Hideout

by Watt Key

  “What do you like to do, Davey?” the woman asked.

  “Fish,” he said.

  The wife glanced at her husband, and he nodded agreeably.

  “Okay,” the woman said. “What kind of family are you looking for?”

  “I don’t know,” Davey said. “I don’t know all the types yet.”

  The woman smiled politely, but I detected a little frustration.

  “Is there anything you think we should know about you, Davey?”

  “I’m pretty good at makin’ things,” he said. “And sometimes I have a lot of questions.”

  “Well,” the woman continued, “you can ask us anything you like.”

  Davey nodded.

  “Go ahead, Davey,” Mom said.

  “Do you have a dog?”

  “Yes,” the woman said. “We have a dog. A border collie.”

  “Does he live inside or outside?”

  “He lives inside.”

  “What do you feed him?”

  The woman glanced at her husband. “Well,” she said, “we feed him dog food mostly. Sometimes table scraps.”

  “What kind of dog food?”

  She looked at her husband again. “Uh, honey, what kind is it?”

  “Purina, I think,” he said.

  Davey studied him. “Okay,” he said.

  We waited for Davey to ask another question, but he didn’t.

  “Anything else, Davey?” Mom said.

  Davey shook his head. “No,” he said. “That’s all.”

  Mom thanked the couple for stopping by, and they got up to leave. Mom told us to wait while she walked with them out to their car. Davey stayed sitting on the sofa while I got up and looked out the window.

  “They drive a Honda Accord,” I said.

  Davey didn’t answer me. I turned back and looked at him. He was watching me, but I could tell his mind was going over the interview.

  “Honda Accord’s not too bad,” I said.

  “No,” he said. “That’s not too bad.”

  After a few minutes Mom returned and joined us in the living room. “Well,” she said, “what’d you think, Davey?”

  “They seem pretty nice,” he said. “When do you find out if they like me?”

  “They said you’re welcome to stay with them for a few days and try things out if you want.”

  “So they like me?”

  “Yes,” Mom said. “They like you.”

  Davey looked at the floor, thinking to himself again. After a moment he looked up. “But I can talk to some more people first?”

  “Certainly,” Mom said. “As many as you like. There’s another couple who want to meet you this afternoon.”

  “Then I want to talk to some more people first,” Davey said.

  “I think that’s a good idea,” Mom said.

  Davey and I went swimming in the bayou, then took the Bream Chaser for a short ride. When we got back Mom brought hot dogs out on the dock for us. Then Davey went inside to take a shower and get cleaned up for his second interview.

  Davey waited on the sofa while I watched out the window for the new couple to arrive. A little before two o’clock I saw them pull into the driveway.

  “Mercedes,” I called out. “Jackpot.”

  Mom came hurrying out of her bedroom and set her lipstick on the kitchen counter. She looked at me and shook her head. “Sam,” she said, “get away from the window and go wait with Davey.”

  I frowned and went into the living room.

  “That’s not too bad,” he said.

  I plopped down next to him. “Are you kidding?” I said. “That’s as good as it gets.”

  This time the man was older, with gray hair, and was dressed like a person who played golf a lot. His wife, a little younger than Mom, had long blond hair that hung in a ponytail down her back. She was dressed like she played tennis.

  It turned out that he owned a chain of mattress stores around the state, and it sounded like they had a lot of money.

  The man asked Davey about his schooling. Davey told him he was homeschooled, and the couple exchanged looks like it was something they weren’t expecting.

  Then they asked him if he had any medical issues they should be aware of.

  “I don’t get sick much,” he said.

  “Do you like to play any sports?” the man asked.

  “I like to fish,” Davey said.

  “He means like athletic sports,” the woman said.

  “Everything I see is blurry,” Davey said. “Even with glasses.”

  The man studied Davey closely and nodded. The woman leaned back in her chair and rubbed her ear and glanced at her husband.

  “What are you interested in studying?” the man continued.

  “I like just about anything,” Davey said.

  “What would you like to be when you grow up?”

  “A fisherman, I guess. Or a policeman.”

  The man sat back and folded his hands in his lap.

  “Davey, would you like to ask them some questions now?” Mom said.

  “Do you have a dog?”

  “She has a wiener dog,” the man said.

  “Does he live inside or outside?”

  The man glanced at his wife. “It lives in our bed most of the time,” he said. And he said it like it was a joke, but I could tell he wasn’t really joking.

  The woman frowned. “Our dog’s name is Buttercup,” she said. “She’s the sweetest dog you’ll ever meet. And she has her own bed in the study.”

  The man looked at Mom. “In my study,” he added.

  “She uses the house just like she’s family,” the woman continued. “And Bill loves Buttercup.”

  Davey was studying the man. “Do you love Buttercup?” he asked.

  The man rolled his eyes. “Sure,” he said. “I love Buttercup.”

  Davey continued to study him. After a moment he said he didn’t have any more questions. Then they thanked us, and Mom walked them out to the car.

  “You don’t like them, do you?” I said.

  Davey shook his head.

  I stood up. “Me neither,” I said. “You wanna go check on Grover?”

  “Yeah,” he said.

  * * *

  That afternoon we hung out with Grover for a couple of hours. Then we came back to find Dad getting his boat ready for our fishing trip the next morning. He’d already gone to the bait shop and purchased live shrimp and poured them into the bait well. We helped him put new line on the reels and sort out the tackle box. Then we loaded the fish box, the dining fly, and the foldout chairs and table. Finally we filled a cooler with water and soft drinks and sandwiches Mom had made for us. We iced it all down and got everything ready to leave before sunup.

  Back in the house, Mom had a surprise for Davey—she’d picked up his new glasses from Walmart. He slipped them on and grinned at us, and the old Davey was back.

  In the evening Dad grilled hamburgers for us in the front yard. Then we swam and tried to catch fireflies with our hands. That night we lay in bed talking about what it would be like living with each of the two couples. I thought the first couple seemed pretty boring, but I wasn’t sure what Davey thought about them, so I let him tell me.

  “They should know more about their dog,” he said.

  “Like what? They just weren’t sure what kind of food it was.”

  “They should know,” he said. “They should know what he likes to eat.”

  “They probably do,” I said. “It was just a sort of weird question they probably weren’t expecting.”

  “Your mom would know right away what you like to eat.”

  “But I’m her son,” I said.

  “They should know,” Davey said.

  And I could tell that I wasn’t going to convince him otherwise.

  “Everybody’s not going to have dogs,” I said. “We don’t have a dog.”

  “I know,” he said. “But if they have one, they should know all about it.”

 
“Whatever.” I sighed. “It’s your family.”

  Davey turned on his side and looked at me. “You think I’m bein’ too picky?”

  “No,” I said. “It’s whatever you want … I just didn’t know you cared so much about dogs.”

  “I told you I did.”

  “I know,” I said.

  “The second people with the Mercedes didn’t like me.”

  “How do you know that?” I said.

  “I just do.”

  “Well, you didn’t like them either.”

  “What if I don’t find anybody?” Davey said.

  “Then I guess you’ll just end up living here.”

  I looked over at him and smiled, thinking he’d like that idea. But Davey wasn’t smiling.

  “That won’t really work,” he said.

  “It could,” I said.

  “No,” he said. “If your parents wanted to adopt me, they’d have already said so.”

  “It’s not that they don’t want to,” I said. “It’s just not something they’ve thought about. It’s sort of a big thing. It’s not like adopting a dog.”

  “It’s okay,” Davey said. “I get it.”

  “It doesn’t mean they don’t like you.”

  “It’s okay,” Davey said again. “I just said that wrong.”

  “I can talk to them about it.”

  “No,” Davey said. “It wouldn’t be right. I need to find my own family. We can still be friends.”

  “Of course,” I said. “Of course we’ll still be friends.”

  Davey smiled and turned over again.

  47

  Dad woke us at five. He must have been up forever, because he already had a breakfast of flapjacks and bacon waiting for us. Mom came down to say goodbye. She leaned against the counter in her nightgown and watched the three of us eat. Dad hurried through his pancakes, taking big bites and chasing them with milk. Then he set his fork down, scooted his chair back, and looked at our plates.

  “Roger,” Mom said quietly, “let them finish.”

  He looked at her and showed his palms.

  Mom rolled her eyes and turned back toward the bedroom.

  “It’s good,” Davey said.

  I knew Dad was twitching to get on the water, so I stuffed the last bite down, drank the last of my milk, and stood. While Davey finished, Dad and I got the kitchen cleaned up.

  “I’ll start untying the boat,” I said.

  “Go ahead and warm up the engine while you’re at it,” Dad said.

  I walked out into the damp night. Small birds were making sleepy chirping sounds. There was a faint glow behind the trees in the east. The bayou was black and still as a lake. As I walked out on the dock I was more excited about Davey seeing the Gulf of Mexico than the fishing trip itself. We hadn’t talked about it, but I imagined he’d never seen such big water and open horizon.

  I untied the mooring lines and started the motor and stood behind the wheel watching the exhaust float over the water and the engine race rudely against the sleepy dawn. After a moment I heard Dad and Davey coming out of the house. Davey was taking his time, grinning to himself with an air of wonder, and I knew he had no sense of Dad’s eagerness. But Dad appeared to be more at ease now, walking behind him with his hands in his pockets. When they finally arrived Davey stood above me looking into the boat like he didn’t know what he should do. Dad put his hand on his shoulder.

  “Go ahead,” Dad said to him. “Let’s all get snapped into flotation vests and see what the morning brings.”

  * * *

  As Dad raced out the bayou and into the river, Davey and I stood on either side of the console with the damp air whipping our hair back. Davey looked over at me a couple of times; it was too windy and loud to talk, but I knew what he was thinking.

  We zoomed under the dark shadow of the I-10 bridge, our engine echoing loudly. Then the noise was absorbed again by the broad delta marsh as we continued downriver toward the Gulf. After we’d gone another mile Dad slowed the boat. I saw we were before the marine police dock, with Officer Stockton’s patrol boat floating quietly in front of it. I turned back to Dad.

  “Officer Stockton told me he’s been so busy trying to undo what you boys stirred up that he never got a chance to check on you,” Dad explained. “He said it’s been a while since he’s taken a day off.”

  I looked back at the dock and saw a man walking around the side of the building in the yellow glow of the security lights. He was carrying two fishing rods and a small cooler. It took me a moment to recognize Officer Stockton in shorts, a T-shirt, and a baseball cap.

  “He’s coming with us?” I said.

  “Sure,” Dad said. “Why not?”

  Dad nudged the boat against the dock and took the fishing rods and cooler from him.

  “Morning, Jim,” he said.

  “Morning, Roger. Appreciate you boys letting me come along.”

  “We’re glad to have the company,” Dad replied.

  I glanced at Davey. He wasn’t wearing his usual smile. He was studying Officer Stockton like the man made him nervous.

  We stowed the rods and the small cooler as Officer Stockton stepped into the boat. Then he held out his hand to me and Davey to shake.

  “Good to see you boys again,” he said.

  I met his firm grip, then watched as Davey did the same.

  “Davey,” he continued, “you feeling okay?”

  Davey nodded suspiciously. “Yes, sir. I’m feeling fine.”

  “Chest sore?”

  “A little bit,” Davey said. “Not too bad.”

  “Everybody get settled,” Dad said. “We’ve got to get out to the islands before we miss that morning bite.”

  Officer Stockton sat in the seat in front of the console and took his cap off and held it in his lap. I noticed how much more relaxed he seemed than when he was working, or even when he’d been over at our house for supper.

  Dad wasn’t relaxed at all. I could tell he was antsy again about beating the sunrise to whatever fishing spot he’d probably had in his head all week. He backed away from the dock and pushed the throttle forward, and the boat lunged toward the Gulf again.

  The eastern sky was glowing soft pink when we raced out of the Pascagoula River into the Gulf of Mexico. Even if my eyes had been closed, I would have known where we were by the sudden heavy smell of the wet salt air and the boat gently rising and falling over smooth, wide swells. Seagulls dotted the sky, gliding and diving and making their distinctive cries. Miles out I saw Petit Bois and Horn Islands, the water breaking in sharp white lines against their shores. I looked over at Davey, but he kept his eyes ahead, taking it all in like something he’d needed.

  The sun was just over the trees in a cloudless sky when we arrived at the south end of Horn. Dad motored to where the incoming tide was curling around the tip of a long finger of sandbar. He slowed the boat by facing up-current while Officer Stockton set the anchor. The seagulls were louder here, swarms of them diving around us along with brown pelicans and sandpipers. We got out our fishing rods, and I showed Davey how to hook a live shrimp through the tail. Before long, all of us but Officer Stockton had our lines drifting out in the blue water.

  “Bait up, Jim,” Dad said to him.

  “Y’all get the first round,” he said. “Somebody’s got to be ready with the landing net.”

  “Come on,” Dad insisted. “We can figure it out.”

  Officer Stockton smiled. “I’m fine,” he said. “I like watching people catch fish as much as I like catching them.”

  Dad was about to say something else when his rod suddenly jerked in his hands.

  “Fish on!” he shouted.

  Then my rod jerked. Then Davey staggered forward and yelled, “Hey! I think I got one!”

  The speckled trout came through in waves. Suddenly our poles would be yanked down one after the other, and the boat would turn to mass chaos as we struggled to get the fish to the boat and Officer Stockton dashed about landing t
hem for us. Then there would be a lull of five or ten minutes and then the same again. Davey was beside himself like this was all something he couldn’t believe.

  As I was leaning back, fighting against my third trout, I glanced at Davey and saw him with the rod handle between his legs, cranking the reel with all his strength. I laughed at the sight.

  “Davey!” I shouted.

  “W-what?” he stammered.

  “Better than catfish jugs, isn’t it?”

  “This is the best thing I’ve ever done!” he shouted.

  We landed twenty-five trout that morning, some of them as large as five pounds. Officer Stockton even caught two himself after Dad insisted he relinquish his job with the net. By nine o’clock Davey and I were exhausted.

  Dad beached the boat and let us get out to explore while he and Officer Stockton wade-fished. Not far up the white sands we entered the cool shade of the pines and started crossing the island on a faint trail zigzagging through the underbrush.

  Eventually we came to the wreck of an old sailboat that had likely been washed ashore by Hurricane Katrina. We spent a while exploring the hull and looking for anything valuable. We found a torn life raft and a first-aid kit that was full of water, but nothing worth taking with us. Then we sat on the deck and discussed the possibility of dragging it out of the trees and fixing it up. And after a while we talked ourselves out of it and dropped to the ground again and continued on.

  After about a half mile we emerged from the trees and climbed a high dune to look west over the Gulf. Except for a pod of dolphins there appeared to be nothing but blue water and smooth, heavy swells clear to the horizon. Then I pointed out the sinister black fish gliding close to the beach.

  “Sharks,” I said.

  Davey shielded his eyes with his hand and looked where I was pointing.

  “You see them?” I said.

  He nodded, but didn’t answer me. I realized even with his new glasses he didn’t see them at all.

  “I hope whoever I live with likes to fish,” he said.

  “You can ask about that,” I said. “You can ask about more than dogs.”

  “And I hope they’ll take me places like this,” he said.

  “You can ask them what kinds of trips they go on.”

  “I think my dad would have taken me out here,” he said.

  I wasn’t sure how to answer that. “Probably so,” I said.