by Janet Cooper
Jeff and Taylor started toward the dock at almost a run. They briefly jockeyed for pilot, before Taylor said, “I’ll drive. You handle the lines.” Jeff had scarcely jumped on board the shallow-water boat before Taylor gunned the engine.
The Carolina skiff rocked dangerously. “Damn, Taylor,” he said, as he grabbed a hold of the console of the seventeen-foot skiff. “We’re too close to the dock for this speed.” The little boat stopped swaying, sat back on her stern and almost flew through the water.
“If you don’t like the way I drive, get off,” she screamed over the roar of the 150 horse-power motor, as she pushed the throttle up several notches.
“Here?” he shouted back. “In the middle of the Broad River, with the water flowing at least four knots, get off?” He stared at her, checked the small space that separated them, and considered taking control of the skiff, but hesitated upon seeing her rigid face and settled for, “Are you crazy woman?” With one hand he grabbed his hat, which almost flew into the water, and maintained his gripped on the small console in the center of the boat with the other.
“No, just pissed. How could Rod do such a damn, stupid thing?” Taylor increased her speed, again and her jaw appeared to harden. The small and easily moveable boat answered the throttle and barely touched the surface as water streamed past the sides.
Jeff tightened his hold on the console as the wind continued to snatch at his cap. “Rod gets involved and often doesn’t remember the time …”
“You’ve been making excuses for him forever!” They locked eyes, before she returned her attention to the river and to driving her boat.
“Could you slow down a little?” he asked. Changing the subject and unwilling to continue to escalate the argument, he shouted over the roar of the engine. “I’m trying to check the marsh grass for his boat, but driving at the speed of light makes everything a little blurry.” He carefully monitored his tone and his words.
“I’m trying to reach our search area,” came her quick retort.
Jeff placed one hand over hers, squeezed gently and spoke directly into her ear. “Whether we arrive in fifteen minutes or a half hour, the situation won’t change.”
She didn’t respond, but she eased back on the throttle and the boat settled into a more comfortable ride.
“Thank you,” he said in a normal tone.
“You’re welcome,” she managed.
“Do you have binoculars aboard?” Instead of his death hold on the console, he leaned his back against it as if for additional support.
“Actually, two pairs,” she said.
“Two?”
“Dad and Mary enjoy watching the wildlife along the river, so they each have a pair.” She opened the console drawer and handed him the first set, then slipped the strap for the other binoculars over her head and let them dangle.
He thanked her again, as he, too, eased the strap over his head, before picking up the binoculars and surveying the river’s edge. Only the green spartana grass and the small rivulets of water that fed the Broad stared back at him.
“How could Rod do this?” She shook her head as if in disbelief.
“Taylor, you and I met the guy on the same day in school twenty years ago.”
“What has that to do with anything?” She returned to her previous angry state.
“If you’d listen for a minute,” he pleaded.
She nodded and the annoyed expression softened.
Turning his attention to the bank of the river, so he wouldn’t have to watch her face, he continued, “You knew him as well as I did. Since I haven’t seen much of him since graduating high school ten years ago, you know the man he’s become better than I do.”
“But, you’re his best friend.”
He believed he could feel her staring at him, but pretended to sustain his survey of the river bank. Actually, he gave the edge of the river only a portion of his attention. Even knowing how I felt toward you, Rod had to make a play and eventually steal you away, ending any relationship between us.
“Rod was my best friend all through middle school and high school, but I never fully understood him.” Jeff still kept his eyes trained on the marshy, brown river’s bank. The man’s a selfish bastard, and always has been. You’ve never seen that part of him or if you did, you choose to ignore it.
“You said, ‘was your best friend’. What happened between the two of you?”
Would she accept the truth? Even if she did, this wasn’t the time to tell her. “We went to different universities, gained new friends, found diverse goals. I moved away and would still be up north if this teaching position hadn’t come up and if Dad hadn’t had a stroke. Life changes one’s plans. If Mom were alive, perhaps I wouldn’t have come, but I’m Dad’s only family, so I returned.” To his own ears, he heard the lack of enthusiasm.
“Aren’t you glad to be back in the Lowcountry?”
Obviously, Taylor had heard his doubts. He shifted his attention from the shore line to her. Her tall, slim figure, her classic face, and her gorgeous, long auburn hair tied in a ponytail with strands whipping around her face caused his heart to ache. She would never be his. She never had been his. Even though he’d always wanted more, he’d accepted she’d never be more than his friend. Regardless of whom she married, he would be here for her.
“Jeff?” she pushed, dropping her glasses and staring at him.
Wondering how to answer honestly, he twisted so that he could see the area to be searched. “I’m glad an opportunity came up to teach at the University. I’m enjoying the kids and the staff, so I guess the answer is yes.” He intensified his search of the marsh, glad to have a reason to avoid Taylor’s eyes.
“Aren’t you pleased to see me and all your other old friends?” She eased back on the throttle as she turned into the Whale Branch River.
She didn’t know how glad he was to see her or how much it hurt to be with her. Instead of answering, he changed the subject saying, “I think you’d better slow down more. We’ve reached the area we told your dad we’d explore. Let’s check one side on our way south and the other after we turn back.” He gave a quick glance in her direction.
“While I drive, if I stay in the middle of the river or as close as the depth finder will let me, I can check the left side, while you do the right,” she countered, picking up the glasses and placing them to her eyes.
“Sounds like a plan.” He resumed his position, picked up the binoculars, and began examining the shore line on right side of the skiff looking for a boat.
* ~ *
They’d combed almost the whole area, when Taylor said, “Let’s check Brays Creek. Last week, when Rod and I came to shrimp, he saw red fish tailing and said he should have brought his fly rod.”
“I’ll call your Dad and update him.”
“Maybe he has some news for us,” she said, hopefully, although her dad would have gotten in touch if there were any. She steered into the narrow creek, careful to keep an eye on the depth meter. For some strange reason, the shoaling from the smaller feed streams often caused the middle to be shallower than the sides.
“Doc, Jeff, anything new? Nothing, okay, I’ll tell Taylor. We’ve check most of the Whale Branch and now are looking at the smaller streams. She suggested that we check Brays Creek, since she and Rod came here last week.” He paused. “Here she is.” Jeff handed her the phone.
Dropping the binoculars so that they dangled from the strap and taking one hand off the wheel, she listened to her dad.
“Taylor, the Coast Guard’s helicopter started their search at the coast since the tide had turned a couple of hours after Rod went out. The DNR is going down the Broad, you might see their boats and maybe hear the Search and Rescue helicopter. If we learn anything, we’ll call. We’ll locate him,” her father added.
She swallowed before saying, “I just want us to find him sooner rather than later. I love you, Dad.” Taylor fought back the tears, shook her head, and cleared her throat.
“L
ove you, too,” he replied.
She clicked off, handed the cell back to Jeff, swiped the tears forming in her eyes with her palm and sniffed.
Jeff moved behind her placing his arms around her shoulders. She leaned back absorbing his strength, while keeping one hand firmly on the wheel. Realizing she should concentrate on the search instead of relaxing, she eased aside.
“Blast Rod!” Taylor shook her shoulders, trying to chase the fear that had started to invade her whole being. She held up her hand to restrain Jeff as he edged closer. “I’m all right.”
Jeff resumed his original spot by the console. He picked up the binoculars and resumed scanning for the boat and the man.
Taylor turned sharply starboard and entered the much smaller Brays Creek.
Jeff swayed briefly before regaining his balance. “Is there enough water for us?” he asked incredulously, dropping his glasses so they hung only by the strap and shifting his gaze from one marsh flat to the mirror image on the opposite side.
“The skiff only draws twelve inches and if we stay in the channel, we’ll be all right,” she responded casually, but kept her eyes rooted on the depth finder.
“I hope you remember this channel,” he said, quietly, looking over his shoulder and shifting his attention to the depth meter. “We won’t need our binoculars here. I could almost touch each side of the creek at the same time.”
She nodded, but didn’t speak.
“This stream isn’t very long, is it?” he asked, concern showing in his voice. “If I remember right, doesn’t it end in marsh grass?”
“That’s right.” The water widened slightly to twenty feet. The depth remained shallow, but passable. Taylor allowed her shoulders to relax. “We shrimped close to the end, but we saw the redfish along the left bank.”
“Rod wouldn’t have needed his fly rod; he could have caught one with his hand.” Jeff appeared uncomfortable with the creek.
“Almost there,” she replied. A few minutes later, she called out, “We’ve reached the spot where we found the red fish.” She squinted beneath her sunglasses. “Don’t see any today.”
“No boat either, but look at all the ‘gators!” Jeff pointed straight ahead where the creek widened once again.
“They were bad last week too.” Taylor idled the boat. “I told Rod even if he caught a red, the gators would eat the fish before he succeeded in landing it.”
“The only time I’ve even seen so many was in an old James Bond movie. I hate ‘gators,” Jeff said, with feeling.
“You’ve never forgiven them for eating Sam.” Taylor kept her eyes on the alligators that remained floating on the surface. “‘Gators normally sink to the bottom or else submerge enough that only their eyes showed when people or boats approached.” She peeked at him.
“That’s true.”
Although he agreed with her, there was wistfulness in his voice and an otherworld expression on his face.
“Sam was the best retriever a guy ever had.” He defended his long gone bird dog.
“He was a sweetie. But you never used him for hunting birds.” She gave the engine a little gas to keep if off the banks before idling the skiff once more.
“No, but he was great at returning a stick or catching a Frisbee. Damn ‘gators. Sam had another five or six years of life left.” A small, sad smile touched his lips as he remembered.
Taylor stared at him in disbelief. “Jeff, Sam could hardly walk. He was at least 11 and since you and your dad found him wandering in the woods, he might have been older.”
“Don’t argue with me, woman. My memory tells me that Sam could still jump and get any ball I’d throw.”
She shook her head. “Memories are strange things.”
His deep blue eyes twinkled with teasing. She realized he was trying to relieve the tension and possibly her fear. Before she could tease him back, she heard him yell.
“Isn’t that a cooler stuck in the mud, under that small overhang?” Jeff indicated a spot about five feet away and separated from the skiff by at least three feet of pluff mud.
Taylor gasped. “Rod and I used one just like that for shrimping.” She focused on the blue and white cooler, almost certain the chest was Rod’s.
Jeff looked around the skiff. “Do you have a long pole? We might be able to knock the box off the shelf and guide the cooler over to the boat.” His eyes chanced to glance at her while he surveyed the area. “Taylor.” He touched her arm. “Are you okay?”
She nodded feeling cold and sweaty at the same time. “No, we lost it last time we were out. The pole stuck in the mud and sank before we could retrieve it.” Her words sounded foreign to her. She could only see the box, out of reach with no way of being retrieved.
Moving closer to her, Jeff said, “I’ll call your Dad and let him know we’ve found something. He can pass on the information.”
“Oh, Lord.” Taylor sank onto the captain’s chair located directly behind the wheel. Jeff shifted to place himself squarely behind her in the event, she thought, she fainted. She couldn’t keep her attention away from the cooler. It couldn’t be Rod’s, yet she recognized the gouges in the blue bottom. Although visible, they hadn’t broken through to the inside.
Even with only a portion of her attention focused on the phone, she heard Jeff say, “We believe we found Rod’s cooler stuck in the pluff mud. The tide’s too low to get closer even if we weren’t almost surrounded by a swarm of ‘gators.”
Her father must be talking for she no longer heard Jeff’s voice.
“No, sir, we won’t try to retrieve it.” She heard him give the G.P.S. coordinates, then once again he handed her the phone.
“Oh, Daddy, I’m really scared.” She began to shake. Jeff lifted her from the seat and took her in his arms, holding her loosely, almost awkwardly.
“Time to come home, honey,” her dad said, gently. “You can’t do anything else there. The DNR or the Water Rescue people will take over,” her father told her.
“I want to stay here.” Her tone of voice choked with emotion. “I want to wait for them to come. I have to know,” she pleaded.
“Taylor, let me speak to Jeff,” he said in his calm, patient way. Reluctantly she handed over the cell, turned, looked over the gunwale, and stared at the cooler.
“Yes, sir, I’ll bring her home,” Jeff said, in an almost military response.
* ~ *
By the time they’d motored back, the fading sunlight had been replaced with twilight. “Go ahead, Taylor. I’ll tie off the skiff.”
She jumped off and dashed to her home. Trailing behind, but not by much, he heard her yell, “Dad.” As she opened the double-screen doors and dashed inside.
“Honey.” Her father hurried out of the living room and into the hallway.
Jeff stared as she collapsed into her dad’s arms and hugged him. The scene increased his anger at Rod’s inconsiderate behavior.
Finally, she let the tears flow freely. “Daddy, have you heard anything? I have such a terrible feeling.”
“No, I haven’t heard from the authorities or from any of our friends. It’s still early, darling.” Her father held her slightly away, as if surveying her. “Taylor?” he spoke calmly and quietly.
Sniffing, she stared at him. “I’d never seen so many alligators in one place. He might have slipped…”
“Darling, don’t allow your imagination to create a situation that doesn’t exist. Even if that were so, Rod’s strength would have allowed him to pull himself back in the boat. Besides, alligators prefer other food than people.”
Taylor blanched.
“Sorry, honey. I’m trying to be logical. They probably caught a deer and were protecting the carcass.”
“But we also saw the cooler …”
Martin shook his head. “Anyone could have lost that chest.”
Taylor shook her head. “Rod used one exactly like the cooler we saw.”
“Until we have proof that it’s the one, don’t go down that path.”
Her father squeezed her lightly then glanced over her shoulder. “Don’t stand in the doorway, Jeff, please come in. You’re almost family.” His words showed warmth and welcome even as his face remained somber.
She sensed her father’s relief at Jeff’s arrival. Conflict never sat well with her dad. He controlled his life so that his ship didn’t rock. Perhaps her mother’s problems caused or enhanced this trait. Taylor, although not understanding it, accepted the fact.
Jeff followed Taylor and her father into the living room. Taylor’s bridesmaids surrounded her and took her over to the yellow sofa facing the fireplace. Observing her friends comforting her, he again wished that he had the right to do so. From the time he was a small boy, he’d been welcomed in this house and with this family. Occasionally, his father, who had managed the plantation, would bring him when he made a report to Doc regarding some facet of the running of Harmony Plantation. In those days, his parents had lived in a small house, on site, but near the edge of the Harris 2500 acre property. His father still had the house, but now he owned the home and the lot.
“Been four or five years since I’ve seen you, why I hardly recognized you today. How’s your dad?” Martin asked, interrupting Jeff’s momentary daydreams.
“Good. He’s recovering from his stroke or he would have been here for the …” Jeff fumbled for an instant. “He assures me he’ll be up and back to his normal routine within the month.”
“That’s good to hear. When I called on him in the hospital, he told me you’d taken the job at the University and until you found your own spot you would be living with him. Who’s doing the cooking?” Martin teased.
Knowing Doc was trying to keep the conversation going and, for Taylor’s sake away from Rod, Jeff went along. “We’re dividing the meals, he has breakfast and I handle dinner. We’re on our own for lunch. Before Mom died, she made sure we could survive in the kitchen. But we often call out for delivery often.”
“Fine woman, your mother. As you know, we go way …” The telephone rang, breaking their conversation.