The Ocean Inside

by Janna McMahan

  The white shrimp of spring would soon be replaced by summer’s smaller shrimp locals called brownies. With brownies bringing as little as a dollar a pound commercially, many shrimpers were talking of taking the summer off for the first time. Local folks would still buy brownies at a reasonable price since they had the good sense to appreciate the sweet white meat of wild shrimp.

  Her father stretched a tarp over the bed of his truck to block the sun. He’d parked next to a massive live oak, and LaShonda took up residence underneath in a woven lounge chair and set to reading a novel, one of Oprah’s picks. Her father sat on the tailgate and weighed shrimp out in pound bags. Every so often the musky smell of the sea would reach her nose.

  They were there only a few minutes when Ronald arrived. He was riding with a friend, who didn’t get out of his car but sat and smoked, the heavy base of rap rattling the dilapidated vehicle. Ronald sauntered toward them with an affected lope her father referred to as a shuck and jive. LaShonda watched her father stiffen at his approach. The two men talked, but LaShonda couldn’t hear what they said. Ronald walked back to the car, a hitch in his step timed with a head turn. The music was cut and highway sounds hummed again.

  “Now,” her father said when Ronald returned. “Now that I can hear you, what is it you wanted to talk to me about?”

  Ronald turned his back to LaShonda to block her out. To spite him, she got up and took a cold drink from the cooler. She walked over to them and challenged Ronald with a look. The can made a sucking pop when she opened it. She drank, beads of water running down the can. She could see Ronald’s attention shift to her cold drink.

  “Anyway,” Ronald was saying. “I need to get me a new compass.”

  “What do you need it for? You’re not going out in the ocean.”

  “Mine’s busted is all. It’s full of water. My boat’s ragged out and I’m trying to restore it. Don’t you got a compass around you can let me have?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe. Why you got to give me a hard time?”

  LaShonda’s father sighed and she could see him wondering why Ronald was suddenly so industrious.

  “You’re not going to sell your boat, are you?”

  “No.”

  “’Cause if you do, you won’t be able to get back and forth from the island anymore.”

  “I know that. I might just be getting me a new boat.”

  “With what money?”

  “Shit. Don’t worry about it. Why you always got to give me a hard time? You got a boat compass I can have or don’t you?”

  Abraham Washington sighed. “Okay,” he said. “There’s a good one in my shed back of the house. Up on the second shelf above the tool chest. Don’t you touch none of my tools now. You can have that compass. It’s got brackets and all. Should still be in good shape. You’ll have to attach it of course, but like I said, find your own tools. You can’t take none of mine.”

  “Thanks, Uncle Abe.” He only called her father that when he really wanted something.

  Ronald reached into the cooler and snatched a soda before LaShonda could slam the top down on his hand.

  He giggled and resumed his pimping swagger on his way back to the car that rumbled to life. They peeled out of the parking lot, cutting in front of oncoming traffic. Horns blared.

  “You got any idea what he’s up to?” her father asked.

  “Nope.”

  “See can you find out.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  LaShonda recognized the next car to arrive. It was Sloan’s mother. She got out, large sunglasses covering half her face. She wore a flowing pale dress. She looked like a movie star.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Sullivan,” her father said.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Washington. What’s your shrimp look like today?” she asked.

  He opened the cooler and pulled out a bag of gray-pink shrimp.

  “Oh, they’re just lovely,” she said.

  “Best I’ve seen in a while,” he replied.

  “How much?”

  “For you, eight dollars a pound.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Give me three pounds. I’m making stew.”

  “Fine shrimp for stew. What the occasion?”

  “Oh, just a little party for Ainslie. She’s turning ten. I can hardly believe it.”

  “Kids got a way of growing up on you, don’t they? How’s she doing?”

  “Much better. Thank you for asking.” A strange look came over her. She seemed harried when she got out of the car, but now her body language was droopy, almost relaxed.

  “Honey,” she said to LaShonda, “would you and your father like to come to our house for the cookout tonight? It’s nothing fancy. Just our family. I know you and Sloan are friends, but you never come around. Say you’ll both come.”

  LaShonda could tell her father was unsure how to answer her. “Well…I thank you, ma’am, but Mrs. Sullivan…”

  “Lauren. Please call me Lauren. Our daughters are friends and yet we hardly know each other. I insist. I won’t take no for an answer. Why don’t you come around about six? Don’t bring a thing. I’ve got everything taken care of. Say you’ll come.”

  It was hard to tell what she was thinking behind those big sunglasses. LaShonda saw her father hesitate. Normally, LaShonda would have minded her manners and not put her father on the spot, but she wanted to go to the party.

  “Oh, Daddy, can we please go?” she said.

  She saw the furrows at the corners of his eyes grow deeper.

  “Say you will, Mr. Washington.”

  “Well,” he said. “I really appreciate the invitation. But the only way I’m coming is if you call me Abraham.”

  “Wonderful, Abraham. I’ll see you both at six. Do you know where we live?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Wonderful. We’ll see you then. Sloan will be so pleased. How much do I owe you? Is that eighteen?”

  “No, ma’am. It would please me if you took these free of charge,” her father said.

  “Oh, I couldn’t possibly.”

  “Wouldn’t feel right. Me eating my own shrimp you done paid for. You got to let me contribute.”

  “Well, all right then.” She grasped the three pound bags of shrimp. “Thank you. I appreciate it. I’ll see you then.”

  They watched her faded Volvo blend smoothly into oncoming traffic.

  “That was strange,” LaShonda said. “Thank you, Daddy. I know you don’t want to go.”

  “Um,” he said. “That woman’s got a lot on her mind.”

  CHAPTER 33

  Lowcountry Boil

  Her mother had started the day setting up the gas burner on its stand in the backyard and filling the massive aluminum cook pot from the water hose. She shucked corn, sliced sausage, and peeled little potatoes for the Lowcountry boil. Sloan had to make sure Ainslie stayed in her room so she wouldn’t notice her mother’s preparations, an easy task with her sister engrossed in television. Sloan had spent the morning doing research on drug cartels, then bundled her grumpy sister into the Jeep and headed for Brookgreen. It was the first time she had taken her sister to the gardens in months.

  Now, as they arrived at their house, Sloan was hoping her sister would keep her mouth shut about the unexpected turn of events with Cal.

  “Ainslie, don’t you tell Mom or anybody about my fight with Cal.”

  “I don’t like him.”

  “I know you don’t. You never have. Why?”

  “’Cause he’s a jerk.”

  “He’s not always a jerk. Look. I like him. I really do. It’s just things are a little complicated between us right now. I need you to promise you won’t say anything about us to anybody. Okay?”

  “He’s a jerk, but I won’t tell.”

  “Promise?”

  “I said I wouldn’t. I know all kinds of things I don’t tell.”

  “I’m trusting you.”

  Their grandparents’ car was in their drive.

  “Hey
, Grammy and Grandpa are here,” Ainslie said as she crawled out of the Jeep and headed around the house, her wheelchair forgotten.

  When Sloan made it to the backyard, Ainslie was folded into her grandmother’s arms and soon squished in between her grandparents on the glider. The backyard was draped in strands of dangling lights shaped like starfish and a big banner that read “Happy 10th Birthday!” Sloan stopped short when she saw LaShonda and her father.

  “Hey,” Sloan said. “Wow. LaShonda. What are y’all doing here?”

  “Your mom invited us.” She leaned in to her friend and said low, “I know it’s a little weird.”

  “It’s cool,” Sloan said low, then, “Hi, Mr. Washington. Nice to see you.”

  “Same here,” he said and shook her hand. “Your mother was kind enough to invite us over.”

  Suddenly there were flashes and Sloan knew her grandparents had started their photography assault. Ainslie complained that people took photos of her as if she were going to die any minute. This past Christmas had been especially hard on Ainslie. At one point she’d even cried, “Stop it! You’re burning my retinas!” Sloan wondered why adults wanted photos of a pale, skinny, sick child, a child nothing like she used to be. It was all part of the strange way illness affected people. Her grandparents were uncomfortable around them now, always trying to mask their anxiety with smiles and fake nonchalance. Sloan understood when Ainslie said nobody was real anymore.

  The giant aluminum cook pot’s top rattled with steam and their mother raised the lid to check the progress of the stew. The distinct tang of shrimp boil spices wafted out. Her mother removed the foil from a large platter and slid onions, corn on the cob, red baby potatoes, and sliced sausage into the bubbling water.

  “Sloan, honey,” her mother said. “I’m about ready for the shrimp. Would you run up to the kitchen and get them for me?”

  Always added last, shrimp cooked in a matter of minutes. Her mother used a slotted ladle to strain the stew before she piled plates high. Conversation lagged while everybody dug in. Mounds of translucent pink shrimp shells and mangled corn cobs accumulated on plates.

  Sloan popped her thumbnail into her shrimp, severing shell from meat. Southerners loved to have their fingers scalded when they peeled their shrimp. That shelled, deveined, and chilled on the side of a fancy bowl was for Northerners. No, Southerners liked everything fried or boiled, from vegetables to peanuts to seafood.

  Sloan loved oysters the most, but there would be no oysters today because it was May and every person in South Carolina knew the R rule—only eat oysters in months that contain the letter R. You could eat oysters in other months, but the slimy little creatures didn’t have the same sweet, wonderful taste that cooler waters brought.

  Blondie called from Sloan’s pocket and she checked the number even though she knew who it was. Ainslie wrinkled her nose and LaShonda raised her eyebrows in a knowing look. Sloan shrugged and went back to peeling shrimp.

  Cleanup was easy, since everyone simply tossed out their soggy plates. Sloan was dispatched to get the ice cream cake that had been removed from the freezer twenty minutes before. LaShonda came along to help.

  When they hit the kitchen, Sloan said, “What are you really doing here?”

  “I already told you. Your mother invited us. Sloan, I’m sorry for what I said about Cal’s mom.”

  “Look, LaShonda. I’ve got a lot on my mind right now.” Her phone sang out again and this time she pushed the OFF button.

  “What’s the matter? Trouble in paradise?”

  “Grab the candles and let’s light this puppy,” Sloan said, ignoring LaShonda’s sideways inquiry.

  The party broke into the birthday song as they descended with the flaming cake. Her mother had ordered an ocean theme. Fish jumped waves of frosting. Shells and sea stars were strewn on a brown sugar beach.

  Ainslie clapped her hands as Sloan set the cake in front of her.

  “Make a wish,” Sloan said.

  Her sister squeezed her eyes tight and blew out the candles. Their mother began to serve the cake as Ainslie turned her attention to the meager pile of presents at the other end of the table. Ainslie selected a large red and white polka-dotted package with a giant red bow.

  “Who’s that from?” Sloan asked.

  Ainslie opened the card. “It’s from Daddy.”

  “That’s right,” their mother said. “He dropped it off earlier this week. He said he was sorry he couldn’t make it today, but that he loves you.”

  “Oh, okay,” Ainslie said. She ripped open the package and squealed. It was a Wii.

  Sloan locked eyes with her mother and knew it was all a lie. Had her father truly forgotten? It was more likely that her mother hadn’t invited him. That she had made him stay away.

  Dark was closing in and cicadas began their scratchy trill. Suddenly, headlights raked the dock and crawled across the lawn. Everyone turned to the front of the house.

  “What’s he doing here?” Ainslie snarled.

  “I don’t know,” Sloan said.

  “You didn’t invite him?” LaShonda asked.

  “No. We broke up.”

  “Do I need to go talk to him?” her mother asked with trepidation.

  “No. I’ll take care of this.” The walk out to Cal seemed like the longest of her life. Sloan knew everyone at the party was watching. Cal sat behind the wheel waiting for her. She walked up to the driver’s side. At least he had enough sense not to come barging into the party.

  “What are you doing here?” Sloan stood away from him, her arms crossed over her chest.

  “You won’t answer my calls.”

  “That’s because I don’t want to talk to you.”

  “You said I could call you tonight.”

  “Is this important, because we’re right in the middle of my sister’s birthday party.”

  He sighed. “I didn’t want to bother you. I’m sorry for what I did today. It was wrong to treat you like that.” He seemed contrite.

  “Okay. Is that all?”

  “No. I’ve got some news you won’t like.”

  “What?”

  “I told Verulo you were out and he said no way. He said we have to keep the circle tight. He said you know too much.”

  “I don’t know too much. I don’t know anything at all.”

  “Well, he thinks you do.”

  Sloan could feel her family staring at her and she moved out of their line of vision around the side of the house.

  “Whatever gave him that impression, Cal? It wasn’t you, was it?”

  “Look. Don’t go all crazy on me again. It’s just that we need assurance you’re not going to go to the cops or something.” He had that fidgety way about him that let her know he’d been snorting.

  “We?” So he didn’t trust her either.

  “I say we because if you did something like that, well, I don’t know what Verulo might do. He might hurt us or, you know, our families or something.”

  She caught her breath.

  “Did he actually say that? Did he actually say to you he’d hurt my family?”

  Cal stepped out of the SUV. “He knows where we live.”

  “Did he threaten us?”

  Mr. Washington approached with a garbage bag in his hand.

  “Cal, you’ve got to go,” she said.

  “Tomorrow night. We’re doing it tomorrow night.”

  “We’ll talk later.”

  “Say you’ll do it.”

  “Tomorrow night’s too soon.”

  “Sloan, this isn’t about your schedule.”

  “You’ve got to go.”

  “Say you love me,” he whispered as Abraham Washington drew near.

  “Not now, Cal.”

  Mr. Washington opened the garbage can and dropped the bag inside.

  “Say it,” Cal said and grabbed her arm.

  Mr. Washington stepped from the dark into the glow of moonlight.

  “What’s going on out here?” he said
. “Let go of her, son. That’s no way to treat a woman.”

  Suddenly Cal’s silky smoothness came back. He said, “Oh, this is nothing, sir. Just a little personal thing between Sloan and me.”

  “I’d like to hear that from Sloan.”

  Sloan crossed her arms in defiance and stared at the ground.

  “Say everything’s okay, Sloan,” Cal urged, but she remained mute.

  “Okay, son. It’s time for you to go,” Mr. Washington said as he stepped forward to move Cal back into his vehicle.

  Cal threw his arm up and blocked the other man’s attempt to touch him. “Go away, old man. This is no business of yours.” Sloan had never seen him lose his cool around adults.

  “I’ve seen you before. I’ve seen you with my Ronald down at the boat dock.”

  Cal ignored him and got back into the SUV.

  “Be ready, Sloan,” he said. “Answer the phone when I call you.”

  Cal spun gravel on his way out of the drive.

  “Are you okay?” Mr. Washington asked her.

  “I’m fine. Thank you.”

  “What was that all about?”

  “It’s nothing. I broke up with him.”

  “Then maybe your daddy needs to have a talk with that boy. Calm him down some. Help him see the light.”

  “My dad’s not around right now. He and my mom are split up.”

  “Well, that’s a sorry state of things.”

  Sloan agreed. “But thank you for your help. I’m sure Cal won’t bother me again.”

  “Let’s hope not. Now come on. Let’s join the others for some more of that good cake.”