by Betsy Ashton
My cell buzzed an hour later.
“Bad news?”
“Not good. Two bodies and one almost body.”
“Almost body?”
“I’m coming back.”
“Come to my dorm. I’ll have coffee waiting. Lunch, if you want it.”
“I doubt I can eat.”
Emilie had overheard my half of the conversation. “He found the missing men.”
I’d told her what the men were whispering. I wanted her to put her three-hundred-sixty-degree situational awareness to good use. We couldn’t be too careful. If we were in a dangerous environment, she was part of my early warning system. I’d missed it when she told me about feeling someone was evil last year. I’d dismissed her feelings until her mother was murdered. I wouldn’t do it again.
“He found bodies. I don’t know if they’re the missing men or not.”
####
A pale and drawn Johnny clomped up to the dorm, pulled off muddy boots and wet socks, rolled up his pant legs, opened the door, and fell into a captain’s chair.
“You stink.” I kissed his cheek and set a cup of coffee on the side table.
“Thanks. I resemble that.” Johnny twisted his neck to relieve stress. Four pops indicated success.
“Have you been walking through garbage?”
“Close.”
Emilie puttered in the kitchen area, fixing sandwiches. He reached for his cup.
“Our men?”
“One might be.”
I waited for him to collect his thoughts. His hands trembled when he raised his cup to his lips.
“Only one?”
“Yeah. One had been in the water for a few weeks. Its clothing was ripped, but I think it was wearing a dress.”
“A woman?” I sat beside him. “A Katrina victim?”
Emilie perched on a chair opposite, mustard-smeared spatula in her hand.
“Could be. One was still alive. Not one of the workers, though. He’d never done manual labor in his life.” Johnny’s cup rocked when he set it down. Luckily, it didn’t tip over.
“How could you tell?”
“His hands were manicured.”
“Oh, dear God. How did you find them?”
Johnny ran his hands through his hair, standing it on end. He’d followed one column of buzzards. About a mile off the road, he’d found the bodies piled on top of each other partway out in a muddy swamp.
“A bayou?”
“More like slimy mud.”
“You marched out into the muck? Without thinking? What if there were alligators or water moccasins nearby?” I couldn’t believe he’d do something so irresponsible.
“I didn’t see any.” He had the decency to look contrite.
“One Captain Chaos in this family is enough.”
“I’ll think next time.” Johnny must have seen the skepticism on my face. “What?”
“Like hell you will.”
“I’ll try.”
“Back to the bodies. How do you think they died?” I sipped coffee. Cold and bitter. I gave up on it for the day.
“Both men had been struck on the head, so they were most likely murdered. Or soon-to-be murdered. I don’t think the manicured man will make it.” Johnny glanced at the cup but didn’t touch it. “The woman could have been hit by flying debris or could have been the flying debris and hit something.”
“And you know this how?” I grew more uncomfortable with each new revelation.
I glanced at Emilie. She internalized Johnny’s words but hadn’t escaped to her secret place.
“I had plenty of time before the sheriff showed up.”
“What did he say?”
“Nothing. Just stared and sneered.” He pulled a card out of his shirt pocket. “Sheriff Forrest Hardy. Wrote a number on the back. ‘Next of kin can claim the remains as soon as the autopsies are done.’ Like he’s going to do autopsies. He’ll eyeball the remains, get someone to sign the death certificate and wash his hands of the whole disgusting mess.”
“You didn’t like him.” Emilie set a sandwich beside the untouched coffee. “The sheriff, I mean.”
“Not as far as I could throw him. He acted like he was annoyed he had to drive all the way out into the swamp for a dead greaser.”
“Greaser? The sheriff said that?”
“He did. He used other epithets too. He was happy someone was getting rid of the illegals so he didn’t have to run them off himself.”
“You’re not an illegal.” The sheriff’s attitude made Emilie angry.
“He doesn’t care, Em. I’m Hispanic. He doesn’t like us. Anyway, the sheriff’s useless as…Let’s say he’s plain useless.” Johnny picked at the sandwich.
Just what we needed, a racist sheriff who didn’t want to enforce the law. “Do we have a deeper problem?”
“We might.” Emilie was inside her secret place.
Johnny wrapped his sandwich in a napkin and walked barefoot to his trailer for dry socks. He left me without a kiss or further word to ease my worries.
“Alex is going to be, like, totally pissed.” Arms wrapped around my waist.
“How so?”
“He missed the first bodies.” She leaned back and grinned at me. Her face didn’t register a hint of joy. “I didn’t.”
“Brat.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Mississippi, week of September 26
The boys’ dorm appeared at the front gate around three. Almost before Whip finished backing his RV into place, Alex dashed between the dorms right into the path of a pickup. The driver slammed on his brakes but skidded on dirt and gravel.
“Hey, kid, watch out.”
I ran after Alex and yanked him out of the way. “You’re damned lucky, young man, that truck wasn’t heavier.”
Alex, showing enough good sense not to answer, tried to turn away.
“I’m not done yet. You could be a grease spot right now.”
“I know,” came a mumble.
I reached out to put a finger under his tucked-in chin. He’d look me in the eye if it killed him. “You may have run wild in Peru, but here we use trucks and heavy equipment instead of laborers.”
Alex stared at the red and yellow behemoth earth movers nibbling away at chunks of the destroyed road.
“What the hell were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t thinking.”
Whip ran over and pounced on Alex like a duck landing on a June bug. His face was thunder-cloud purple. “One more time, kid, and I swear I’ll tie you to the back of the RV until you’re twenty-one.”
Alex sulked.
“Follow me.”
Father and son disappeared into the boys’ dorm.
Emilie ambled over and put her arm around my waist. “What’s holy-crap boy-child done this time?”
“Holy-crap boy-child? Good name. Yours?”
“Charlie’s. She used it mostly when he wasn’t around, although she’s been known to call him that to his face.” Emilie bit into her afternoon apple.
“Bet he loved that.”
“Ya think?” She gave me a hug before retreating into the dorm.
Five minutes later, Whip opened the door. “Unpack your clothes and put them away. You’ll stay inside until I release you. No electronics. Got it?”
Alex didn’t answer.
“Do you hear me?” Whip shouted over the growls of heavy equipment.
Alex must have agreed, because Whip stomped across the space between the girls’ dorm and the school bus. On my first day in Mississippi I’d set out chairs because we needed an outdoor gathering place. Whip threw himself into one. It creaked under the assault.
Elapsed time from arrival to Alex’s first time-out: less than fifteen minutes.
“If it weren’t damned politically incorrect, I’d beat the shit out of him like the Colonel did me.”
Whip’s father believed a good beating taught never-forgotten lessons. I’m not sure it worked. “Why are we always threatening to
hit him?”
“Don’t know. I get scared when he runs out without looking. He’s totally irresponsible.” Whip looked more worried than angry. He rubbed his temples with the heels of his hands. “I can’t lose him like I lost his mother. Why won’t he think?”
“Because Captain Chaos is eleven.”
####
Whip ambled over to Johnny’s truck, where three men talked across the truck bed. He planted one booted foot on the rear bumper and lost himself in guy stuff. My men shared updates on the project. I carried bags of groceries, paper products, and other supplies from the girls’ dorm and put them on the counters in the boys’ dorm, ignoring Alex, who was in a parental time-out. I wasn’t going to let him wiggle out of his silent punishment by talking to me. Emilie was off on a jog under strict instructions to stay on what passed as main roads.
“Don’t worry, Mad Max. I won’t be out of sight of the compound.”
“As if you could find someplace to get lost.” I gave her a gentle push and watched her pink hair bob down the road. “Be back in an hour.”
Late in the afternoon, after Alex finished his time-out, Emilie helped him unpack the boys’ dorm. I enjoyed a quiet respite outdoors with a favorite book when a howl came from inside the dorm.
“That’s not fair. You got to see dead bodies, and I didn’t.” Alex’s plaintive wails carried through the screen door.
“I didn’t see the bodies. Uncle Johnny did.” Emilie skipped out of the boys’ dorm and over to the gathering area.
“Guess you told your brother about Johnny’s little trip into the bayou.” I turned my book face-down on my lap.
“Yup. He’s not too happy about having missed it.” Emilie winked.
“Double brat.”
Where was our wayward Ducks? Pickups and dump trucks trickled into the compound, while men gray with dust queued up at the showers. I was about to send out the cavalry when a commotion at the gate brought men running. Before I could get up to see what the fuss was, a car horn blasted, a dorm door slammed, and Alex whooped. When I walked around the front of the RV, my chin dropped.
A 1967, mint-condition, British racing green, ragtop XKE blocked traffic. Ducks was on the premises.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Mississippi, week of October 3
The instant Ducks stepped from the “Jag-you-wawr,” Alex leaped across the open area and tried to climb inside. Ducks grabbed him around the waist.
“Alex!” My grandson wasn’t going to forget his recent time-out for impulsive behavior. Twice in one day was two times too many. I marched over and dragged him aside by his arm.
“You know better, young man. Your mom and dad taught you to ask before you touch someone else’s property.” I nudged him to be sure I had his undivided attention. “Now, let me introduce you to Mr. Ducks. You can apologize and ask him to show you his car.”
Damn. What was wrong with him? He’d have to relearn common sense and basic civilized behavior. Back to Parenting 101.
Alex shuffled over, shook Ducks’s hand, apologized and asked if he could look at the car. Ducks accepted the apology and waved to the gawking laborers. Satisfying everyone’s curiosity at once was more efficient than having people come by one by one.
I backed away and bumped into Whip.
“What’d Captain Chaos do now?”
It took less than ten seconds to give Whip an update. “I handled it.”
Whip joined the growing crowd around the XKE.
“Not at all like your Jag, is it?” Emilie walked up.
“No, but I always wanted one like this. It’s gorgeous.” For years I’d lusted over the classic lines of the ’60s-era two-seater.
Em grinned. “So, why don’t you buy one?”
“I don’t need it.”
No wonder Ducks wanted me to bring his things. His car had room for little more than a fantasy. I introduced him to our growing community of workers and family. He spoke to the workers in Spanish and earned their respect. After dinner, he, Whip, and Johnny talked late into the night.
####
Ducks took twenty-four hours to settle in, giving Alex and Emilie one more day of freedom. Johnny and Whip left early each morning and returned in time to shower before dinner. I worked at the breakfast table in my dorm, putting together weekly menus and struggling with the unfamiliar logistics of running a large, extended family in a wasteland. Now that we were all together, I had to get serious about establishing a supply line to the nearest stores and a shopping routine.
I spent a fair amount of time writing in my journal, sending e-mails and texts to my friends and trying to get phone calls to stay connected. Satellite dishes provided Internet access. I’d already dismissed snail mail; I doubted a post office operated within a fifty-mile radius. Maybe more. Anything we ordered would have to be delivered to my apartment or shipped to Whip’s town house to be transported to the compound when one of us went home.
On our way down, Emilie and I found a Walmart about sixty miles from the site. At least I could stock up on fresh food and essentials, although it’d take an entire day to shop. If I forgot something, though, we’d have to do without until the next week’s trip to town. No running down to the corner store for milk and bread. No corners. No stores.
Johnny’s truck returned right after noon. He backed up to the gathering area, hopped out of the cab and dropped the tailgate. Ducks and Alex came out of the bus and helped unload two redwood picnic tables with benches and two canopies with mosquito netting.
“Now, we can eat outside together, if we want.”
“Where did you get these?” Ducks told us he hadn’t found many stores open to the east.
“One of our guys told me a Lowe’s reopened in Gulfport. I slipped away early. We need some place to hang out.” Johnny pulled off his gloves and banged dust from his jeans.
“Mosquito netting, huh? Funny. I haven’t seen a single mosquito since we got here. Or a married one, either.”
Johnny chucked me under the chin, kissed my forehead and climbed back in his truck.
“What do you say? Should we set up the canopies and break these in?” Ducks gestured at the tables.
“Sure.”
It took an hour of wrestling with the stubborn canopies to set them up. It would have helped if the instructions hadn’t been written in gibberish. I pulled the director’s chairs inside the netting.
Ducks disappeared into the bus. He re-emerged with a fistful of papers and a spiral notebook, a pen tucked behind one ear.
“Which child is a morning person?” Ducks asked as soon as he sat down. He spread a calendar and lesson plans across the table.
“Em. She gets up right after I do.”
“Which is?”
“No later than six.” I looked at a page filled with tiny writing.
“I’m an early riser. I’ll ride my bike before starting Em’s classes at eight.”
“Sounds good. I’ll roust Alex out by nine.” I made a note to begin the process a little earlier, because my grandson was a notorious bed slug.
“Great. I’ll start his classes at ten.” Shifting class times to take advantage of each child’s biorhythms should promote learning to the best of their potential. “I prefer to alternate teaching with quiet study, plus plenty of exercise.”
“I like the exercise part. I brought soccer balls and nets, skates, volleyballs, and the bikes. I can look at Walmart for whatever else we need.”
“They play soccer?”
“Both are very good. Em’s been playing since she was seven. Alex started a couple of years ago.”
“Brilliant.”
####
“Have you seen Alex?” I stopped in the middle of preparing dinner. I hadn’t seen my grandson in a couple of hours. “Last time I saw him he was rolling his bike through the gate.”
“He’s okay.” Emilie tore lettuce for a salad. “He just rode farther than he planned and forgot about the time.”
Must be another of her feeli
ngs. If she didn’t sense Alex was in danger, I’d have to be patient. When he got hungry enough, he’d show up.
Alex returned just after Whip and Johnny emerged from their after-work showers and sat at one of the tables.
“Way cool.” Alex said. “Where did you get these?”
Johnny gave him a quick recap of his race to Gulfport.
I was annoyed Alex was late. I threw a cloth over the table and laid five place settings. “Go wash up.”
“Okay.”
I carried bowls of food to the table. Whip forked steaks onto a pre-heated grill. Emilie followed with a pitcher of lemonade for her and Alex.
“Where did you go?” She asked when Alex reappeared with a freshly scrubbed face and hands.
Alex rode out toward the beach where he met a couple of local boys. I hadn’t seen anyone Alex’s age, although Emilie said a couple hung out at a battered shack about a quarter mile east.
“How old were the guys?” Ducks asked.
“Older than Em, I think.”
Whip pulled seared meat from the grill and passed plates around. He heaped pasta salad on his plate right next to a thick rib-eye. Emilie and I split a steak with enough left over for a sandwich the next day.
Alex cut a huge hunk of meat and crammed it into his mouth. “Both guys were kinda weird.”
“Weird? How?” Ducks asked before I could.
“One’s all goth.”
“That’s so last century.” Emilie gave an exaggerated eye roll.
“The other one didn’t say anything. He’s retarded.”
“You don’t know that, Alex,” Whip said. “Don’t call people names.”
“This second boy could be shy.” I reinforced Whip’s lesson. “Maybe when you get to know him, you’ll like him.”
“I doubt it.” Alex stared at his plate.
“He’s harmless,” Emilie said from inside her secret place.
During dinner I shared some of my concerns about the overwhelming tasks ahead of the displaced people who once called this place home. I filled everyone in on Eleanor’s advice about looking closer to our feet to find something to fix.
“She’s told me about her work in Kosovo and other war zones,” Ducks said. “We’ve had many conversations after church. I’d follow her advice.”
