Skinny Dipping Season

by Cynthia Tennent

  Suddenly, the air was filled with laughter and shouts. I turned around to see what all the excitement was about and my eyes rested on what could only be described as a teenage pirate ship. While all the other boats had been decorated in the upbeat theme of patriotism, this one was decorated all in black. Black flags hung along the bow. A black pirate’s flag with embossed skull and crossbones waved proudly from the stern. Even the passengers flaunted black T-shirts and black bandannas across their heads. I should have been laughing. But something made me uneasy. It was Luke Schraeder’s boat.

  Rap music blasted from a speaker on the deck and the bass was so loud it vibrated through the dock like a sledgehammer. Cherry was seated next to two other girls in black halter tops and jean shorts. She was smiling, laughing and swaying to the music on the bow. The kids appeared to be having a great time, even if they completely missed the point of the boat float.

  Luke Schraeder sat on top of the backrest of the driver’s seat, holding a travel mug. The sight of it reminded me of my mother’s travel mugs and sent a feeling of dread to my gut. He drove like a maniac. The boat weaved in and out of the line, choosing a course that was faster and less linear than the other boats in the parade. The kids reacted as the crowd cheered. They raised their fists in the air, enjoying the attention.

  They didn’t seem to care about the hazardous wake they created. The smaller canoes and rowboats wobbled precariously on the fringes.

  As the crowd chanted and egged the pirates on, the boaters around them powered forward, keeping a wary eye out. I tore my gaze from the parade and searched for J. D. He was standing by the shore with a frown on his face, talking on his radio. His eyes were glued to the boat.

  Luke turned the wheel and twisted sharply out of the line, cutting in front of a pontoon manned by an older white-haired man. Gunning the engine, he made another hard circle and headed for the front of the parade. He missed colliding with a rowboat carrying two young children by inches as he continued to play chicken up and down the line. The crowd didn’t seem to notice his reckless path. Most of them were already watching the next boats in line. But I focused on Cherry. The sharp twists and turns were forcing her to cling to the rail with both hands. Even from a distance, I could tell she wasn’t enjoying the antics half as much as the kids in the cockpit.

  “Those kids are stupider than they look,” said Nestor. Bootie agreed.

  I stood and scanned the faces of the people around me. Why wasn’t anybody else worried?

  Then, the Coast Guard boat approached the parade line. Several people nearby moaned as the Coast Guard turned on its siren and accelerated toward the pirate ship.

  Suddenly the pirate ship jerked out of the parade and headed to the open water. Picking up speed, they evaded the Coast Guard in a quick maneuver that almost knocked Cherry off.

  Bootie’s wife, Lori, cried out.

  “It’s okay, baby, the Coast Guard will keep an eye on everyone,” said Bootie.

  No one was paying attention to the parade anymore. Several people had whipped out their cell phones and were videotaping the scene as if it were funny. The two boats played a cat-and-mouse game and the crowd roared.

  J. D. paced back and forth on shore and spoke into his radio, his eyes glued to the pirate boat. He yelled at some of the smaller boats to move away from the parade for safety. Several people around him stepped away, as if they didn’t want to be associated with him.

  Behind me, someone shouted, “Aww, come on, J. D.! It’s the Fourth of July, for God’s sake. Let the kids have some fun.”

  A man on a large private dock a few cottages down yelled at J. D.’s back, “What’s the matter, Party Hardy? You did ten times worse than that in your day. Hypocrite!”

  J. D. ignored him and walked briskly toward us. I met him as he stepped onto the dock and followed him to one of the empty boat wells, where he motioned to one of the powerboats to pull near.

  “Cherry is on that boat,” I said.

  “I know.” His mouth was set in a grim line as he continued to watch the pirate ship outrun the Coast Guard. The powerboat sidled next to us.

  “I need you to take me out there,” J. D. said to the driver. The owner of the boat nodded and helped J. D. usher his other passengers off. J. D. took the wheel of the boat and the two remaining men cast off their lines.

  I waited on the dock and watched the pirate ship and its pursuers. Around me, people complained that J. D. and the Coast Guard were overreacting. I fisted my hands at my sides and bit my lip to keep from yelling at them.

  J. D. reached the open water and headed toward the Coast Guard. He must have said something on the radio to them, because the Coast Guard slowed down their pursuit. I was guessing they thought they could calm the kids. But the pirate ship barely slowed. The boat full of teenagers recklessly skirted a peninsula of land. Luke laughed and yelled something that was lost on the wind. I heard someone scream just as Luke turned back. A swim dock floated directly in front of him. He turned sharply at the same time he cut the engine. But it was too late. The boat made contact with the side of the dock and sliced sideways. Several kids flew in the air like rag dolls and landed in the water. Others lost their seats and landed on the floor of the boat. I couldn’t see Cherry at all. The crowd gasped as the boat limped to a grinding halt and shifted sideways, taking on water from a hole in its side.

  J. D. and the men accelerated toward the scene of the crash. Other boats in the parade rushed to the wreck as well. From the shore, we watched helplessly as rescuers threw out life vests and pulled kids from the water. Boaters jumped into the lake to help the battered teens and pull them to safety.

  How many passengers had been on the boat? Were they all accounted for? I struggled to remember and searched the shore for Sandy Miller.

  Sandy stood on the beach with her arms around Ellie. A circle of ladies gathered around, trying to comfort them. Ellie’s face was white and confused.

  Time seemed to pass in slow motion as we waited. There was no more music. The parade had been completely abandoned for a search-and-rescue operation. Sirens grew closer and several ambulances pulled into the parking lot by the public dock.

  The first couple of boats returned from the waters around the wreckage with teenagers huddled in beach towels. They were met at the dock by EMS workers. I recognized Connor and Kaitlyn in the arms of adults, their faces tearstained. Fortunately, they seemed able to walk. But the paramedics were placing another teen on a stretcher. A paramedic held an oxygen mask over his face. The crowd watched silently as they carried the stretcher to the waiting ambulance.

  There was still no sign of Luke or Cherry.

  Leaving Sandy and Ellie in the capable hands of Marva and the other ladies, I made my way back to Nestor. He had moved out of the way of the returning boats and medical personnel and stood on land.

  He gave me a hug. “That was one of your little friends on that boat, wasn’t it, honey?”

  I could only nod my head. The worry was shredding my insides.

  “We’re saying a prayer,” said a woman with short, spiky hair. Several people closed their eyes and a group formed around them as they bowed their heads. Lori and Bootie stood off to the side and bowed their heads too.

  Saying my own prayer, but not able to stay still, I turned back to the dock. The Coast Guard vessel and the boat J. D. had commandeered were on their way back. Cherry had to be on board one of them. A cluster of women escorted Sandy and Ellie down the dock. The Coast Guard and J. D.’s boat cut through the lingering remains of the parade. Two figures huddled under blankets on each boat.

  The crowd was silent as several men stepped forward to help secure the lines. Someone was folded into J. D.’s shoulder. J. D. leaped from the boat and reached back for the shrouded figure. He enfolded the bedraggled passenger in his arms and gently ushered the small form off the boat. The blanket lowered from the wet, dark head to reveal Cherry. All the blood had drained from her face and her lower lip quivered. But she was alive
and, thankfully, it seemed she was unhurt.

  A cry of relief escaped Sandy. She pulled Cherry from J. D.’s arms and clasped her in a relieved embrace.

  “Thank God!” Marva sobbed.

  It hurt to inhale. I don’t know when I stopped breathing, but I felt like it had been hours. I caught J. D.’s eye and tried to reassure him even as a lump formed in my throat. He nodded, still grim, and glanced back at the Coast Guard vessel.

  Luke Schraeder sat between two uniformed men: a soggy pirate. A Breathalyzer lay on the seat beside him. The men escorted Luke off the boat and J. D. stood waiting for him, pulling handcuffs from his back belt loop.

  “Get your filthy paws off my son, Hardy!”

  A tall, blond man in patchwork shorts, a pink polo shirt, and expensive leather sandals charged up the dock. His red face was beaded by sweat and two streams ran down his forehead and temples.

  Spittle flew from his mouth. “I said, get your sleazy hands off my son!”

  J. D. ignored him and calmly continued to shackle Luke with the handcuffs. Then he began to read him his Miranda rights.

  “Cut the bullshit law crap, you bastard! I’m talkin’ to you!”

  J. D. coolly finished reading Luke his rights while Luke’s father fumed and kicked the stanchions on the dock. The group of women with Sandy, Cherry, and Ellie stared wide-eyed and backed away.

  “Keep your comments PG, Dylan, there are kids around,” said J. D. when he finished.

  “I can say whatever I goddamn want to. And what I want to say, shithead, is what the hell do you think you’re doing putting those handcuffs on my son?”

  “At the very least, your son was operating a vehicle in a reckless manner. He also blew a .17 on the Breathalyzer, which—in case you didn’t realize—means he was drinking alcohol, twice the legal limit, if he were an adult. But there is nothing legal about drinking when you are a minor. And by the way, he isn’t hurt, in case you were wondering. You can meet us at the sheriff’s office.”

  “This operation is a complete sham this summer with you running things like a fuckin’ moron.”

  J. D. handed a bleary-eyed Luke Schraeder over to the Coast Guard officer next to him.

  “This ain’t no comedy, Hardy. My son had a little accident, but there’s no way he should be in handcuffs right now.”

  J. D. stepped closer to Dylan Schraeder. I watched the muscles contracting in his cheek and recognized the fury below the surface.

  “Your son endangered not only his life, but the life of all nine teenagers on that boat, not to mention the passengers on the other vessels. You tell the parents of each and every one of those kids we just pulled out of the water that your son did nothing wrong.”

  I knew J. D. was struggling to keep his voice steady. He stepped closer until he was almost toe to toe with Dylan. “Do you seriously think those parents who thought their kids weren’t going to come out of the water alive are going to look you in the eye and say, ‘That’s okay, Dylan, your son was just having fun?’ ”

  J. D. pointed to the crowd. “A few dozen people videotaped those kids. Perhaps the judge will be interested in the evidence.”

  The other man shrank away from J. D. For a moment, his face lost expression and he turned ashen. Then he blinked and closed his gaping mouth. Like a python ready to strike, he recoiled, choking on a bitter laugh.

  “Well, well . . . look who’s calling the kettle black? What’s the matter, J. D.? Did you think the good people of Truhart forgot what kind of background you came from? Do you think you can fool us with that uniform? You were probably in handcuffs plenty by the time you were twenty and for a lot worse, I’ll bet.”

  J. D. turned away and secured the boat lines. But Dylan kept talking for the crowd’s sake. “We remember you. Wasn’t it Juvenile Delinquent Hardy that we called you? You were nothing but a dropout and would still be rotting if Sheriff Howe hadn’t fished you out of the trash.”

  I shoved my way to the front and stood near J. D. for support. Dylan looked me up and down and spat at the ground in front of us, barely missing J. D.’s shoes. “You fraud. You can pretend all you want. But we call a piece of crap, like you, what you are. Nothing but shit!”

  One of the Coast Guard officers stepped around us to put his hand on Dylan’s belligerent shoulder, but he was shaken off. “Fine! I’m done. Our lawyer will be contacting you people. None of this would have happened if you hadn’t decided to play cops and robbers with a bunch of kids.”

  Several people in the crowd murmured. Finding strength, he continued: “You should never have been put in charge, Hardy. You’re nothing but trouble wherever you go!” He stomped down the dock and disappeared in the crowd.

  J. D. and the stone-faced officers escorted Luke down the dock. People stepped back to make room for them. They placed Luke in the back of J. D.’s SUV and headed into town. The remaining bystanders milled about, shaking their heads and speaking in hushed tones about what had happened.

  Nestor’s high-pitched voice cut through the quiet with intentional volume. “Well, I guess we can all rest in peace knowing that fathers like that are around to support their children’s fun-loving behavior. I don’t know why we even need to worry about the next generation.”

  Chapter 14

  My wipers flapped frenetically across the windshield as I drove toward town late that evening. The clouds that had hovered over the horizon all afternoon during the boat parade had finally made good on their promise. Now a drenching rain, interrupted by rumbles of thunder and flashes of lightning, showed no signs of letting up.

  Fourth of July outdoor plans were canceled. The Chamber of Commerce fireworks were postponed until the next night, provided the rain stopped. As the sheets of water cascaded across the paved main street, it didn’t seem like that would ever happen.

  Earlier in the evening I had driven to the Tall Pines trailer park to reassure myself that Cherry was all right.

  Sandy met me at the door with a wobbly smile.

  “Except for being shaken up, she seems fine. I think she was lucky she was on the bow of the boat. She said some of the kids in the cockpit took the brunt of the accident. One has a broken arm and another a possible concussion. Cherry, on the other hand, was out in the open already. She just sailed right off that boat and into the water . . . thank God she didn’t hit the dock or worse.”

  Sandy’s chatter was edged with such relief she was almost giddy. She knelt on the floor next to Cherry, who was lying on the couch with her arm curled beneath her head, and prattled on about everyone who had called them. Ellie was curled at her feet, holding her ragged bunny rabbit. Cherry’s face was still pale, but she sent me a rueful smile, amused by her mother and Ellie.

  When I left, Sandy grabbed an old umbrella and walked me out. She paused at the door to my car. “Our local judges have been known to throw the book at underage drinkers. I’m not sure what will happen to Luke.”

  I looked down at the pools of water forming in the dirt at our feet. “What do you want to happen?”

  “I guess it depends on how fast Dylan lawyers up,” she said. “No one wants to see a young man ruin his entire future over a mistake, but I certainly don’t agree with his father. It was in no way J. D.’s or the Coast Guard’s fault that the accident happened. Luke was driving the boat dangerously before the Coast Guard began to chase him.”

  I remained silent. Luke wasn’t on my list of concerns. I was thinking of the way people looked at J. D. as he walked off the dock.

  Sandy must have read my mind. “J. D. had a tough time when he was younger, but he didn’t deserve that kind of treatment from Dylan.”

  I wanted to ask her more. But she tilted her head and said, “I understand you two have been seeing each other. I only know because of something I heard from Cherry.”

  I didn’t deny it. She patted my arm. “So if you see J. D., tell him that most people don’t feel the same way Dylan Schraeder does. Tell him.”

  The words echoed in my mind on
the drive toward town. It had been hours since he had arrested Luke, and J. D. wasn’t responding to my texts. There was talk that they had to take Luke to the county offices in Harrisburg. But where was he now? I turned the wipers up to full power when another sheet of rain attacked my windshield. I passed the sheriff’s office for the second time. Only the dispatcher’s car was in the parking lot.

  I pulled around the corner and made my way through town, searching for the familiar SUV. I was ready to give up when I spotted J. D.’s truck. It was angled near the Dumpster in the back parking lot of Cookee’s diner.

  I parked near the front door and jumped out, trying to dodge the raindrops on my way to the entrance. Once inside, I stood on the black mat and searched for some sign of J. D. while I shook off the rivulets of water that streamed down my legs and the back of my neck.

  The diner was empty. Corinne sat on a stool on the other side of the counter with her chin in her hands and a magazine in front of her. She nodded her head imperceptibly toward the back, where several booths abutted the long windows. I followed her gesture with my eyes.

  He was wedged in the corner of the booth with his back to me. His leg was propped up on the long seat and his arm curved around a cup of coffee in front of him. His hat sat so low across his face that I couldn’t see his expression. He didn’t acknowledge me or even glance up, though he must have heard the sound of the bell on the door and my footsteps approaching.

  From where I stood, he looked like the loneliest man on the planet.

  “I have some work in the back to do before closing, Elizabeth. Do you mind letting me know if anyone comes in?”

  Taking my eyes off J. D., I nodded at Corinne. She put a hand on her chest and sent me a tiny smile before she left. They were old friends. If he wouldn’t talk to Corinne, I wasn’t sure J. D. would talk to me. But I had to try.

  “Do you mind if I sit with you?”

  He gestured with his hand at the empty seat across from him. It wasn’t an overly enthusiastic invitation.