe gets up, carrying his glass of piss-colored beverage with him. He plops down on the stool beside me, wearing a big, shit-eating grin.
“I like this place,” he says. “The fries are hot and the beer is cold. The girls are pretty, and there’s a nice view of the water.” He leans in closer to me. “So what kind of farmer are you? I hear ya’ll grow a lot of cotton. Are you a cotton farmer?”
Ronny laughs at him. Stu leans around so he can get a better look at the show. Joe is drunk. He’s a mouthy drunk. By all accounts he’s a mean one too. This might be fun.
“Nope,” I say. “I grow oysters. Crassostrea virginica. I don’t think they have those where you come from, but they’re popular ‘round here.”
“Oysters?” Joe asks, blinking like he’s confused. “How do you farm a fucking oyster? It’s a fucking shellfish.”
“A lot of hard work,” I reply, sipping my beer, staring straight ahead while he studies the side of my head.
Joe huffs. “Hard work. Right. You probably have a water tractor or something. I see how hard farmers work, riding around in their big tractors, inside an air-conditioned cab, watching fucking T.V. all day, or surfing porn.”
I turn, reappraising him. He really may be the stupidest motherfucker I’ve ever met.
“I’d love to come see your operation,” he says. “I bet you’ve got boats, don’t you? You got one of those fancy Cigarette boats? All rich guys who live on the water got those. Just like Miami Vice.”
“Cigarette boat? No,” I say. I haven’t got the first clue what he’s talking about.
“It’s a T.V. show,” Stu informs me.
“Thank you,” I reply. “Never heard of it.”
Stu leans forward, addressing Joe. “He doesn’t watch a lot of television.”
“Is that right?” Joes asks. “That’s Maddie’s favorite show. She loves the scenery. Sunshine. Ocean. Palm trees. I’m surprised she didn’t go to Florida instead of landing in this place. She’d have been harder to track down in Florida, so I should be grateful.”
Ronny’s got CNN tuned on the television over the bar. They’re doing a report on the storm. I direct my attention toward the spinning satellite image, while addressing Joe with a question.
“Yeah. How did you track her down, anyway? That must’ve taken some serious detective work.”
“My brother’s a cop,” he says, setting his empty glass on the counter, tapping it for Ronny to refill it. “Somebody down here did a background check. Probably this place, for employment screening.”
Fuck. This is my fault. Mom tipped him off with the background check.
“As soon as that popped, I knew where she was and knew where to start looking. A small town like this, a pretty girl from out of town. One call to the local PD and I had her.”
“Smart,” I say. “So, the local cops were helpful?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Ex
tremely helpful. It helps to have a cop doing the inquiry. There’s not much one cop won’t tell another cop.”
Fascinating.
I turn on my stool, facing Joe, getting close, inside his personal space. He backs up a few inches. “So, what’s your play, Joe? How long are you hanging around? I’m asking, because you’re starting to wear out your welcome. We’re usually hospitable people, but limits do get reached.”
Joe leans on his elbow on the bar top, regarding me with amusement.
“I plan to stay until Maddie comes to her senses. Until she remembers who Justin’s real father is. Until she stops playing Gone With The Wind, and comes home, back where she belongs.”
I laugh at him. I can’t help it. “You’re gonna have a long wait,” I tell him. “Get a haircut. Get a job. Rent a place. Maddie’s right where she wants to be. You’re the one who seems lost.”
“You are one arrogant asshole, you know that?”
I nod my head. “That’s what some say.”
I feel Stu come to attention behind me. Ronny stiffens too. Just then, Maddie walks by. She stops, assessing the stand-off she’s just walked up on. She smiles at me; a big, smart-ass grin. “I’ll be off in an hour,” she says. “I got a DVD at the RedBox on the way in. You want to watch it with me?”
I nod. “Yeah,” I say, then motion up to the television. “Storms coming. Early day tomorrow. If it’s okay with you I’m going to take Justin out with me to collect the spat and bring it in. The rest of the crews are busy on land all day doing storm prep. We’re shutting down the hatchery.”
“Really?” Maddie asks. “Sure. He’d love that.”
She doesn’t even acknowledge Joe before moving on to finish her closing work. Joe regards me with narrowed, slightly bleary eyes.
“You take a seven-year-old kid out to work?” he asks. “That’s not legal. It’s not safe either.”
I offer him the coolest smile I can conjure. “It’s not work, remember? We’re just riding around in air-conditioned water tractors, watching T.V.”
He makes no response.
