by Robbi McCoy
The slough was running high up on the levee banks. It had been a year of heavy rains and all the waterways were swollen, but as summer approached, they were subsiding at last and the danger of ruptured levees receded as hot weather rolled in. Up and down the road bordering the levee, newer homes were built on metal frameworks, lifted up to the level of the slough where they were safe from flood damage. Under these houses, between the metal girders, residents parked their cars and boats. But the older homes, like the Townsends’, were built on the ground in the reclaimed marshes below the water level.
All of the land on all of the islands in the Delta was kept dry and arable by the levees, six thousand miles of them funneling water in a controlled pattern toward the Pacific Ocean. If not for the levees, all this land would turn into a huge marsh. The levees defined the landscape and anybody living here knew their worth. They also knew how precarious their houses were on the dry side of those snaking mounds of rock and dirt. When a levee broke, it was usually without warning and the result was almost always vast and devastating. The last major break had been eight years ago. The result: twelve thousand acres of crops under water, homes destroyed, livestock drowned. Jackie remembered it well. Her mother and father talked sometimes, especially when something like that happened, of having their house raised up, but it was an expensive procedure. When the danger had passed, they relaxed again and forgot about it for a while. They’d lived here in the same house for thirty years, since before Jackie was born, and it seemed unlikely anything would happen to change that.
“Hi,” she called, and all three of them turned to look.
“Hi, Jackie,” Adam yelped, jumping up and running to her for a hug.
She squeezed him tight, then he ran back to his place at the edge of the dock. Jackie pulled an empty chair up beside her mother, noting with mild alarm the black and white striped shorts she wore. Like an umpire’s uniform, but Jackie was sure no umpire had ever worn such a pair of shorts. She was also sure nobody anywhere had ever worn such a pair of shorts with a green, blue and purple paisley blouse. Her mother shopped routinely at the thrift store and based her choices strictly on price, regardless of appearance, quality or even fit. The Townsends weren’t poor; they could afford decent clothes, but Ida got tremendous pleasure out of snagging a “deal.” It was entertainment for her, like hitting a jackpot in Vegas. Apparently she had recently gone shopping for her summer wardrobe. Jackie was grateful this extreme thriftiness hadn’t manifested itself sooner, when she was a child, or she might have had to go to school in a shirt like that. That was the good news, that Ida was the only victim of her clothing disasters.
“Mack’s liquor store got robbed last night,” Ida announced, reaching into the can of nuts. “At gunpoint. There were two of them. A couple of young punks.”
“Oh, that’s awful!” Jackie said. “Was anyone hurt?”
“No. They took cash and a few bottles of whiskey. Scared Mack near to death, though.”
“That’s the third robbery in two months. I’m really starting to worry about you two at the shop.”
“Same guys,” her father speculated.
“You don’t know that,” Ida returned.
“Sounds like the same guys,” he insisted. “Chief Schuller thinks so too. In a town this small, chances are it’s somebody we know. Somebody’s rotten kids.”
“What a thing to say about your neighbors,” her mother objected. “It’s some thugs from the city. From Sacramento. Lots of thugs over there.”
Jackie’s father turned to frown at his wife. “Now why the hell would thugs from Sacramento drive all the way over here to knock off our little liquor store? Does that make sense to you?” He turned to his daughter. “Jackie, does that make sense to you?”
She gave her mother a sympathetic look. “It doesn’t seem likely.”
Ida grunted and tossed some nuts in her mouth.
“I saw one!” cried Adam, pointing at the water where several concentric circles spread outward, confirming his report of a jumping fish. His grandfather nodded indulgently.
“Mom,” Jackie asked, “what do you know about a houseboat off of Baylor Road?”
Her mother’s eyes opened wide with sudden interest. “Barry Compton.” She nodded. “He lived out there on the river for years. He’d pull in every once in a while and come into the shop for clams. That’s all he ever bought. Clams and Mountain Dew.”
“Crazy old hermit,” Rudy muttered, then took a drink from his beer bottle.
“You remember him, Jackie,” Ida said. “He had a brother named John Paul and everybody used to call him The Pope.”
Jackie shook her head uncertainly.
“He had a dog, a little white mutt named Jack Daniels.”
“Oh!” Jackie said with recognition. “I remember that dog!”
“I knew you’d remember the dog!” Ida laughed. “Anyway, a few years back Compton ran into one of the World War II tugboats they’ve got anchored over at Rough and Ready Island. You know those rusty old tugs that’ve been sitting there for decades?”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Plowed right into one of ’em. Ripped a hole clean through one of the pontoons. Left side of the houseboat went in, under water about a foot.” Ida leaned sideways to demonstrate, looking like she was enjoying her tale. “That wasn’t his first accident. He ran aground a few times before that.”
“Too old to be driving,” Rudy added. “On land or water.”
“They pulled him out,” Ida continued. “He parked it over there on his cousin’s land. I haven’t seen him much since then.”
Jackie reached into the nut can and picked out a cashew. “He doesn’t live there anymore.”
“No, no,” Ida agreed emphatically. “He couldn’t live alone anymore. His heart’s weak. He’s gone to live with his daughter, I think. Some female relative. I heard he sold that old houseboat a few weeks ago.”
“Some damned fool got ripped off!” Rudy sputtered.
Ida turned to him. “A young woman.”
“Young woman?” he asked, knitting his wild eyebrows together. “Why the hell would a young woman buy an old broken-down houseboat?”
“What do you know about her?” Jackie asked her mother, taking a couple more nuts.
“Not much. I heard she was from somewhere in the East Bay. She’s on her own. That’s all I know. She’s gonna fix that boat, she says, and put it back in the water.”
“No chance of that!” Rudy declared, snorting out a laugh.
“How do you know?” Jackie asked.
Her father’s beer stopped halfway to his mouth as he turned to look at her. “Boat’s a wreck. That’s what I heard.”
“Most things can be fixed,” Jackie pointed out.
“Yeah,” he relented, “I guess that’s true if you want to sink a fortune into it.”
“Maybe she can do the work herself.” Jackie recalled Stef’s lovely, competent arms lifting paneling.
He nodded, looking skeptical. “Good luck to her, then.” He swallowed a mouthful of beer. “What kind of boat is it?”
“Forty-foot pontoon,” Jackie said. “Crest, I think.”
Her father looked thoughtful. “I think I met her.”
“You did?” Jackie turned in her chair to face him.
“You did?” Ida asked with obvious envy.
“Yeah. Forty-foot Crest pontoon. She didn’t say it was grounded. Came into the shop for a map.”
“What’s she like?” Ida asked.
Rudy shrugged. “Tall, good-looking. She rode in on a motorcycle. Kind of gritty like she could slit somebody’s throat without blinking.”
Jackie thought of Stef’s penchant for knife throwing.
“What makes you say that?” Ida exclaimed. “Is she covered with tattoos or something? A nose ring? Talks rough?”
“No nose ring and no tattoos that I saw. No, nothing rough about her that way. She was nice and friendly.”
“She was?” Jackie asked, trying
to imagine that.
“Yeah. Talked about exploring the Delta. I just got the feeling you didn’t want to pick a fight with her, that’s all. Just a feeling, like she could take care of herself.”
“What else did she say?” Jackie asked.
“Not much. She wasn’t very talkative.”
That was easy to imagine, Jackie thought, reaching into the nut can for another cashew.
“If you’re hungry,” said her mother, “there’s a peanut butter sandwich on the kitchen counter. I made it for Adam, but he didn’t want it.”
Hearing his name, Adam turned to squint at them, the setting sun in his eyes. Then he suddenly slapped his forearm, hollering, “’squito!” He brushed the dead bug off with a look of disgust.
“Light those citronellas,” Ida commanded.
Rudy lifted himself from his chair and went to all four corners of the dock to light the citronella candles against the mosquitoes. The candles sat atop four by four posts and burned with a distinctive lemony smell, emitting yarn-like black smoke.
“Why are you asking about that woman in Compton’s houseboat?” her mother asked.
“Just curious. I met her yesterday. Her name’s Stef.”
Ida looked indignant. “I can’t believe everybody’s met her but me. And you even know her name. What else?”
Jackie shook her head. “Nothing. Except she has a golden retriever named Deuce. Like Dad said, she’s not very talkative.”
“But she likes your jerky,” Rudy added, settling back in his chair.
“Well, then,” Ida said with satisfaction, “she can’t be all bad.”
“I wanna go fishing,” Adam announced, hopping to his feet.
“He’s not using my pole,” Rudy declared.
“Not using mine either,” Ida said. “Last time he threw it in the mud and gunked up the reel.”
Adam stuck out his bottom lip in a surly pout.
“You don’t need a pole,” Jackie told him.
“I don’t?”
“Nope. Go find a nice long stick about this big around.” She held her thumb and forefinger in an inch-wide circle. “And one of those oak balls. You know what I mean? Those round things that grow on oak trees. Check under that oak right over there. Not too small. And while you’re at it, run into the house and bring that peanut butter sandwich back for me.”
Rudy chuckled and gave Jackie a knowing look as Adam took off running to fulfill his quest. They watched him rooting around under the oak tree for a few minutes until he turned and held up his hand triumphantly. Then he was off in search of a stick.
“Do you remember my friend Connie Herbert from Sacramento?” her mother asked.
“No, I don’t think so.”
“I ran into her the other day and she told me her daughter is a lesbian. What a coincidence, I told her. Connie’s daughter is just a year younger than you. Her name is Martha. Martha Herbert. Do you know her?”
Jackie rolled her eyes. “No, Mom. I’ve told you before we don’t all know each other. There are a lot of lesbians in Sacramento. I know maybe four of them. It’s not like we’re all in this club that meets once a month.”
“I know that, Jackie,” her mother said with irritation. “But Martha was in the veterinary program at UC Davis. I thought you might know her because of that.”
“Oh.” Jackie felt contrite. “No, sorry. She must have been after me.”
Ten minutes later Adam returned with the oak ball, a crooked but sturdy tree branch, and a paper plate containing a peanut butter sandwich. Jackie picked up the sandwich and tore a bite off while Adam stood expectantly beside her chair. She reached into her back pocket and pulled out her wallet. She unzipped a pouch in it, producing a coil of fishing line with a hook on the end and a single split shot fastened six inches above that. She held it in her palm to show Adam. “This is all you need. If you have this, wherever you go in the world you’ll never starve. You can always catch fish.”
“Except maybe in the Sahara Desert,” muttered her father.
Jackie picked up an ink pen from the table and forced it through the oak ball, making a hole through the middle.
“This’ll be your bobber,” she said, threading the fishing line through it.
“Grandpa’s got real bobbers in his tackle box,” Adam offered.
“No tackle box. Remember, we’re lost in the wilderness and living by our wits.”
Adam’s eyes lit up with that thought, and he watched her patiently as she tied off the bobber, then tied the end of the line to the stick.
“There you go,” she said, handing him the makeshift pole. “Ready to catch a fish.”
She sat back and took another bite of the sandwich.
Adam looked confused. “What about bait?”
“Your grandpa’s always telling people you can catch a catfish around here with a bare hook.”
Ida laughed shortly and declared, “He is!”
Adam looked skeptical.
“Okay,” Jackie relented. “Just to be on the safe side, let’s use bait.”
“I can dig up a worm,” Adam offered.
Jackie wrinkled her nose in exaggerated disgust and pinched a piece of her sandwich out of the center. She rolled it between her palms until it was a tough little ball. Then she slid it over the hook.
Adam’s mouth fell open in speechless wonder. He turned toward his grandfather to show him the dough ball on his hook. Rudy held up his thumb and nodded encouragingly.
Adam went to the edge of the dock, sat down and dropped his line in the water, holding the pole between his knees in a classic posture of boys and fishing poles throughout the ages. He turned to smile at Jackie when the bobber floated as intended.
The light faded as twilight descended and the fish started jumping with regularity. Jackie finished her sandwich, her mother finished her nuts, and her father finished his beer in silence as they all relished the cool breeze that had come up, wafting curls of black smoke from the candles into the evening air.
A fishing boat went by, breaking the calm and leaving a series of waves behind that washed Adam’s bobber to shore. When the waves subsided, he tossed his line out again.
This was how Jackie’s parents spent most evenings. They didn’t seem to have much to say to one another, but she never questioned their contentment. Sometimes Jackie thought the definition of happiness was simply knowing what was going to happen from day to day, like the three of them knowing that on Sunday afternoon their family would gather here for dinner like they had every Sunday for years. When they’d failed to do that, it was usually because something was wrong. Somebody was sick or some unforeseen disaster had occurred, like the time Grandpa had backed out of his garage without opening the door, and they’d spent Sunday repairing the damage. Or the time Mom had fallen and broken her wrist. But if all was well, Grandma, Grandpa, Mom, Dad, Ben and Rosa and the baby, Becca and Sean, Adam and Jackie would be here on Sunday for fried chicken, pot roast or some other familiar meal.
People don’t like change. It makes them nervous and fearful. Most changes are unwelcome disruptions to the lazy bliss of routine. If people are looking for change, they’re trying to fix something that’s wrong. Jackie’s own life was good. There wasn’t much she’d want to change. Except that she’d like someone to share it with, someone who would eventually sit on the dock with her in her old age, comfortably, not feeling compelled to say anything, but feeling content.
Her thoughts were shattered by a boisterous cry from Adam. He jumped to his feet, gripping the stick tightly in both hands. Jackie sprang from her chair and put her hands on his shoulders to calm him.
“Don’t yank it,” she cautioned, watching the bobber duck partially underwater, then resurface, then duck again, weakly, indicating a small prize on the hook.
“Let me hold the pole,” Jackie said. “Then you pull the line up.”
He handed her his stick and took hold of the line, pulling hand over hand the few feet up from the water. A small yell
ow perch thrashed on the end of line.
“You got him!” Jackie hollered. “Whoo hoo!”
Adam looked from his fish to his aunt, beaming with joy and pride.
“You got one?” asked Rudy. He and Ida got up and stood at the edge, looking over at the fish.
Adam pulled the line up the rest of the way.
“Way to go!” Rudy said.
“You want to eat it or throw it back?” Jackie asked.
“Eat it!” Adam said without hesitation, startling her.
“You sure? You hooked him on the lip.” Jackie took hold of the fish and eased out the hook. “We could put him back and he could live a long happy life.”
“Eat it!” Adam declared again.
“Gosh sakes, Jackie,” her mother said. “Let the boy eat his fish.”
She handed the fish to Adam. He held it securely between his hands and beamed a broad smile at his family members. “Can I catch another one?”
“That’s enough,” Ida said. “Your dad’ll be here in a few minutes to pick you up. Besides, it’s getting dark.”
“Let’s go clean that fish,” Rudy said, putting his hand on Adam’s back. “You can take it home to your mother and have her fry it up for you. That’s a heck of a lot better than a peanut butter sandwich, now, isn’t it?”
Adam nodded enthusiastically. Jackie sat back down in her chair, smiled at her mother and stared absentmindedly across the water, thinking about a lovely woman and a dog in a broken-down houseboat.
CHAPTER SEVEN