by Watt Key
“Maybe,” he said, still searching for the sharks.
Standing there with Davey on the deserted island made me think about our time in the swamp again. The two of us alone, with the rest of the world seeming so far away. And for some reason I thought this was the last time it would ever be like that. A lot of bad things had happened that I didn’t want to think about, but parts of it I never wanted to forget.
“I see ’em,” Davey said quietly, almost to himself, his eyes having found the sharks.
There was something scary about moving on, like walking into a dark room. At least we knew what was behind us. Neither of us knew what lay ahead.
Davey turned and looked at the trees. “You ready to go back?” he said.
“Okay,” I said.
48
We slid down the dune and entered the trees again. When we got back to the boat Dad and Officer Stockton had just finished setting up the dining fly. While we were gone they’d caught five more trout and two redfish.
“I don’t think we can hold any more,” Dad joked.
“You certainly put us on the fish today, Roger,” Officer Stockton said.
Dad shrugged and tried to act modest, but it was obvious he was pleased with himself.
Davey and I helped unload the food coolers, four stadium chairs, and the foldout table. We toted it all beneath the dining fly and set it up. Then we seated ourselves around the table while Dad got out the sandwiches and drinks. He appeared more relaxed now that the fishing was over.
Officer Stockton leaned back in his chair, opened the small cooler beside him, and removed his own sandwich and two honey buns.
“Save it, Jim,” Dad said. “We’ve got plenty.”
“Janet got up early and made it for me,” he said. “I better eat it.”
“Suit yourself,” Dad said.
Officer Stockton slid the honey buns across the table toward me and Davey. “There you go, boys,” he said. “Looks like she put something in there for you, too.”
“Thanks,” Davey said, reaching for his.
“Yeah, thanks,” I said.
Dad set sandwiches and two Cokes before us. I’d already torn into my honey bun and taken a bite.
“Don’t tell your mother you started with dessert,” Dad joked.
“What goes on at the fishing camp stays at the fishing camp, right, Roger?” said Officer Stockton.
“That’s right,” Dad replied. “That’s rule number one. And when it comes to meals at the fishing camp, there are no rules.”
Officer Stockton chuckled to himself. I noticed Davey was still struggling with the wrapper on his honey bun. Officer Stockton noticed, too. He leaned forward, reached across the table, and lifted Davey’s glasses from his face. He looked them over, then took his shirttail and began wiping the lenses. Davey stopped what he was doing and watched him and waited. Officer Stockton finished cleaning and held them up and inspected them against the light. Satisfied, he leaned back across the table and placed the glasses on Davey’s face.
“Try now,” Officer Stockton said.
Davey looked down at his honey bun, pinched both sides of the plastic wrapper, and pulled it open.
“There you go,” Officer Stockton said.
Davey nodded, appearing a little embarrassed.
“I used to carry a handkerchief around with me,” Officer Stockton said. “I’d get out in the boat, and my glasses would fog up on me all the time. Eventually I had to start wearing contacts. But they’re even more of a pain.”
Davey took a bite of his honey bun and chewed and studied Officer Stockton. He swallowed.
“But you do what you’ve got to do, don’t you, Davey?”
“Yes, sir,” Davey said.
I noticed how Davey began watching Officer Stockton after the incident with the glasses. And it made me think of the way he looked at him when we were all at the police dock that morning. Only now, it was a more intense look. Like he’d figured something out that made him even more curious about the man.
“I invented a piece of string to keep ’em on,” Davey said.
“Yep, that’s a problem, too.”
“You can use fishin’ line,” Davey said. “You can’t hardly see it.”
“I imagine you’re pretty resourceful, staying out in the swamp like you did.”
“I invented a way to catch catfish, too,” Davey said.
“He was good at it,” I said. “He tied fishing line to jugs and let them float in the creek.”
“I used to dream of living in the woods when I was a kid,” Dad said.
“Didn’t we all,” Officer Stockton said. “But only you have actually done it, Davey.”
“It’s harder than you think,” Davey said. “It gets lonely. I was glad when Sam came to see me.”
“Yes,” Officer Stockton said, “I imagine you were.”
I finished the last of the honey bun and reached for my sandwich.
“What will happen to the camp?” Davey said.
“Parks and Wildlife will probably take it down,” Officer Stockton said. “It’s not safe to have those things out there.”
Davey nodded to himself. I thought about the jugs he’d left arranged neatly against the back wall. Baldy’s pot. The old grill and the rusty fork. And I wondered about Davey’s canoe.
“What happened to the canoe?” I said.
“We’ve got it at the station,” Officer Stockton said.
“It’s stolen, isn’t it?” Davey said.
“We’re not sure.”
“It used to be ours, but I think Dad sold it to our neighbor a long time ago. Then Slade must have stolen it.”
“That’s good to know,” Dad said. “We’ll look into it.”
Davey finished his honey bun and sat back in his chair. He seemed more interested in Officer Stockton than in his sandwich.
“What do you do with things you find that people don’t want?” Davey asked.
“If we can’t locate the owner, we’ll keep them. Sometimes we auction things off as a fund-raiser. Why? You want that canoe?”
“I just wondered,” Davey said.
“Even if we do find the owner, he might be willing to let it go.”
Davey nodded.
“You better get something in your stomach besides a honey bun,” Officer Stockton said.
Davey glanced at his sandwich. Then he looked back at Officer Stockton. “I’ve got another question,” he said.
Officer Stockton glanced at Dad. Dad smiled at him.
“Go ahead,” Officer Stockton said.
“Do you have a dog?”
I stopped chewing and looked at Davey. It was suddenly clear what had been going on in his head ever since Officer Stockton had stepped into the boat with us.
“No,” Officer Stockton said. “I don’t.”
Davey kept staring at him.
“But I used to,” Officer Stockton continued. “His name was Jex. He died last year.”
“How?”
“Old age.”
“What kind was he?”
“I don’t know for sure, but I think a mix between a retriever and a collie. He wandered up to my hunting camp without a collar. I guess he’d been living in the woods. I gave him a piece of my sandwich, and things just sort of went from there. I wasn’t able to find his owner.”
“And you had him a long time?”
“Yes.” Officer Stockton nodded and seemed to be remembering something. “We did. I found him when I was still single. Then I married Janet and he was our family dog.”
“Did she like him?”
“Of course.”
“Did the dog live inside or outside?”
“He lived outside. He never was much for staying in the house. Sometimes he’d want to come in if the weather was too cold, but mostly he liked to roam around.”
“What kind of sandwich made him like you?”
Officer Stockton grinned either at the question or in surprise that he could remember. “Pe
anut butter and jelly,” he said.
“He liked peanut butter and jelly?”
Officer Stockton chuckled. “He liked just about anything, but especially corned beef.”
“Some dogs don’t like corned beef,” Davey said. “They don’t like pickled stuff.”
“Well,” Officer Stockton continued. “I promise you Jex did.”
“I believe you,” Davey said. “I’ve known some that did.”
“I take it you like dogs?”
Davey nodded.
“I’ve been thinking about getting another one,” Officer Stockton said. “But you know, it’s got to be the right one. I mean, it’s a big commitment. Jex was with us for nearly fifteen years.”
“I’m pretty good at pickin’ ’em out.”
“I’m not so sure I am,” Officer Stockton said. “Jex sort of picked me.”
“They’ll do that sometimes,” Davey said. “That’s the best kind. They know about people.”
“Maybe you’d like to come with me and help me get another one.”
“I’d like that,” Davey said. “Like today?”
I held my breath. Officer Stockton grinned and looked at Dad.
“Lordy,” he said. “You people sure do know how to make the most of a Saturday.”
“We have to go somewhere that I can pet the dog,” Davey continued. “I can’t just look at it through a fence.”
Dad chuckled at the odd turn of events. I could tell he knew what Davey was up to. “Ought to be back home in about an hour, Jim,” he said. “And Davey’s schedule is pretty free these days.”
“All right, son,” Officer Stockton said. “Let’s make it happen.”
Davey looked over at me and smiled.
49
Davey, with his strange way of choosing a family, was right to sense that Officer Stockton might offer him the home he was looking for. They left us that afternoon after the fishing trip and went to the animal shelter, where Davey picked out a dog, a mix between a black Lab and a beagle.
They ended up taking the dog to Officer Stockton’s house, and to our surprise Officer Stockton called later to talk to Mom about Davey staying the night. The next afternoon Mrs. Stockton dropped Davey back at our house. She was about Mom’s size, pretty with short brown hair, and full of energy. Like Davey, she seemed the kind of person who could easily dissolve Officer Stockton’s serious side and make him laugh.
I showed Davey the newspaper article in the Sunday paper. He studied the headline.
Boy Leads Authorities to Missing Person and Major Drug Bust
He looked up at me without reading the rest. But no one knew the story better than he did.
“You’re a hero now,” he said.
“They didn’t print our names,” I said. “Just Slade’s and his friends’.”
“Why not?”
“Dad says it’s for our safety.”
“Oh,” Davey said.
“I used to think it would be cool to get my name in the paper, but for some reason I don’t care now.” Davey and I went out onto the dock, slipped into the water, and floated there, holding the steps of the ladder.
“I think they like me,” he said.
“I would have never thought about Officer Stockton,” I said.
“Me neither,” he said. “But I can tell. I can tell they’ll be a good family.”
“Did they ask you if you wanted to live with them?”
“No,” Davey said. “I told Mr. Stockton that I wanted to.”
“What? You just told him?”
Davey grinned mischievously and nodded.
“What’d he say?”
“He said he’d have to talk to Mrs. Stockton and think about it.”
“Geez,” I said.
“Sometimes you just have to tell people what you think,” Davey said, like he suddenly knew all of the answers in life.
“Yeah,” I said, still shocked at his boldness. “I guess so.”
Davey went back to their house that evening. And again every night for a week. As it turned out, the Stocktons hadn’t ever considered adopting a kid or even being foster parents before Davey had suggested it to them. Mom explained the adoption process, and it wasn’t long before she was helping them with the paperwork. And Davey had a new home.
* * *
After the autopsy was done on Davey’s dad, the coroner reported his death as a heart attack. We all went to a small graveside service, where the minister from our church said a few words and blessed the coffin. All the while Officer Stockton stood behind Davey with his hands on his shoulders. Davey didn’t cry, but I saw him watching them lower his father into the ground like it was the end of a lot of things he wanted to forget.
* * *
Even after Davey moved in with the Stocktons he came by most days and occasionally spent the night. Mrs. Stockton registered him at our school, and though he was going to be a grade behind me and Grover, it was exciting to know we’d be in the same place.
Late one afternoon, a couple of weeks before school started, Mrs. Stockton dropped him off at my house and he proudly showed me his new fishing rod and tackle box. He said that Officer Stockton had offered to pick us up at my dock and take us back out to Horn Island the following morning.
“Grover can come, too,” he said.
“All right,” I said. “We’ll call him and see if he’s up for it.”
I called the Middletons’ house from the kitchen with Davey watching me. Much to my surprise, Grover agreed to come along like it was something he’d been thinking about for weeks and resolved himself to do.
I gave Davey a nod, and he grinned and clasped his hands together.
“Okay,” I told Grover. “We’ll pick you up just before daylight.”
There was silence at the other end of the line. “Daylight?” he said.
“Yep,” I said. “That’s when the fish bite.”
“Uhhh…”
“Gotta go,” I said. “Meet us at the end of your dock.”
And I hung up the phone.
“He didn’t like that, did he?” Davey said.
“No,” I said with a laugh. “But he’ll be glad about it tomorrow.”
Davey was so excited about the trip that he talked me into pitching Dad’s tent at the end of the dock so that we could practice fishing that night, camp next to the bayou, and be ready as soon as Officer Stockton arrived in the morning.
We spent more time that evening sitting on the dock looking through Davey’s tackle box than fishing. Officer Stockton had taken him to Avery’s Tackle and let him pick out the lures he wanted. Davey admired and explained each of them and organized and reorganized them. Eventually we crawled inside the tent with our flashlights. We lay on top of sleeping bags with the night sounds pressing in on us, and I was reminded again of our days together in the swamp.
“When I get to your school I want to see the girl,” Davey said.
“What girl?” I said. But I knew who he was talking about.
“I don’t remember her name. The one you think is pretty.”
“Oh, her,” I said. “Julia.”
“You just have to tell her what you think,” Davey said.
I grinned and shook my head. “You act like you know everything now. You’re starting to remind me of Grover.”
“I know some things,” Davey said like he had a secret.
“Just because you used a dog to trick Officer Stockton into letting you live with him. And now you’ve got some cool marine police dad.”
Davey smiled smugly. “It wasn’t a trick,” he said.
“You picked that dog out for yourself, didn’t you?”
Davey shrugged.
“Whatever,” I said.
“So you just have to tell her,” he said.
“I hardly even know her,” I said. “What am I going to tell her?”
“Tell her you think she’s pretty.”
“Like you’d do that.”
“I would.”
&nb
sp; I laughed. “You probably would.”
“But she’d like you,” he said. “You’re the coolest person I know.”
The more I thought about Julia’s face—the way she’d looked while Leroy and Gooch were beating on Grover and me—the clearer it became just what that look was all about. It was a look of horror and disbelief that people like them existed among us. In that moment, we were all witness to the dark truth that no matter where you are, how safe you feel, there are sometimes bad people looking for an opportunity to do bad things. And it’s not all about winning against them; it’s about being brave and not losing against yourself.
“Sam?”
“What?” I said.
“I don’t know if I can sleep.”
“Just try,” I said.
“I think tomorrow’s going to be the best day of my life.”
Books by WATT KEY
Alabama Moon
Dirt Road Home
Fourmile
Terror at Bottle Creek
Hideout
About the Author
Albert Watkins Key, Jr., publishing under the name Watt Key, is an award-winning southern fiction author. He grew up and currently lives in southern Alabama with his wife and family. Watt spent much of his childhood hunting and fishing the forests of Alabama, which inspired his debut novel, Alabama Moon, published to national acclaim in 2006. Alabama Moon won the 2007 E.B. White Read-Aloud Award, was included on Time Magazine’s list of the Best One Hundred YA Books of All Time, and has been translated in seven languages. Key’s most recent novel is Terror at Bottle Creek. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
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