Riptide

by Dawn Lee McKenna

  Coco fragmented at Maggie’s feet, and she bent down and gave Coco’s tummy a rub. When she stood up, Sky had pulled one earbud out.

  “Hey,” Sky said.

  “Hey. How was your day?”

  “Dude. Sucked like a Dyson,” Sky said. “Bella got dumped by her boyfriend and I’ve spent like the whole day keeping her head out of the oven.”

  Maggie stopped at the bottom of the stairs. “Well, he was probably a dink, anyway, but tell her I’m sorry.”

  “She’ll get over it, but you know how she is. Right now, the world is commencing to end,” Sky said. “But we want to know if we can just stay here tomorrow night.”

  “You don’t want to go to 3rd of July?”

  “Not really. I mean, it’s cool and all, but we’re going out to the island for the 4th, anyway. We’re just gonna rent some movies and I’m gonna redo her highlights. Highlights fix everything.”

  Kyle piped up from behind Maggie.

  “If Sky’s having a sleepover, can I stay home?”

  Maggie turned and ran a hand through his hair. “Don’t you want to go?”

  “Nah. I’d rather hang out at home. It’s too crowded over there.”

  “Well, it’s up to your sister.” Maggie looked at Sky, but she already had her earbud back in.

  Maggie pointed, and Sky pulled it out. “What?” she asked.

  “Kyle wants to stay home tomorrow. I told him it’s up to you.”

  “I don’t care, as long as he doesn’t mind helping us wax our armpits.”

  “What?” Kyle asked, looking mildly alarmed.

  “It’s a joke, dork.”

  She stood up as Kyle headed up the stairs, then she stuck a finger in his ear as he passed. He laughed and brushed it away.

  “What about your Dad, though?’ Maggie asked. “He’s probably looking forward to seeing you there.”

  “No, we were texting earlier,” Sky said. “He might go, but only for a little while and he’s not staying for the fireworks. He’s working tomorrow night so he can go to the island with us.”

  “Well, I guess I’ll have to hang out with Grandma and Granddad, then,” Maggie said as she followed Sky up the stairs.

  “It’ll be way cooler,” Sky said. “You can act weird without us seeing you.”

  “Geez, you’re such a jerk,” Maggie laughed.

  She followed Sky into the house, where Kyle was already entrenched on the couch with Minecraft.

  “Hang out with Wyatt,” Sky said, heading for the hallway and her room.

  “I’m not allowed to hang out with Wyatt,” Maggie said.

  “Well, then quit it.”

  Later that night, Maggie luxuriated in a long shower, pulled on some yoga pants, and she and Coco went through the sliding door in the living room to sit on the back deck. Sky was plugged into Netflix in her room, and Kyle had already gone to bed, though it was just getting dark.

  Maggie stood at the railing and peeled the one mango that was left after she and the kids had torn into them. She threw the peels down to Stoopid, who was pulling sentry duty on an overturned rowboat in the back yard, then leaned over the railing as she tried to eat the mango without having to change clothes.

  As she did, she thought about Wilmette and Gregory Boudreaux. Wilmette didn’t come to town until after Gregory was dead, but he did get here before that letter from Gregory was mailed. Did he send it? If he did, why? Did he feel bad about watching while Gregory raped a fifteen-year old girl?

  Then there was Boudreaux. Maggie’s feelings about Boudreaux became more conflicted every time they spoke. He hadn’t crossed her path more than five times in her life before Gregory’s death. She’d only thought of him in distant terms, and those were all focused on his supposed involvement in everything from interfering with unions to buying politicians.

  There had been rumors, through the years, that he’d been involved in more than one missing person or sudden change of heart from a potential witness. It was also suspected that he might be in the drug trade, but he’d never even been indicted of anything. That could have as much to do with his son Patrick being the assistant State’s Attorney as it did with him being innocent, but innocence was unlikely.

  Yet, Maggie found herself drawn to him. He was compelling and he was oddly frank with her at times. She also found him funny and actually quite interesting. It was more than that, she knew, but she couldn’t put her finger on it in a way that satisfied her. There was a decent chance he meant her some kind of harm, and yet she found herself comfortable in his presence.

  Boudreaux knew Gregory had raped Maggie. He’d hinted it carefully enough when she was investigating Gregory’s death. She felt that he had also told her, without telling her, that Wilmette had been the other man in the woods that day. But, why? Did he think that gave him some kind of leverage over her? She’d always been pretty sure that he suspected she’d shot Gregory and made it look like suicide. Did he think she’d killed Wilmette, too?

  She discarded that last thought pretty quickly. Her instincts told her he knew she didn’t. They hinted that he knew that because he had killed Wilmette, but that just created more questions, chiefly why? Wilmette wanted money. Had he been blackmailing Gregory or Boudreaux or both?

  Maggie threw the mango pit out to the river and sighed in frustration.

  Too many questions. Not a single answer that appealed to her at all.

  The next day dawned sultry and thick, and promised misery to those who despised heat. Maggie got to Riverfront Park, at the end of Water Street downtown, just after 5:00 p.m., and the heat was still oppressive.

  The 3rd of July, as it was still being called in its fourth year, had become a huge event for the town. Saint George Island had a big Independence Day event that many of the locals attended, but some of the town leaders and business owners had decided to create their own, a day early, so that folks could enjoy an event there in town, without having to miss other happenings on the 4th.

  Maggie found a place to park a few blocks away, and headed to the park. The street in front of the park was blocked off to traffic for the day, and filled with almost shoulder-to-shoulder people enjoying a bluegrass band. The aromas of fish fingers, burgers and firecracker shrimp assaulted Maggie, as she threaded her way through the crowd. Wyatt was working the event during the afternoon, but Maggie was supposed to meet her parents at the far end of the park, near the seawall.

  She grabbed a bottled water and a sweet tea from one of the vendors, and finally located her folks, parked in stadium chairs with little tables and cup holders built into them. Maggie saw there was an extra one for her.

  “Hey, y’all,” Maggie said, and bent to kiss the top of her father’s head.

  “Hey, Sunshine,” her dad said with a big smile.

  Maggie hugged her mom, then plopped down in the empty chair beside her. “Man, this crowd is getting bigger every year,” she said.

  “I know it is,” Georgia said. “It was already packed when we got here.”

  “Hey, Maggie!”

  Maggie looked over her shoulder to see John Solomon approaching, wearing a huge smile and a stained white apron.

  John was the director of the Chamber of Commerce, but he’d spent twenty years with the Sheriff’s Office as the head of IT, until he’d taken his retirement. He was a great guy, and Maggie missed having him around, but he’d found his calling.

  “Hey, John,” Maggie said. “Looks like you have a lot of burgers to cook.”

  “Oh, man, Maggie,” he said, laughing. “I’ve been at that grill since ten o’clock.”

  “You’re in your element,” Gray said. “I don’t envy you working a grill in this heat, though.”

  “Ah, it’s starting to cool down a bit,” John said. “There’s a chance I might not die.”

  A couple of hours later, David had joined Maggie and her parents with an old deck chair, and had a couple of beers as they listened to the music and watched everyone jockey for patches of grass, blanket a
nd seawall so they could watch the fireworks. Dusk had come, a breeze had arrived, and anticipation was high.

  Maggie’s butt hurt from sitting so long, and she was about to get up and stretch her legs when Wyatt showed up beside her chair.

  “Hey, guys,” he said.

  Everyone said hello back and Maggie stuck her now unnecessary sunglasses on top of her head, as Wyatt squatted down next to her, a plastic cup of beer in his hand.

  “Where are your kids?” he asked her.

  “They bailed. They’re at the house,” she said.

  Wyatt nodded.

  “You finally off duty?” Gray asked.

  “Yep, as of right now,” Wyatt said, and took off his cap to run a hand through his hair.

  “Well, I’ve got to go on duty,” David said, looking at his cell phone. “Mike and his cousin are ready to shove off.”

  “You going out tonight, David?” Wyatt asked.

  “Yeah,” David said, and grinned. “Gonna be a heck of a show from out on the water.”

  He stood up, then shook Gray’s hand. “See you, later, Gray.”

  “Keep the hull down,” Gray said.

  “Take care, David,” Georgia said.

  “I will, Ma,” he answered.

  He shook Wyatt’s hand, then turned to bend down to Maggie, but she stood up and stretched her back, then gave him a hug.

  “See you later, babe,” he said.

  “See you later,” she told him, then let him go. As he started off, she grabbed his hand. “Hey!”

  He stopped and looked at her.

  “Break those nets,” she said.

  “You know it,” he said, then gave her a wink and walked away.

  A few minutes later, Maggie looked down at Wyatt. “I need to stretch my legs. Wanna come?”

  “Yep,” he said, and stood up.

  “We’ll be back, you guys,” Maggie said, and Wyatt followed her as she walked over toward the far end of the seawall.

  She stopped at the concrete drive that divided the park from the house next to it, leaned a hip on one of the wood pilings that lined the park, just a few feet from the seawall. Across the river, she could see lots of activity on the fireworks barge, as the crew got ready for the show. It would be dark in twenty minutes or so, and she could see people hurrying back and forth on the deck.

  She looked up at Wyatt, who was taking a drink of his beer. “So, how was your night?”

  “You mean how was my night with David?” Wyatt asked, trying not to grin.

  “Yeah.”

  “It was nice. We’re thinking about seeing each other again.” He waggled his eyebrows at her. “Would that be really awkward, me dating your ex-husband?”

  Maggie smiled. “Why are you such a jerk?”

  “Because it gets you all twitterpated, and I think you’re just precious when you’re twitterpated.”

  “Seriously. What did you guys talk about?”

  Wyatt took another sip of his beer, and watched as a shrimp boat headed their way from the docks up river. “The Bucs, bless their little hearts. Shrimp. Boxers versus briefs. There was a little bit about you in there, too.”

  “Wyatt.”

  “You’re a good woman. We agreed on that. I’m a good guy. We agreed on that, too. If I hurt you, he’ll climb up my legs and beat my ass. There was some disagreement, there, but nothing we can’t work through.”

  Maggie felt a warmth creep into her chest. David, her lifetime protector, even now, even with Wyatt.

  The first time she’d really noticed him, when they were ten years old, he was pulling Regina Sparks off of Maggie’s back, as she spit sand out of her mouth and struggled for air. As Maggie recalled, Regina had felt that Maggie had busted her in the nose with the tetherball on purpose.

  Maybe she had; she couldn’t remember. But, Regina had been yanked off of her and a hand had been held out, and Maggie had been helped to her feet by a boy with hair like black diamonds and a skateboard under his arm.

  “Well, make no mistake,” said Maggie with a smile. “He’ll do it. So mind your P’s and Q’s.”

  “You have nothing to fear from any part of my alphabet.”

  Wyatt winked at her, and she turned around to look at the river. David’s pretty old blue Jefferson was just passing by. Mike, a tall black man in his forties, was at the helm. A much smaller, much thinner black man was leaning against the port side, drinking what would probably be the first of many cups of coffee. David was on the starboard side, facing the park, one hand hanging onto one of the ropes that held his nets.

  Maggie smiled as he passed, feeling self-conscious about the fact that Wyatt was standing next to her, but David smiled back. She waved at him, and he held up a hand in response, as a muffled boom sounded.

  Maggie wondered why the fireworks were starting already, then there was another thump, and David was gone, swallowed by an enormous ball of fire.

  For two eternal seconds, Maggie’s brain stopped processing information from her ears and eyes, stopped sending commands to her body. Then everything came back at once. Chaos erupted around her, and she kicked off her deck shoes and took one running step toward the seawall before a large hand grabbed the leather belt threaded through her shorts.

  “No, dammit!” Wyatt yelled. She spun around. “The river’s on fire, Maggie! Come on.”

  He grabbed her hand, and she ran after him, shoeless but not noticing, as he pushed and yelled his way through the people that were flocking to the seawall, and the people who were running away from it.

  In the corner of her eye, Maggie saw Deputy Dwight Shultz, in uniform, running toward them.

  “Sheriff!” he yelled.

  Wyatt didn’t slow down. “You call Fire?” he yelled back.

  “Yes sir—” he started, but they had already run out of hearing range over the pandemonium in the park.

  Maggie sort of noticed that there were men running in front of and behind them, all of them oystermen or shrimpers, all of them heading for the docks, but the fact registered only in the vaguest terms.

  She also vaguely understood that she was barefoot, and that rocks, bits of oyster shell and other objects were cutting her feet as she ran. But, her only real, solid thought was that she shouldn’t be running away from David.

  They reached the dock at Scipio where they tied up the powerboat used by the Sheriff’s office, the one Maggie had docked just the other day, when the worst thing happening was a severed leg in a net.

  Maggie heard feet pounding behind and around her, as men ran for other boats and other docks. She and Wyatt reached the 90s-era Wellcraft that belonged to the SO courtesy of a coke bust, and Maggie bent down to hurriedly untie the stern line. She heard running footsteps stop behind her.

  “Are you crazy?” Boudreaux asked, raising his voice. She stood and spun around. “You can’t take that outboard out there.”

  Maggie thought, oddly, how surprised she was to see Boudreaux. He usually didn’t attend July 3rd.

  He looked up at Wyatt. “Come on,” he said, as he spun around.

  They ran after him, toward a couple of shrimp boats on the next dock. He leased the boats out to some of the locals, then bought the shrimp they brought in on them.

  A big, bearded man whose name Maggie couldn’t remember was already firing up the engine, and two other guys were getting the stern and bow lines. There were men in the boat across the dock, doing the same. Boudreaux jumped nimbly onto the starboard side, jumped down onto the deck, and turned to grab Maggie’s hand. She took it and jumped down to the deck, then Wyatt followed.

  “You have the fire department on the way?” Boudreaux asked.

  “Yes,” Wyatt said.

  “Maggie! I’m coming, too!”

  Maggie turned toward the dock and saw her father standing there, his chest heaving. Georgia was a few steps behind him, her face streaked with tears.

  “No, Daddy!” Maggie yelled, feeling panic threaten to assert itself in her stomach. “You can’t get
near that smoke!”

  Gray had been diagnosed with Stage 1 lung cancer a little over a year earlier, although he’d never smoked. He’d been fortunate, but he’d lost part of his left lung.

  “Mom, keep him away from the smoke,” Maggie yelled, and then they were underway.

  “Todd, turn that spotlight on,” Boudreaux called to the bearded man, and the man reached over and turned on the spotlight on the front of the small, aft cabin. “Sheriff, there’s another one on the bow.”

  Wyatt grabbed Maggie’s shoulder and looked at her face. “You okay?”

  Maggie nodded, and he ran toward the bow as they motored toward the flames. Maggie ran to the starboard rail. Docked boats were still blocking a good view of David’s boat, but the sky was lighter, tinged with orange and blue and white, just above the old Jefferson. The boat itself was engulfed, from the aft cabin to the stern.

  How many minutes ago had David hugged her goodbye? Three? Five? Ten? Maggie got a sensory memory of warm cotton, Jovan musk, and Suave shampoo, and something large and hard and threatening almost closed her throat.

  Once the shrimp boat cleared the marina and came into the river in front of the park, the smell of diesel and smoke were overwhelming. The other shrimp boat belonging to Boudreaux was ahead of them, and started to angle toward the park side of the wreckage, while their boat headed around the other way.

  It was full-on dark now, and the fire, spotlights, and dozens of flashlights from the seawall reflected on the black water. Here and there, burning pieces of debris floated on the surface. The portside outrigger had collapsed against the side, and its net spread out on the water like a broken wing.

  Maggie leaned over the starboard rail as they got closer, and the bearded man cut back the engine just a bit. “David!” she called.

  The center and stern deck were almost completely gone, and Maggie knew that David was in the water. She strained to make sense of the various dark shapes that littered the surface, but tore her eyes from the water when she saw that they were going past the Jefferson.