Dancing Tides

by Vickie McKeehan

  “What the hell, you already think I’m nuts anyway.”

  “I do not,” she claimed. When his intent look lasted a little too long, she admitted, “Okay, maybe at first I did but that was before I’d gotten to know you. The last couple of days I’ve reassessed your whole situation.”

  “You aren’t put off because half the town considers me a nutcase?”

  She gave him a sympathetic look. “I’d say, more like seventy-five percent.” She bumped his shoulder in a playful attempt to coax him out of thinking about it.

  “Ouch. Then I guess there’s no harm in going for ninety-nine point nine. By any chance did you know Scott Phillips?”

  “The Guard soldier from Pelican Pointe who was killed in Iraq? Sure. He used to help my granddad around the center during his summers, even went on a few rescues with him as a teenager.”

  “You’ve heard the stories then.” It wasn’t a question.

  “That he’s running around haunting the town and certain people see his ghost? Yeah, I’ve heard the stories. Who hasn’t? Rumor has it Ethan, our own wannabe local author, is working it up from a fictional angle in a book while Wade Hawkins is writing about it from a nonfiction standpoint.”

  When he continued to gape at her, the implication finally sunk in. “Wait. You mean you see Scott here, now?”

  “He’s standing right over there at the end of the barn with Myra?”

  “Myra?”

  “One of the sick heifers separated from the others because she’s on antibiotics right now.”

  “I see I’m not the only one who thinks up cute names for the animals. Wait, does that mean Myra has to go to the slaughterhouse?”

  Cord sent her a mortified look. “None of these girls are headed to the slaughterhouse. Taggert Farms sets precedent on that score. They may not be able to give milk once they go on antibiotics due to organic certifications but we have an arrangement with a family farm in the San Joaquin Valley. They take the cows that have minor infections. They’ll come get Myra next week.”

  Relieved to hear that, she studied him. “Was that precedent in place when you got here?”

  “No.”

  “Ah.” And that, Keegan thought, said it all and spoke volumes to the man’s values.

  She looked up and down the stalls, settling on the barn door at the end—and didn’t see a single soul anywhere. “Do you still see him? Is he still here?”

  Cord nodded his head in Myra’s direction.

  “So, Scott Phillips haunts Taggert Farms…and you? Why? I can understand you because you both served together and you ended up here in Pelican Pointe but—”

  All of a sudden he caught the glint in her eye.

  Now, his demeanor changed from serious to teasing. No longer hesitant to discuss Scott, he found he was delighted at her reaction. He decided he liked the idea of yanking her chain a bit. “Not everyone sees him. Maybe you just don’t have what it takes to imagine a ghost existing in another realm.”

  “Are you saying I lack imagination?”

  “I’m saying you’re too serious-minded to believe in the notion that ghosts walk among us. A biologist like you wouldn’t consider it plausible.”

  “But you have seen him multiple times?” Keegan asked.

  “Sure. When he isn’t in town or at the cove, he’s around here most of the time, bugging the hell out of me about something. He tried to stop me from—” It suddenly wasn’t as funny as he’d thought.

  Keegan’s mouth dropped open. “Scott was with you Friday night? And you did it anyway? Cord, that’s—not good.”

  “Crazy?”

  She blew out a breath and ran nimble fingers through her hair. She started to pace. “You see Scott and he talks to you, tried to talk you out of going in for that swim.” It dawned on her then. “Wait a minute. That wasn’t the first time you tried, was it?” She turned to face him.

  He swiped a hand across his chin, suddenly reluctant to tell her more. But watching her eyes fill with dismay, he decided to come clean. “New Year’s Day. I’d been here about a month. I didn’t like it very much. I missed Cassie. I was alone and—depressed. I took out the .22 and held it under my chin. The gun misfired.”

  Cord watched Keegan go white, watched as her lips parted as if she wanted to speak but had trouble forming the words. Her hand though, flew to her mouth.

  His jaw tightened. He saw for real the panic in her eyes and wondered how he could have even considered ending his life without much of a fight. What if he’d been successful? Twice now he’d tried and failed and realized he never wanted to put that kind of look on Keegan’s face ever again.

  “Do you really want to die, Cord?” She sucked in a breath waiting for his answer, afraid what it might be.

  “No.”

  She blew out a breath. “Are you absolutely certain of that? Does this shrink know you tried twice?”

  “She knows. That’s why I agreed to try the goddamned pills. Zoloft, Keegan. As of this afternoon, I’m taking Zoloft. That’s how serious I am about getting better. You think I want to feel depressed? You think I want to feel like shit about things? I hate feeling different than the old me.”

  To his surprise she stepped closer, put her arms around his waist, laid her head on his chest. “I don’t want you to die, Cord. You’re kind. Do you know how rare it is to find someone who is as much an animal lover as we both are? You’re so funny and warm and thoughtful. You have so much to offer life. Don’t do that again, Cord. Do you hear me? Promise me, okay? If you ever feel down like that again, will you, at least call me, text me, something? Does Ethan still have—?”

  “Yeah, Ethan took the .22. I’m not getting it back.” He tilted his head down and took her mouth just because he needed the contact. He gnawed on her lips and then rested his head on hers. “I don’t want to die anymore, Keegan.”

  “Then I guess we’ll have to make sure you don’t do anything stupid.”

  Thanks to plump Terri Lynn’s devotion to him, Robby Mack Stevens had a makeshift weapon in his pocket, a blueprint of the hospital’s entire layout in his head, and a gutsy plan for freedom.

  Tonight, it was now or never.

  He stretched out on his single-sized bed and waited for the night guard to make his rounds. The slow-witted orderly usually checked the door at approximately ten-thirty before taking his evening break to go outside and smoke a cigarette.

  At ten forty-five, feeling that he’d waited the obligatory fifteen minutes for the staffer to keep to his routine, Robby Mack made his move. He stood up on his bunk and lifted off the ceiling tile he’d been working free for the better part of eight months. It took him three tries to boost himself up into the opening.

  Once up and in, he slithered on his belly along the crawlspace until he got to an area he knew for certain to be outside the security perimeter. He took out the flathead screwdriver Terri had smuggled him and set to work on prying up the metal plate. It took him ten minutes to unscrew the bolts but with the last one, he took a good hold on the heavy flap and lifted it up and to the side. He swung his legs into the opening, braced his arms on each side and dropped down into the office of the administrator with a thud.

  For several long seconds he listened for any movement outside the door.

  When no alarm sounded, Robby Mack simply walked behind the desk, unlocked the window, slid up the glass and climbed out into the night.

  He kept to the side of the building, along the shadows, as he made his way through the grounds. Keeping his pace brisk, he walked across the parking lot designated for employees only. He spared a glance up at the night stars and hoped like hell that stupid bitch was where she was supposed to be. Because with any luck, they’d never know Robby Mack Stevens had slipped away until time for breakfast the next morning. And the hospital certainly would never miss their March employee of the month, Terri Lynn Cranston.

  He had such plans for Terri Lynn. And after spending the last year and a half locked up, he intended to take his time.


  When he spotted Terri’s blue Honda, he made a promise to himself. Never again would he allow anyone to have control over how he did things, tell him when to eat, or when to take a piss. No more spending his life locked up especially with some trained gorilla forcing him to do things he didn’t want to do. Anger management classes my ass.

  Not even inside a loony bin would he let anyone boss him around.

  Next time, he didn’t intend to give up his freedom so easily without a fight.

  Chapter Thirteen

  With his crew gone for the day, Cord felt out of sorts. Left alone, the quiet pulled him from the prospect of a boring Tuesday-night television lineup to the peace of outside.

  It was a nice evening, or it would be as stars were just now beginning to pop out and glisten. Restless, he started to walk. Over rolling hills and through rows of crops, it didn’t take long before he realized for the first time that week, those old feelings of inadequacy, of not being able to save Cassie, started inching up his spine.

  Despite the unrealistic aspects, it didn’t take a genius to know he needed to get out of here—and do something—talk to someone, his sponsor, Pete, Murphy, preferably Keegan.

  Keegan. He needed to see her.

  Digging his keys out of his pocket, he headed to one of the trucks and to town. If Keegan was busy, he’d find someone else to talk to, shed this mood before he did something he really didn’t want to do.

  On the drive to town, he’d sent a text message to Keegan. When he pulled up in front of the center, she was waiting for him.

  “I just got a call from Clance Hopkins. He runs a fishing business. He netted a sea turtle about an hour ago. I’ve got to go get him, Cord. He’s got a piece of plastic bag stuck in his mouth. The turtle, not Clance,” she explained breathless, before adding, “Come with me.”

  “Sure,” Cord agreed. “A turtle, reptile, right?”

  “Right. Good thing we rescue anything in distress.”

  “Truck or boat.”

  “We’re taking the boat. It’s faster for one, and two, Clance isn’t coming in for the night. He’s almost fifteen miles out.”

  Cord hurried after her, through the compound, and around back to where the path was well-worn, a shortcut to Smuggler’s Bay that led right to the boat.

  “What about Guinness?”

  “He’s staying here. I don’t want to scare the turtle. Guinness is great most times, but he can get unduly excited around certain animals. ” She tilted her head in his direction. “You don’t get seasick, do you?”

  “Never have. I’d make a good sailor.”

  “Good because it’s a little too late to take the seasick pills. And the patch takes awhile to work, too. We don’t have that kind of time.”

  Keegan dug out her cell to give Bran Sullivan a heads up. “Hey Bran, standby tonight, will you? I’ve got a leatherback coming in after ingesting plastic. I don’t have many details but I’m on the way out now to get him.”

  Before Cord could ask anymore questions, they were boarding the Moonlight Mile. There, Keegan was all business. She re-checked her GPS coordinates for Hopkin’s location at sea, and then digitally charted the course for the Ruby Tuesday.

  They were underway in a matter of minutes.

  “I’m sorry, Cord, I know you wanted to talk. But this is something I have to do.”

  “No need to explain. Besides, this is better. It’s a beautiful night. I just couldn’t be at the farm tonight by myself. I started getting antsy.”

  Keegan reached out, took his hand. “I was a little out of sorts tonight, too. Today was my grandmother’s birthday. She would’ve been seventy-five.”

  “Why didn’t you say something?” He moved to her, wrapped her up. When her arms went around his waist, when he breathed in the smell of her hair, he knew this was what he’d needed.

  “I guess, like you, I wanted to see if I could get past a rough patch alone. I thought if I stayed busy, it would be enough. Turns out, when things quieted down tonight, I got sad and more than a bit sulky.”

  “Same here. I was okay as long as things were popping during the day and I had problems to solve. Once everyone left though, I found myself in a funk.”

  She laid her head on his shoulder and decided, “I think both of us have to find our own way through the grief process and beat this to come out the other side. I’m glad you texted me, Cord.”

  “Why, Keegan? Why didn’t you tell me how you were feeling? You could’ve called me, too, could’ve let me know today might be a problem. I would’ve come. Why didn’t you?”

  “Because…I didn’t want to add to your problems.”

  “Don’t do that. I’m a big boy, I can handle things.” He lifted her chin. “It’s a two-way street. You need to learn to reach out and so do I.”

  “Lean on each other? It’s a deal.”

  They’d gone perhaps twelve miles out when the Ruby Tuesday came into view. Keegan throttled back on the motor to slow her speed. She reached for the radio. “This is Moonlight Mile to Ruby Tuesday. I’ve got you in sight. Are you coming to me? Or am I going there. Over.”

  A few minutes of silence and then she heard Clance’s voice. “This is the Ruby Tuesday. Fishing’s pretty good tonight. You stay put. Don’t want you scaring off the fish. We’ll bring him to you. Over.”

  “Roger that. What’ve we got, Clance? What’s his condition? How big? Talk to me. Over.”

  “Definitely a leatherback. Looks like to me he’s choking, Keegan. I’d say he weighs about a hundred pounds or so, he’s not that big, but big enough that we’ll need to use a harness to transport him to the launch. Over.”

  “Roger that. Sounds like a sub adult. Bring him over then, Clance. I’ll get the tub ready. We’ll try to get him some help. Over.”

  While they got busy preparing the container, a large bin, Cord asked the first of a series of curious questions. “Why’d he eat a plastic bag?”

  “To a leatherback swimming around in the water, plastic bags look just like jellyfish. They love jellyfish. But they chew on the bags, ingest them, it clogs the intestine. They can’t pass the plastic. They die. Plastic isn’t biodegradable. Once it’s in the ocean, on the beach, it’s there forever until we pick it up, get it out of the water or the nesting places for good.”

  “I never thought of plastic one way or the other.” But he was beginning to think there was a great deal he hadn’t considered about the dangers posed to wildlife, both on land and at sea. “So he’s swimming around, and he nibbles on plastic. Where do you suppose he was headed?”

  Keegan took out her binoculars, scanned the water for any sign of Clance’s launch. “They cross the Pacific to feed in Monterey Bay where the jellyfish are abundant.”

  “Wow. Really? That is so cool.”

  She grinned at the comment. He was like a ten-year-old, fascinated with learning more. And it warmed her heart. She’d been around plenty of guys who could’ve cared less about one little sea turtle. But, here was Cord seeming to lap up every little tidbit. “I’ve got Clance’s launch in sight. They’re rowing over, instead of using the motor.”

  “No scaring the fish.”

  “That’s the idea.”

  “Aren’t you upset that the turtle ended up in a net from a fishing boat?” To him, she seemed remarkably calm about the whole ordeal.

  “Well, as long as there’s a market for fish, and there is, Clance Hopkins has every right to make his living on the water, fishing for swordfish or white fin, shrimp, you name it. In fact, Clance is one of the good guys. I know some fishermen, who would’ve just tossed the turtle away, let him die, or just killed it outright when they got the turtle onboard, but not Clance.”

  “So turtles get caught all the time?”

  “U.S. regulations require a TED, Turtle Excluder Device onboard commercial fishing vessels. But they still get hung up now and again. Look, think of it like this. Clance isn’t responsible for the turtle ingesting the bag. We’re all on the hook
for that. But if Clance hadn’t found him in his net, he’d have died for sure. This way, the turtle gets a second chance at living.”

  And another reason she didn’t eat fish, Cord reasoned before he asked, “What happens once we get the leatherback onboard?”

  “Keep him alive if we can. Get him back to the center ASAP, run some diagnostics, see if Bran Sullivan can remove the plastic—surgically.”

  “There’s nothing boring about your life, you know that, Keegan.”

  She laughed out loud. “I guess not. Oh, look, they’re about fifty yards out. Let’s get ready.”

  The fishermen made sure the harness secured the leatherback as it hooked around his middle before hoisting it out of the side of the launch and over to the Moonlight Mile. The waiting container Cord and Keegan had already filled with plenty of water made sure the turtle could maintain his natural swimming motion while in transit.

  Cord’s first look at the reptile told him the huge leatherback labored to live with the eight-inch piece of white plastic bag dangling from its mouth. “That’s a good sign, right? Maybe it didn’t get too far in and get swallowed any farther along the digestive tract,” Cord commented, hopeful.

  “Poor thing. He’s just a baby, too.”

  “You’re kidding? He’s huge.”

  “Trust me they get way bigger than this. Be glad he isn’t nine-hundred pounds.”

  While she radioed Bran, giving him their ETA, Cord stood next to the container peering in, fascinated. “We can’t remove the harness.”

  “Not yet. Not until we transport him to the center. Amazing creatures, aren’t they?”

  “The flippers are huge, and look, no claws. See how hard his shell is and thick, this must be his layer of fat. They must use that for insulation in the cold water.”

  “Perceptive. Just one reason they can adapt to living in either the waters of the Arctic or the South Pacific.”

  “And they’re endangered?”

  “They are, every year fewer and fewer show back up to nest on the beaches, although lately, they are making a comeback of sorts along the Atlantic seaboard, and the tropical waters of the Caribbean. But every time we humans take over a beach, develop another resort or subdivision, we’re pushing out the wildlife that used it before we did for their natural habitats.”