They loaded the boat and stepped inside. Danny unstrapped the pair of plastic oars that were secured to the side of the boat. He took one for himself and handed the other one to Mason. Then they pushed the craft away from shore and began paddling out.
As they glided across the inlet, Mason watched the shimmering tips of sunlight reflecting on the water. He smiled, feeling peaceful. This was exactly what he needed.
“So whatcha gonna do now that you’re home from college?” asked Danny while they rowed.
“I’m not sure. I was going to try to find a job in the city after the summer, which I guess I still could. But with Momma dying, I have to focus on other stuff here.”
“Yeah, I suppose so. I was really sorry to hear about her passing.”
Mason nodded. “Yep.” He took a moment to keep from tearing up. “Yeah, it’s really hard right now.”
Eaver rested a hand on his knee. “I’m sorry, sugar. It’ll get better.”
“I know, I know. Just gotta keep looking forward. Shoot, I have to go see the lawyer tomorrow and get everything with her will squared away. Thank God the house was paid for, that’ll be a big help not having to worry about that. But I’ll have to find a job here if I stay in the house.”
“Or sell it,” Danny pointed out, “and use the money to buy something else in whatever area you end up working.”
Mason shrugged. “We’ll see. I kinda like it here. There’s something to be said for living in a small, quiet town. Simple living.”
“Amen,” said Eaver. “You should stay here. You’ve still got your friends.”
“That I do,” Mason acknowledged. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He continued pulling the oar, turning his head to watch the swirling current left by each stroke.
Eaver redirected the focus on Danny. “So, is your dad still being a dick?”
Danny smirked, a little ashamed. “Yes’m, unfortunately. Still an unbearable control freak.”
Eaver remembered Ricky’s temperament all too well. “Last time I saw ol’ ‘King Richard’ I had to watch while he made you stand in the corner, nose pressed to the wall, for talking back to him. I was so embarrassed for you that all I could do was sit on the couch and wait quietly until he let you go with me.”
“Jesus,” said Mason. “Does he think you’re still six years old?”
“He’s always been kind of a dick to me. I’m not sure why, but I suspect that I was an accident. Maybe deep down he’s always resented me for making him settle down with Mom to raise a baby. And it didn’t help matters when she left him a few years back.” Danny then chuckled. “I’m thinking she had the right idea.”
“Hang in there, Danny,” Mason reassured. “Like you said, next year you’ll graduate and get the hell outta there.”
The group reached the coast, steered south, and paddled alongshore. Before long, they had reached the mouth of Pirate’s Bend. They brought the boat to the center of the quiet cove and stopped there.
While rigging his fishing pole, Danny noticed an area of the shoreline squared off by yellow police tape. “What happened over there, I wonder?”
Mason followed Danny’s eyes to the spot on shore, then immediately remembered what he had overheard at the funeral. “Oh yeah, the sheriff was talking about some bloody something found here. They think it might be from ol’ Earl.”
“No shit,” Danny muttered.
Eaver cringed. “You mean like something in the water got him?”
“That’s what I’d imagine,” said Mason. “Anything in here that would attack and kill a man?” he asked Danny.
“Duh-dum, duh-dum,” he sang ominously, and the others immediately recognized the theme from Jaws.
“Very funny,” said Eaver. “You do know that sharks can get in here.”
“Of course,” Danny replied nonchalantly. “Probably coming up for the boat as we speak.”
Mason laughed, but the statement had triggered fear in him.
“But seriously,” added Danny, “no. I don’t know what could’a happened to ol’ Earl. He was a capable man of the water, so I’m at a loss.” He glanced again at the police tape on the shoreline.
A sound in the water was heard, perhaps twenty yards from the rowboat. It was not so much a splash, but more like the sound of something slipping under the water.
The group looked in that direction, but saw nothing but ripples on the surface. They studied the water in quiet nervousness.
Eaver looked down into the murky green next to the boat. All she could see were rays of sunlight fading into the cloudy depths and disappearing a few feet down. Below that nothing was visible. The fact that anything could be swimming down there made Eaver shudder.
“What do you say we paddle back to Danny’s inlet?” she suggested. “There’s good fishing there too.”
A slight breeze blew across the water and up Mason’s neck, giving him goosebumps. He nodded. “Sounds good to me. Let’s get out of here.”
CHAPTER 7
The midday sun welcomed Mason when he finally emerged from the courthouse. He had been busy since nine this morning, starting with meeting his mother’s lawyer, going through procedural paperwork, and ending with him in the courthouse filing for letters of testamentary. After three hours of being smothered in details over the will, death certificates, and everything he would need to do over the next couple of weeks, the sun on his face felt like a reward.
Mason still had much to do. He would need to find his mother’s insurance policy, credit card statements, checking, savings, and investment accounts, inform those companies of her passing, and transfer the accounts with the water and utility companies to his name. But he felt like he had done enough for one day. Now he needed to do something enjoyable.
He thought about going to Sherrie’s Shack. He would have a nice lunch there, in a familiar, friendly atmosphere. Then perhaps he and Eaver could run off and do something together. Satisfied with his plan, he headed to the restaurant.
Sherrie’s Shack stood near the beach, a few hundred feet north of the dock. The name did indeed suit the modest sized restaurant, which looked like a shack. Its walls were comprised of weathered cedar shingles and it was covered in corrugated metal roofing. But the large windows, festive awnings, and the brightly-painted sign above the door cemented its appearance as that of a local restaurant.
The welcome smells of Southern cooking struck Mason instantly when he entered. His nose picked up the smoky barbeque, the sautéed shrimp, the chowder, and the chicken in the fryer. He was now hungrier than ever.
“Hey, sweetie!” said Sherrie from behind the counter, unconsciously brushing the front of her patterned apron. “How are you today?”
Mason smiled, hanging his sunglasses on the neckline of his T-shirt. “Very well, Ms. Sherrie. Smells damn good in here.”
“Well, duh!” Sherrie placed her hand on her hips. “Would you expect anything less?”
“No, ma’am, I wouldn’t.” Mason scanned the floor for Eaver, spotting her wiping down one of the tables. She glanced at him, smiling sweetly. “I was thinking about stealing Eaver away from you for a bit, but after lunch of course.”
“Don’t see why not. It’s a beautiful day out.” She was pleased that young Mason wanted to take her daughter out for a while. “So what can I get ya for lunch?”
“Well, I was thinking about the fried chicken plate. And does Cinch have any of his awesome gumbo made?”
“Yes sir,” she confirmed. Then she turned her head back toward the kitchen. “Hey Cinch, this fella here says he wants some of your gumbo.”
A seventy-year-old black man popped his head around the wall. He had a head full of short, gray curls, and sideburns to match. When he recognized Mason, his eyes lit up and a broad smile stretched across his leathery face. “Dat be young Mr. Mason! I was wondering when you would be in to see us!” He walked out to the counter. “It’s good to see you, boy!”
Mason’s heart warmed when he heard the old Creole�
��s familiar voice. Mason had spent many years in the company of ol’ Cinch, who had cooked for Sherrie in the restaurant since Mason was a child. Cinch was the closest thing he had to a grandfather. “Good to see you too, Cinch. It’s been a while.” Mason extended his hand, and Cinch reached out with both of his thin arms to grasp it.
“I got a good gumbo today, boy. Lemme tell you. You gonna love it.”
“I can’t wait, ol’ buddy.” He watched the old man scurry back to the kitchen to dish his cooking.
“And a chicken plate,” said Sherrie. Then she turned to Mason, gave a refusing gesture when he reached for his wallet, and told him to be seated.
Minutes later Sherrie brought his meal to him, with Eaver right behind carrying the drink and silverware. Sherrie set the plate down before him, and then the steaming bowl next to that. The freshly fried chicken looked and smelled amazing. “How’s that look for ya?”
“Well, it’s no Bojangles’,” Mason teased, “but it’ll do.”
Sherrie gasped. “You hush it! I should pinch you.”
Mason and Eaver giggled at her reaction. “You know I’m just playin’, Sherrie. Looks delicious, as always.”
Sherrie mussed his red hair a bit. “Enjoy your lunch, Trouble.”
He dug into his food, realizing after his first bite just how famished he was. The comfort food revitalized his body and soul. He was soon full and content.
When he was finished, Eaver cleared the table and carted the dishes to the kitchen. Then she returned to his table and seated herself opposite him. “So what’s the plan, Stan?”
“I dunno, Eave. Just thought we’d hang out and do whatever today. What would you like to do?”
Eaver smacked her palms lightly on the table top. “Let’s go get some ice cream! I’m craving something cold and sweet.”
“Okay,” Mason said with a nod. “That sounds damn good right now. Is Rosie’s still here?”
“You know it. Been here as long as anyone can remember, and probably will be forever.”
Mason pushed his chair back and stood. “Then let’s go. My treat.”
Eaver popped up and took Mason’s hand, heading for the door. “We’re going out, Momma,” she called to Sherrie. “I don’t know when I’ll be back.” Sherrie waved them off with a smile, and the couple exited the restaurant.
They walked south for a block, along a row of magnolia trees. The trees were full with waxy, dark green leaves and giant white flowers. The scent from the blooms was perfume in the thick summer air. Mason felt happy.
The friends turned onto Main Street and followed the sidewalk inland several blocks until they found themselves in front of the ice cream parlor, Rosie’s Creamery. They met with a soothing blast of air conditioning when they stepped inside. Eaver eagerly led Mason to the display case to decide on a flavor.
Old Rosie was at the counter as always, still loving her chosen profession. She greeted the couple with a pleasant smile and asked what she could serve up for them. Mason bought two sugar cones, with cookies and cream for him and butter pecan for Eaver, and then the two sat down to enjoy their gourmet ice creams. When they were finished, they thanked Rosie, who waved and wished them a blessed day.
Once outside, they paused on the sidewalk while Mason put on his sunglasses.
“What should we do now?” Eaver asked.
“I’m game for whatever, what sounds good to you?”
She tilted her head. “We could get some cold beers, head down to the creek, and do some fishing under the trees.”
“Are you even old enough to buy beer yet?”
The young lady batted her eyelashes. “Will be next year.”
“Hey, Eaver-Beaver!” a brusque voice hailed.
Mason turned his head to see who had called out, and his heart skipped a beat.
It was the dreaded Malcolm Gibbs, known to all as Big Mal. Malcolm was Mason’s age – but bigger and tougher – and had been the class bully throughout their entire school career in Sweetboro.
Mal was on the other side of the street with two of his usual friends, Mitch Haverson and Jesse Reed. Having caught the attention of Eaver and Mason, they crossed the street to engage them. Mason could feel his adrenaline building as they approached. Mal’s appearance was intimidating; he stood an inch or two taller than Mason, had long, slicked-back black hair, and a square jaw. He looked every bit as big and mean as Mason remembered.
“Hey, Mal,” Eaver acknowledged.
“How you doin’, girl?” Mal looked at Mason. “Haven’t seen you in a long time, Red.”
“Hey, Mal. Been away at college.”
“So you’re a fancy college boy, huh?” He leaned in closer to the smaller young man.
“I suppose,” Mason replied, avoiding direct eye contact. “I just moved back after graduation. What’s new with you?”
Mal relaxed his stance. “Livin’ large and in charge. Makin’ money, money, money!” He raised his hand for a high-five from one of his associates, which he promptly received. Then his face grew a little sterner. “Have either of you seen Walt Echerson?”
Mason and Eaver shook their heads. “No, Mal,” said Eaver, “not recently.”
“Well, I need him for work and he ain’t nowhere to be found. Not answerin’ his phone, neither. Let him know I’m lookin’ for him if’n you see him, Eaver-Beaver.”
Eaver winced. “Aww, that name never gets old, Mal,” she smiled sarcastically. “Maybe Walt finally decided to grow up and stop hanging around Neanderthals.”
Mal puffed up angrily. “What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”
Confrontation with Big Mal was the last thing Mason wanted; he quickly diffused the situation. “C’mon, Eaver, let’s go look for him. We’ll tell him to call you if we see him, Mal. Okay?”
Mal directed his stare at Mason. “Yeah,” he said after a silent moment. Then, with a jab of his finger to Mason’s chest, he added, “You do that, Red.” Then Big Mal took his buddies back across the street to resume their day.
Mason waited until they were out of earshot before he commented. “What a dick! God, I hate Mal! Still an asshole, I see.”
“Oh yes,” said Eaver. “He hasn’t changed a bit. Except maybe becoming more of a thug.”
“I see he still hangs with the same crew of troublemakers from high school.”
“His same ol’ posse. But now, instead of stealing lunch money, they grow pot somewhere on the hill and sell it.”
Mason was shocked. “No shit?” He was surprised to hear of anyone growing illegal marijuana, even a degenerate such as Big Mal. “That’s crazy. And the sheriff doesn’t know?”
“Naw, Mal is at least smart enough not to shit where he eats. He and his little gang sell to nearby towns. Nobody around here is really affected by it.”
“Huh.” Mason processed his thoughts for a moment, evaluating what Malcolm Gibbs had amounted to. The bully who had menaced him for years was still just that, and now a drug dealer as well. All the more reason to stay away from Big Mal.
Mason snapped back to the moment at hand. “C’mon, Eave. Let’s go back to my car, go get that beer, and do that fishing.”
CHAPTER 8
Danny felt drained. The last hour had been a combination of scrubbing, washing, and having to listen to NASCAR from the TV in the next room. The constant droning of race cars was not a pleasant companion to his toil. But per his father’s direction, Danny was to clean the house today. So he tackled the task, NASCAR noise and all.
He had the kitchen floor, cabinets, and counters looking spick and span, and was now working on the dusty chandelier above the kitchen table. Standing on one of the chairs, he took a washcloth to the dangling crystals and wiped them shiny. When he was finished, he stepped down and pushed the chair back in.
“Okay, Dad,” he called to the living room, “kitchen and dining room are done.”
After a few seconds, the TV volume was turned down. “Did you get the chandelier?”
“Yep, just
now. Do you wanna come look?”
Ricky pulled himself up from the couch cushion. “Awright, let’s see how you did.” He appeared from around the corner, immediately scanning the kitchen, ceiling, and dining table. Everything looked clean, but he noticed a smudge on the table. “You missed a spot,” he said, directing with his eyes.
Danny moved to catch the right angle, then saw what his father saw. “So I did. No worries, I’ll get it.” He reached for the furniture polish and dust rag. “Then would it be cool if I go out with my friends?”
Ricky rolled his eyes. “You did that yesterday. Remember, instead of cleaning the house like I told you to?”
“Well, yeah, but you told me I could. And I cleaned it today.”
“Some, but you’re not even close to being done. There’s still the living room, the bathrooms, and the laundry.”
Danny felt deflated. “All that?”
“I told you, you’re cleaning the house today.” Ricky looked at his burdensome son with contempt, then buried his face in his hands. “Why are you so goddamn lazy? Is this how hard you look for jobs too?”
Danny could feel anger rising in him, but he knew better than to show it. He kept his voice peaceful. “Dad, if me working is so important to you, then why don’t you just give me a job at the store?”
Ricky shook his head. This topic had come up on several occasions before, and he had denied it each time. The last thing he wanted was to hire his son to work at his grocery store. For several reasons.
“For the last time, that’s not gonna happen. You need to find your own way, not rely on me all your life. Plus, I can’t show favoritism among my employees.”
“You wouldn’t have to, I’d have the same expectations –”
Ricky waved his hand violently in the air, indicating he wanted nothing to do with this debate. “No. That’s the end of it.”
Danny sighed. “Okay, whatever.”
The reaction triggered ire in Ricky. He took a step closer to his son. “What’s that? You have an attitude today?”
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