Mama Gets Hitched

by Deborah Sharp

  “You might want to take off that wet shirt. The sun feels warm now, but you’ll get cold at this speed in the wind.”

  He caught the jacket. I stood next to the captain’s chair, steering as he changed into the dry jacket. When he was done, he took back the wheel, and I moved to the side to lean against the gunnel.

  “Thanks, Mace. And thanks for saving us.”

  I waved a hand, like it was nothing. “Guess we won’t end up in watery graves at the bottom of the lake after all.”

  A look of pain raced across his face. I immediately regretted my lame attempt at levity.

  “Sorry.”

  He shrugged. “I should be used to it. It’s been many years.”

  “But you’re not.”

  “No.”

  Neither of us spoke for a time. The engine whined. The throttle was fully open. We still headed east, back to the camp. A shift in the wind had smoothed the lake’s surface.

  “Do you want to reverse course, go find Darryl, now that we’re not taking on water?”

  “No. I need to regroup.”

  “Regroup how?”

  He lifted his wet pant leg and showed me his ankle, trailing lake vegetation. “Well, dry clothes, and minus this green stuff in my holster, for example.”

  “It’s called water lettuce.”

  Ignoring my botany lesson, he said, “I want the upper hand when I meet up with our friend Darryl. Do you think he sabotaged the boat?”

  As soon as Carlos mentioned sabotage, a news story from a few years back popped into my head. The focus was on dirty tricks in a bass fishing tournament. And then I got a quick image of a spool of fishing line I’d seen on a table under the thatched-roof of the chickee hut.

  “Oh, man.” I slapped my forehead.

  “What?”

  “Fifty-pound test line. When I saw it today at the camp, I wondered why anybody would have such strong line for lake fishing. It wasn’t for fishing. You tie a length of it to a boat plug, add a big hook at the end, and where the water’s shallow, the hook snags something on the bottom. Pop. There goes your plug.”

  Carlos cocked his head toward the transom. “Would Darryl know that trick?”

  “I’m sure he has knowledge of anything that’s illegal, unethical, or just plain mean. But would he take a chance like that with a cop, given what surely must be a prior record?”

  Carlos nodded. “Good point, which raises the next question: Who all had access to this boat before we set out on the lake?”

  I thought about Rabe, lurking by the dock the day I talked to Darryl. I hoped Carlos’ answer implicated Darryl instead of his stepson.

  “My money’s on Darryl,” I said, remembering how his black eyes had glittered with cruelty. “And speaking of predators …”

  I pointed to the lake. A big gator glided by, head atop the water, powerful tail moving to and fro under the surface. The distance from eyes to snout tip was at least a foot.

  “¡Dios mío! That’s a monster.”

  “Twelve feet, at least,” I agreed.

  Carlos swallowed hard. “What if he’d been swimming by a few minutes earlier?”

  “Well, he wasn’t,” I said. “We were lucky.”

  His eyes got a faraway look. “Just like I was lucky before.”

  I didn’t want to push him. But my curiosity was growing. And he had brought it up.

  “What do you mean, ‘before’ ?” I asked.

  He took so long to answer, I thought maybe the wind had swallowed my question.

  “Mi hermano.” His voice was so soft, I had to lean in to hear him. “My brother.”

  Goosebumps rose on my arms, and not just because I was still half-soaked.

  “He drowned,” Carlos said.

  “When?”

  “A long time ago. He was seven. I was four. We’d gone to the coast.”

  His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. He stared at the horizon.

  “My brother didn’t want to take our uncle’s little boat into the ocean. But I begged to get closer to the dolphins we’d seen swimming offshore.”

  Carlos’ gaze moved across the lake. Was he seeing those long-ago dolphins frolicking? What else did he see in that endless water?

  “My brother wasn’t like other older brothers. He never picked on me, or bossed. He was happiest when he could make me happy. I remember him frowning up at these big, dark clouds forming in the sky. But I wanted to catch up to those dolphins so badly, I cried …”

  His voice faded. He shook his head.

  “The weather changed?”

  He nodded. “The rain fell so hard, it felt like needles piercing the skin on my bare arms. And it was cold. Which is strange, because Cuba was always warm. My teeth chattered. Waves kept sloshing into the boat; my feet were soaked. I complained I was freezing. My brother stood up to look for a towel, or anything dry.”

  Lifting a hand over his face, he pinched the bridge of his nose. It was as if he wanted to force the memories far back into his mind again.

  “I’m so sorry, Carlos.”

  When he spoke again, he sounded emotionless, like an expert testifying in court. “A big wave hit, and knocked Raul off balance. Before I could make a move, he’d fallen over the side. He must have banged his head as he went over. It seemed like it happened so fast. Raul could swim, but I couldn’t. I was afraid to jump in. But I kept watching, calling his name. He never surfaced. And the waves kept sloshing over the sides of the boat.”

  I pictured Carlos as a four-year-old: Drenched. Frightened. Watching the water rise in the boat. My heart nearly burst.

  “I kept praying for the dolphins to rescue him, to swim him to safety.”

  His voice was barely a whisper. I took a step closer. “How’d you get to shore?”

  “Some fishermen were coming in, running from the storm. They saw me alone in this nearly sunken boat, out there in the ocean. I told them Raul had fallen in. They looked for him, but I’d already drifted from where he went under. His body was never found.”

  He stared into the sky, watching a big cloud. Then he spoke again. “I’m not even sure why I jumped over today. I was afraid of the water, but I was even more scared the boat would sink. It doesn’t make any sense.”

  Pure panic never does. I wasn’t sure how to comfort him. What would Marty say? I moved closer and put a hand to his cheek. He leaned his face into my hand, resting it there for a moment. When he pulled away to look at me, his eyes shone darkly with guilt and pain and unshed tears.

  I brought my mouth to his ear and whispered, “It wasn’t your fault. You were just kids.”

  “That’s what everyone told me. But I heard the talk. I noticed how people stared. I watched my mother turn away. Her grief over Raul was so strong, she could barely stand to look at me.”

  I thought of the close relationship between Carlos and his grandmother, and the fact he rarely spoke of his mother. And once, when I’d asked, he said he had no siblings. My mama might drive me crazy, but I couldn’t imagine my life without her, or my sisters.

  “Was it just the two of you?”

  A short nod. “I must have wished a million times to take back those five minutes on the shore, when I begged him to go. I’ve hated boats ever since.”

  I felt my face burn over my stupid jibes. Had I really sung the Gilligan’s Island song?

  The rise of the dike was clear in the distance.

  “We’re getting close to Darryl’s camp,” I said.

  He cleared his throat. “Thanks for listening, Mace. You’ve always been easy to talk to.”

  “I just wish I could wave a wand to give you a do-over of that day.”

  “Me, too.” His smile was tinged with sadness. “You would have liked Raul. He was kind and gentle. Much nicer than me.”

  I smiled at him. “Oh, I don’t know, Carlos. I happen to think you’re pretty nice.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Really? As nice as Tony Ciancio with his Rolex watch and sailboat tan?”

/>   “Nicer, in fact.” I touched his cheek. “And you’ve got a pretty good tan yourself.”

  Now that the color had returned to his face, his skin looked yummy, like butterscotch toffee. I had the urge to lean over and taste it.

  He laid his palm over mine, pressing my hand against his face. Then he turned his head ever so slightly, just enough for his lips to meet my open palm. When they did, what felt like an electrical current jolted me clear down to my bare feet.

  “Hmmm,” I said. “That’s nice.”

  “It’s been a while for us, hasn’t it?”

  “Too long.”

  “How much time before we get back to the camp?”

  “Too much,” I murmured.

  Our eyes met. My heart pattered. What had I been doing, playing around? This was the man I wanted. And I wanted him right now.

  He gestured to his soaking-wet slacks, which showed each muscle and bulge quite clearly. “Do you think they’ll let us use a cabin when we get back to the camp? Maybe clean up and dry off?”

  I concocted a fantasy of Carlos and me in the shower, working one another into a lather. As a lascivious grin spread across my face, I wondered: Did I look as predatory as that big gator?

  I was studying the shade of purple on Betty Taylor’s front door, trying to determine if it occurred anywhere in nature, when Maddie answered the bell.

  “Why are you so late? Mama is madder than a box of frogs!” She wrinkled her nose. “And what is that stench? You smell like something they left behind in the cast net.”

  Maddie’s eyes moved from my head to my feet.

  “Those boots are soaking wet, Mace! Betty’ll throw a fit. She just had her lavender carpet cleaned for Mama’s bridal shower. You better strip off those stinking things before you come inside.”

  At the word “strip,’” I felt my face get hot. My eyes darted away from Maddie. Memories of what Carlos and I had done all afternoon in an empty cabin at the fish camp filled my head. Skilled at reading the body language of guilty middle-schoolers, Maddie gave me an assessing look.

  “Well, at least you have some color in your cheeks. We’ll tell Mama you’re trying out a new blush for the wedding.”

  “I …”

  She raised a crossing-guard’s hand. “Stop right there. I don’t want to hear it. I just hope you’re using protection.”

  If my face was red before, it was burning now. “Maddie, please! I’m not one of your students.”

  “No, you’re just acting like one. Do I know the lucky man?”

  I pressed my lips together.

  “Was it Tony?”

  I shook my head.

  “Is it that rodeo devil, Jeb Ennis, back in the saddle again?”

  Another head shake.

  “Oh, no you didn’t! Are you playing around with poor Carlos again?”

  I folded my arms across my chest. “He wasn’t exactly complaining.”

  “Give him time. I have no doubt you’ll be back to making him miserable once the afterglow’s gone.” She tsked. “Now, get out of those nasty boots and slap a smile on your face. We’ve just started a game of Pin the Tail on the Groom.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Sal’s here?”

  “Yes, everything’s patched up; Mama’s over the Mystery Woman. But now, Sal’s the life of the party, and he’s stealing her spotlight. She might just give him the hook.”

  As I stood on the mat to remove my boots, Maddie muttered as she moved down the hallway: “ ‘All the modern showers have the bride and groom together, Maddie.’ That’s when I should have said, ‘Since when is Himmarshee modern, Mama?’ ”

  I heard a loud whoop of female laughter from the next room. And then Sal’s Bronx honk boomed, “Careful there, Dab! Another inch closer and I couldn’t perform my husbandly duties on the honeymoon.”

  Ohmigod! It was the hussy from the drive-thru!

  I came into the living room, barefoot, just in time to see a blindfolded senior citizen in a silver lamé mini-dress, holding a fabric donkey tail in her hand. The sticky swatch at the end was aimed perilously near Sal’s private parts. As Dab gave a sultry laugh, Mama did a slow burn on the couch.

  As I sat, she hissed, “I never should have invited that shameless woman. She’s flirting with Sal, right in front of me, and I’m the bride!”

  “Shhh,” Marty whispered from the floor. “Dab looks like she’s been rode hard and put up wet. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

  “And she’s ancient,” Maddie said. “I doubt she’s flirting.”

  “Well, I’m sixty years old …” Mama started.

  “You’re almost sixty-three,” Maddie corrected.

  “Thank you, Maddie. I didn’t know you were running the Florida Department of Vital Statistics in addition to the middle school.” She smoothed her hair and lowered her voice. “As I was saying, Dab’s only got about ten years on me. A woman, and especially that one, doesn’t forget how to flirt just because she gets older.”

  Mama seemed to notice me on the couch for the first time. “If it’s a woman who ever knew how to flirt, that is.”

  I let the shot roll off my back. I was just grateful she was focused on Dab instead of on my late arrival. Or my bare feet. Or the color in my cheeks from incredible sex.

  “Didn’t you say she had a doozy of a story, Mama?” I asked.

  “Only if you think dancing naked on stage in a cage in Las Vegas is a story.” Mama raised a hand, ticking off items on her fingers. “Or, it’s a story being married more times than me, even though she claims we’re equal because she actually married the same man twice. Or, doing time in prison …”

  “Uhmmm, Mama?” Marty said. “You’ve done time, too.”

  She waved her hand. “That was just jail, honey. And it was all a mistake. Dab Holt got sent up for murder, I heard. They say she shot a man in Reno, just to watch him die.”

  Marty snorted a swallow of pink wine out her nose. Maddie said, “For heaven’s sake, Mama! You’re quoting a lyric from a Johnny Cash song.”

  “Well, I can’t help that, Maddie. Maybe he wrote the song about Dab.”

  “How come we’ve never met her? She sounds fascinating,” I said.

  Dab was snake-dancing around Sal, using the donkey tail like a stripper’s scarf.

  “My goodness, Mace! I tried to give you girls a good example growing up. I wouldn’t have exposed you to a woman as bad as Dab.”

  Maddie said, “Dab beat out Mama for Miss Swamp Cabbage in 1965. They never spoke again, until Mama decided to make amends by inviting her to the shower.”

  “The vote was rigged.” Mama fluffed her hair. “I suspect she did a special favor for one of the judges. Plus, she was too old, according to the rules. She lied about her age!”

  “Imagine that,” Maddie said.

  “How’d she come by that unusual name?” Marty asked.

  “Her daddy called her that because she was so tiny; just a little dab,” Mama said.

  I looked at Mama’s frenemy, doing a shimmy now, the shiny fabric of her dress stretched tight across her breasts. They perched unnaturally high and round on her skinny frame, like two honeydew melons on a grocer’s shelf.

  “I guess she got her nickname before she got the implants,” I said.

  Betty came over just then with a cup of punch and a plate: A deviled egg, a pig-in-the-blanket, some spicy bean dip with a few tortilla chips, and three ham-and-cheese roll-ups.

  “Bless you, Betty. I’m starving.”

  “Well I could tell you didn’t stop home to eat, Mace, ’cause I know you would have done something with that hair.”

  My hand went to my mass of snarls. I couldn’t remember if I even washed it after my dip in the lake. There hadn’t been much time for hair care once Carlos joined me in the shower.

  “Is that a new shade of blush, Mace?” Betty asked. “It’s very becoming. But, honey, you have got to come in to Hair Today, Dyed Tomorrow and let us fix that mess on your head. You can’t walk dow
n the aisle in that beautiful dress with hair that looks styled by a weed whacker.”

  “Amen!” Mama said, though her eyes were still fastened on Sal and Dab.

  Now, Dab was affixing the tail to Sal’s upper arm. She gave his bicep an appreciative squeeze. Mama sat on the edge of the couch, as if she was about to launch herself like a missile at Dab.

  “My Lord!” Dab’s voice sounded like sex and cigarettes. “You must really work out. And I do hope that’s your arm.”

  Marty giggled. I leaned behind Mama and raised my eyebrows at Maddie. She grinned.

  “Looks like you are never too old,” she said.

  Mama rocketed off the couch, shouting, “Next!”

  She grabbed the blindfold off Dab. I thought she’d yank out a handful of her scarlet bouffant, too. But she just gave Dab a tight smile.

  “Maybe you’d better sit down and rest a bit, honey.” She patted Dab’s arm. “Those varicose veins must act up something awful at your age.”

  “I guess at your age your eyesight’s not what it used to be, Rosalee.” Hiking a high-heeled foot onto Betty’s coffee table, Dab displayed a surprisingly shapely leg. “I don’t have any varicose veins.”

  Pushing past Dab to claim her rightful place on stage, Mama tied the blindfold gingerly, so as not to muss her helmet of hair. Since I was woefully familiar with the Mama Show, I turned my attention to my food and punch while I checked out Betty’s home.

  And I’d thought Hair Today was a purple palace. Her home made the salon seem sedate. The living room drapes were mulberry velvet, with low-hanging swags in the same shade. The over-stuffed couch was plush, and as purple as an eggplant. The carpet was a thick pile, closer to lilac than lavender. About the only thing that wasn’t purple was the TV, and it wore an orchid-hued doily like a lacy hat.

  In her sherbet-colored pantsuit, Mama looked like a tangerine in a bowl of plums.

  Among a dozen or so guests, I recognized some of Mama’s bingo buddies and several of her fellow church-goers. D’Vora, from the salon, chatted with Charlene, the waitress from Gladys’ Diner. Alice Hodges sat by herself, an untouched plate of food on her lap. Her clothes were clean and pressed, and she wore a hint of lipstick. She’d tried to fix herself up. But her eyes were still blank; her complexion sallow. It seemed as if no one wanted to breach the force field of mourning that surrounded her.