All Hats on Deck

by Sandra Bretting

  “I suppose.” The kiskadee shyly approached the strange opening, but it seemed more confused than anything. “Sure, I’ll come out and see you. I haven’t been out there since, you know…”

  “I know. And thanks for letting me stay with you guys for so long.”

  Once Ruby’s funeral passed and assorted Oubre relatives paid their respects, including Ruby’s sister, whom Hollis tracked down with the help of the Internet, Ambrose and I invited him to come live with us.

  He reluctantly obliged, since he didn’t relish the thought of returning to his grandmother’s property, where he’d received those eerie, threatening phone calls. Who could blame him for wanting to distance himself from the bayou, after everything that had happened there?

  And once he moved in with us, Hollis blended into our household with no problem. In addition to being a crack handyman, which was something I appreciated since Ambrose didn’t possess that particular skill, Hollis proved to be a natural businessman.

  He took the lesson I gave him about marketing to heart. That initial lesson at his grandmother’s kitchen table sparked a love for the subject that resulted in several online classes from a local community college. Afterward, he upgraded my website at Crowning Glory, and he performed some complicated Internet hacks that saved me time and money when it came to promoting my business. All in all, I loved spending time with the teenager, and I teared up the day he returned to his grandmother’s homestead. We continued to chitchat about the shop, his classes, and whatnot until it was time to end our phone call.

  “By the way, could you ask Mr. Jackson to come too? I’d like him to be here when I show you my surprise.”

  “Now I’m really curious. Can’t you give me a hint?”

  He hemmed and hawed a bit, so I decided to put him out of his misery.

  “That’s okay. You don’t have to tell me. We’ll come down next weekend. And we can’t wait to see what you’ve done with the place.”

  Contrary to Christophe d’Aulnay’s opinion, Hollis was quite capable of tending to his grandmother’s property, thank you very much. I’d worried about it until Hollis had assured me he could handle anything the old house, and the Atchafalaya, had to throw at him. He sounded just like his grandmother when he said that, which told me he was going to be alright.

  Once I hung up from our call, and the kiskadee flew away for good, I raced inside to tell Ambrose the news. Neither of us had any idea what the surprise could be, and we both looked forward to finding out.

  That was how we found ourselves in Hank Dupre’s pirogue, navigating the Atchafalaya on a crisp Saturday morning, with a spoonbill overhead and gnarled tupelo roots underneath.

  Ambrose slowly guided the pirogue around the huge tree stump until the boat’s stern cleared the knobby wood. I tried to stand, since I was so excited to see Hollis, but the swaying underfoot convinced me to stay put.

  Sure enough, once we rounded the bend, the plot of land Ruby had called home for forty years came into view.

  What a difference! Instead of a beige mobile home limned with mold, and a rickety boat dock on the verge of collapse, I spied a freshly painted single-wide with a sturdy aluminum dock. The house was beautiful…edged with river rocks and painted pewter. Hollis had replaced the flat roof with an A-line version, so now rainwater could slide down the sides instead of puddling in the middle. He also replaced the asphalt top with corrugated tin, which made the house look like one of those fancy “rustic retreats” producers like to feature on home design shows.

  The dock looked amazing too, with two stories that included a viewing deck on top and a boat ramp down below. Everything was brand new, except for a baby-blue rock grotto next to the house.

  Apparently, Hollis couldn’t part with his grandmother’s shrine to the Virgin Mary. Which was fine by me, since it probably protected Hollis when Remy came gunning for him all those months ago.

  Best of all, a vinyl banner over the dock proclaimed: Cajun Country Alligator Farm.

  “Look at that, Ambrose!”

  Only then did I notice a sturdy chain-link fence that cut the dock in half. One side of it allowed boats, like ours, to tie up to a cleat, while the other side protected some alligators that lounged on the shoreline.

  Even Jacques participated in the new business, since the dog guarded the fence as if he wanted to protect “his” pets. He nosed the air when our boat drew close, but he didn’t crouch on all fours this time.

  “I can’t believe Hollis actually started an alligator farm,” I said.

  At that moment, a figure appeared on the mobile home’s deck. It was Hollis, wearing a Lynyrd Skynyrd T-shirt, of course, but he’d added a pair of waders instead of the Nike shorts. He began to wave at us the moment he saw the boat, and he didn’t stop until our pirogue pulled alongside the dock.

  “You came!” Hollis bounded down to the shore to meet us.

  “I promised we would.” When Hollis offered me his hand, I placed my palm in his. At the last minute, I remembered something, and my face fell.

  “Uh-oh. I forgot to bring a treat for Jacques. Think he’ll remember me?”

  Hollis laughed. “You don’t have to worry about him anymore. I finally figured out his breed. He’s a cattle dog, only now he thinks he needs to herd the alligators. All he ever wanted was a job, I guess.”

  Sure enough, Jacques finally sat up, but he didn’t lunge forward. Instead, he glanced back to make sure his charges were safe, and then he calmly sat down again.

  “I’ll be darned. Who would’ve thought that’s all he ever wanted?” I hoisted myself onto the dock with Hollis’s help, and then I turned to offer Ambrose a hand.

  Once we both stood on the aluminum planks, Hollis indicated the baby-blue rock grotto next to the house. “See? I kept it there for Grandma. She would’ve wanted me to.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “And I hope you visit it sometimes.”

  “Not just me,” Hollis said. “Everyone comes around to visit it now. I’ve had people leave behind pictures, notes…you name it. It’s kind of a big deal.”

  This time, it was my turn to smile. “That’s lovely. And now we have some news for you.” I reached for Ambrose’s hand, which he gladly gave me. “We’ve set a date for our wedding.”

  “Alright!” Hollis’s face lit up. “It’s about time you two got married. When’ll it be?”

  “August tenth. We’re going to get married on the Riverboat Queen.”

  “That’s awesome,” Hollis said. “The captain sure changed his tune after everything happened with Grandma. He got nice, all of a sudden. He even came down here to help me get the dock ready for customers. That’s his lettering on the sign.”

  “And I worked out a trade with him,” I said. “I made a veil for his daughter’s wedding, so he’s letting us use the Riverboat Queen as a thank-you. It’ll be a Southern wedding, with some zydeco and all the shrimp and grits you can eat.”

  Ambrose rustled next to me, trying to get a word in edgewise, I suppose. “I’d like you to be my best man, Hollis.”

  “I’d be honored, sir.”

  The moment he said that, Jacques gave a happy bark. Sometimes, things really did work out in the end.