Saving Sam

by Lynnette Beers

  “I don’t care what she says to us. She don’t scare me one bit. She’s nothing but a miserable old spinster. Come on, Sam, the water’s warm today.”

  Sam sat down and hugged the boots to her chest. She tossed pieces of bark into the Okatoma, imagining them as tiny ships traveling to the end of the river. After she plucked a flower from an azalea shrub behind her, she tossed it into the water and stared at the bright pink blossom until it disappeared far downstream.

  With their house so close to the creek, Sam often heard the loud rapids downstream—the part of the creek her father told her to never go near because of the dangerous current. Down the creek a ways, the Okatoma joined with the Bouie River, the area where Robert said he’d one day explore in the raft he was making. But Sam rarely wandered too far from their house. That’s because down a ways from the Cleveland property was a sandy area locals called No Man’s Landing where lots of rowdy river-goers would set up camp for the night, only to leave the sandy shore strewn with empty beer cans and trash. Sam’s father, when in uniform, would occasionally wander down to No Man’s Landing to scare off any trespassers, and he always told Sam and Robert to not wander down to that area.

  Sam shaded her eyes to catch a glimpse of Old Miss Patterson stomping across her overgrown lawn toward the creek. Miss Patterson’s decrepit house sat tucked back behind dense red buckeye bushes and huge oak trees. Nothing more than a small shack, the house seemed barely large enough for someone to live, but Sam knew to never step foot onto her property. When she saw Miss Patterson approach the creek bank, Sam cowered behind the azalea shrub and hollered to Robert to get out of the water.

  Miss Patterson stood at the creek and waved a fist in the air. “Off my property, you damned kids!”

  Certain that Miss Patterson couldn’t see her, Sam leaned into the shrub to better hear what she had to say. The leaves of the bush tickled her face and arms as she peered through the thick foliage.

  “Been telling you to not eat my blackberries,” Miss Patterson said and paced back and forth along the river. “This is private property! You been causing all sorts of racket all summer.”

  “I wouldn’t eat your rotten berries!” Robert yelled from the middle of the creek. “The rats probably ate your nasty fruit. And you know just as well as I do that this creek here doesn’t belong to you. It’s public area out here in the water.”

  “You’ve been vandalizing my property all summer. I’ve a right mind to call your father and tell him you’ve been stomping through my blackberry bushes.”

  “You go ahead and do that. Like that’s gonna make my dad stop us from going in the creek. And besides, we haven’t done nothing to your property. We’ve barely been home all summer.”

  “I’ve a right mind to give Harold a call tonight and tell him what you’ve been doing to my trees, but for now, this’ll teach you!” Miss Patterson reached for the rope swing Robert tied onto her oak tree last summer then yanked on the thick twine, attempting to loosen it from the branch overhead. Not able to release the rope from the tree, she instead looped the swing far up into the branches. Now, the rope dangled too high for Robert to reach it. “If I see you tie another rope on my tree, I’ll call the police and have them arrest you for trespassing. You hear me?”

  “You really think my dad’s actually gonna have us arrested for being along your side of the creek? We’ve never stepped beyond the creek bed. I’d never go near your old house. Probably infested with rats.” Robert dove below the surface and stayed under for what must’ve been two full minutes. He came up and gasped for air and swam toward Sam.

  When she saw that Robert was in the shallow water, Sam crept away from the azalea shrub and hid partially behind a fallen log. She caught another glimpse of Old Miss Patterson at the water’s edge with her fist hoisted in the air as she once again yelled at Robert. But soon the miserable old woman stomped across her lawn toward her house.

  Robert exited the water, shaking his wet, shaggy hair on Sam, who now stood near the creek. “Let’s go upstream a ways. Gotta find me a water moccasin.” Robert grabbed the metal snake tongs he’d left next to Sam while he swam. Since he’d been an employee at Rizzo’s Reptiles for a few months now, Robert would occasionally bring home lizards or nonvenomous snakes. Sam didn’t mind so much that he brought home lizards, but the snakes creeped her out, even the nonpoisonous kinds.

  Sam trailed close behind Robert, her steps loud and floppy in his rubber boots. She peered across the span of water to the crazy woman’s house. Her front door was propped open with a rocking chair that faced the creek. Miss Patterson was likely inside skinning a possum she’d shot and killed in her yard.

  As they followed the creek bank, Sam crouched below low brush to get farther up the creek. Brittle twigs scraped against her arms as she stooped under a low-hanging tree. Up ahead, Sam knew there was a perfect swimming hole where Robert liked to swim, but to get there, they had to hug the edge of the water—where water moccasins lurked. Sam followed closely behind Robert, placing her feet exactly where he stepped. At times she had to trot to catch up to him, so she scampered behind, careful to avoid stepping on one of those deadly snakes.

  As she plodded forward, Sam felt protected with her brother a couple feet ahead. Relaxed and finally able to take in the scenery, Sam glimpsed across the creek to see lush foliage. A thick wall of shrubbery framed the creek bed—the woods beyond the water so dark and unfamiliar.

  Suddenly, Robert halted and waved an arm behind him. He paused then lurched forward, stepping on a slithery creature. Sam noticed it immediately—a greyish-colored snake. She backed away, scurrying up the rocks and twigs to get as far away as possible. As she leaned against a prickly bush, she risked getting scraped to avoid the serpent. While he pressed his foot on it, Robert used the metal tongs and secured the snake by the neck.

  “What a beauty,” Robert said and held the snake’s twisted body up to Sam. It squirmed as Robert leaned in to examine it.

  “Is that a water moccasin?” Sam asked, fearful he’d lose his grip.

  “Naw, it’s just a ratsnake. It’s totally harmless.”

  “A rattlesnake?” She stepped back even farther up the slope, falling back on a prickly shrub.

  “No, a ratsnake. It eats rats. They’re not poisonous. Wanna touch it?”

  She shook her head but took two steps closer to see for herself what a ratsnake looked like. She’d seen pictures of water moccasins, and this snake from what she could tell seemed an identical match. Dark grey like the moccasin, the ratsnake could very well bite her if she got too close. A bite could be painful, those fangs piercing the skin and causing her to bleed. If a ratsnake could catch and kill rats, then it surely could harm her.

  “Not all snakes are bad,” Robert said and released the serpent into the brush far behind them. Sam got closer to Robert and continued to tread upstream. Once at the watering hole, Robert removed his T-shirt then stepped into the creek. After he dove below the surface, he disappeared for a couple minutes. Sam stood atop a huge log then scanned the surface of the water and searched for his body.

  Robert finally emerged downstream then did the backstroke to return. “Hey, Sam, come in the water! It’s calm here. No snakes around here.”

  Sam studied the vicinity next to the log, seeing no evidence of ratsnakes or moccasins. She shook her head and sat down. One could never be too careful when it came to water snakes.

  “It’s like swimming in Grandma and Grandpa’s pool in San Diego. Or in La Jolla like we did last week. You stayed in the ocean for an hour riding the waves with me. The water is the same here, even calmer. Come on, don’t be a baby,” Robert said then swam to where it was shallow. “See? No strong rapids or nothing here. It’s even nicer than La Jolla Shores which you love. It’s no different here in the Okatoma.”

  “They don’t have water snakes in La Jolla like they do here.” Sam peered at the rocks and twigs along the river.

  “Yeah, but they’ve got stingrays and jellyfish,
and that didn’t seem to bother you one bit.”

  “Can’t die from stingrays or jellyfish like you can from one of those copperheads or moccasins. You know what Mama told us about those snakes.”

  “What if I carry you in so you won’t have to worry about snakes along the side of the creek? You’re safe out here. If any snake slithers across the water, I’ll save you, I promise. You’re being a wimp, Sam. Come in the water.”

  Sam considered this. She’d become so hot sitting in the glaring sun. Again, she scanned the edge of the creek, seeing nothing but tadpoles. “Will you save me if the current starts to carry me away?”

  “Sam, come on. Don’t be afraid. Of course I’ll save you.”

  Without more thought, she kicked off the rubber boots then leaned over so that Robert took her in his strong arms and carried her out into the middle of the creek. Wiry and thin at eight years old, Sam felt like she was flying over the water as Robert held her. After he released her, Robert swam out to the deeper part and motioned for Sam to swim to him. Both Cleveland kids had taken swimming lessons when they were younger, and Sam did enjoy swimming in Grandma and Grandpa’s pool, but this was a different type of swimming altogether.

  The frigid water stung her skin, but the more she swam, the more she adjusted to the chilly temperature. She quickly felt free in the creek, the water soothing her body. She splashed Robert and swam closer to him then squealed when he sloshed her with a huge wave of water. She practiced her swim strokes, slicing her arms through the water and kicking her legs. She still couldn’t get the breathing down right, but she remembered to kick from her hips and not just her feet. One of the fastest swimmers in her class last summer, Sam was strong in the water. Here in the Okatoma, her body moved through it with ease.

  Sam went a couple feet below the surface, opening her eyes to see nothing but blurry, brownish water. She stayed underwater for a minute, her sleek body moving through the gentle current. She returned to the surface and took a deep breath and floated on her back for a moment. After she dunked under the water once more, she emerged to notice that Robert was nowhere in sight—not in the water, not on shore, nowhere near her. Suddenly, that same fear returned to her. Could the snakes swim out this far? Did they only dwell on the edge of the creek? Petrified, she treaded water, her arms and legs flailing but keeping her afloat.

  Finally, Sam caught sight of Robert standing on shore far upstream and hollered to him—her voice barely audible above the babbling creek. To get to Robert, she’d have to kick hard, especially against the strong current. Or, she could exit the water here and run along the creek where she might encounter snakes. She recalled Robert saying it was rare for a water moccasin or copperhead to venture into the middle of the creek, so she lay on her tummy and kicked hard until she got closer to Robert. Within minutes, she made it to him.

  Immediately, Robert met Sam in the water then scooped her in his arms and carried her far above the shoreline to where the sun beat down on large boulders. They smoothed out their wet T-shirts on shore and waited to dry off before heading home. The bright sun filtered through the scattered clouds. Sam savored the last hours of the afternoon. Finally safe, she leaned back on a rock and let the sun warm her body.

  She knew Robert would always be there to save her.

  Chapter Six

  Mississippi: Summer 2014

  SAM SHUT THE door to the barn where she left Annie sound asleep on the couch. Sam traipsed across the damp lawn then tiptoed up the stairs and across the wooden slats of the front porch to remove the tarp from Robert’s old ten-speed. She glanced back to make sure Annie wasn’t awake and seeing what she was doing. The bright morning sun reflected off the creek. Sam hopped on Robert’s old bike and pedaled down the dirt road toward the Bouie River where the accident happened less than forty-eight hours ago. Close to where the Clevelands lived, the Okatoma joined the Bouie where Robert and Sam would sometimes venture when they tired of the calmer waters of the Okatoma. The bridge was only a few miles from home. Sam needed to see where Robert’s truck went into the river. Certain the ride to the bridge would only take thirty minutes on the bike, she hadn’t calculated riding on a bicycle with gears that only shifted intermittently.

  Atop the old ten-speed, Sam pedaled hard until she made it up the hill, glad to be a few inches above the ground and away from the snakes’ reach. Few cars passed her at this early hour. For about ten minutes, she rode on the street, gaining speed with each pump of her legs. When the road narrowed, she cut over to the trail where the terrain was mostly packed dirt. Sam had always been a mountain biker, never a road cyclist. As an EMT, she’d witnessed too many cyclists getting hit by cars, often resulting in severe injuries.

  But Sam only had two choices this morning—Robert’s vintage ten-speed or her old Schwinn with the banana seat that she hadn’t ridden since she was twelve. She opted for the bike that would get her to her destination faster—Robert’s ten-speed Raleigh. Accustomed to her Specialized Camber that had front and back suspension, Robert’s road bike felt stiff to her. She felt every little bump in the path, the loose gravel and protruding rocks causing the handlebars to vibrate up through her shoulders and into her back.

  Years ago, Robert planned to get into road cycling and went to several garage sales in search of a used bike. He bought this 1970s Raleigh from some guy in Collins and fixed it up, determined to put in a hundred miles each week with hopes of eventually competing in the Ironman, but he never got past cycling more than ten miles a couple times a week here in Covington County. Sam was aware he’d likely never be able to ride this bike again.

  Robert’s bike, its frame much too large for Sam’s body, creaked as she rode along the trail near the Bouie River. The skinny tires had no traction and slipped on the muddy terrain, but Sam gripped the handlebars and barreled down the trail. As the path veered up and around the next corner, she stood and shifted to a higher gear, her quads and calves burning with each pump of the pedals.

  With the bridge in sight, Sam picked up her pace. Stuck in high gear, she rode over loose gravel and rocks, through puddles and sludge, sweating as she headed for an incline at the bend in the Bouie River. Barely out of breath, she pedaled the last several yards without taking her eyes off the bridge. Even from afar, she could see the opening in the guardrail. Once she got closer to the accident site, she caught a glimpse of the yellow caution tape fluttering in the wind above the river. She propped the bike against a rock then stood to the side and peered below to search for any signs of Robert’s Chevy.

  Sam then noticed a police car approaching the far end of the bridge. After the vehicle stopped, a woman in a uniform got out and walked briskly toward her. Sam tensed when she recognized Annie.

  “Well, good morning, early-riser. Thought I might find you here,” Annie said and glanced at the river.

  “Can’t stand to be away from me, huh?” Sam said with a smirk. “Thought you were still sound asleep in the barn. Or maybe on your way to the station.”

  “Well, I wanted to take a look at the accident site. Based on what Greg told me, I wanted to see for myself where the truck went into the river. The captain ordered a special tow truck to pull the truck from the water. Should be here this afternoon or tomorrow at the latest.”

  “How’d you guess I’d be here?”

  “I had a hunch. Besides, you think I’d sleep with you last night and not get to say good morning?”

  “I’d say that sleep is the key word here with you being on the couch all night,” Sam said then peered a few feet down to the water coursing under the bridge. “Besides, you’re the one who kept saying you had to get home.”

  “Wasn’t in any condition to drive home at two in the morning. You know how tired I was. Well, it would’ve been nice to get a good morning before you’d left.”

  “Didn’t want to wake you. Well, and kissing you goodbye in the morning is a thing of the past, remember?” She laughed then approached the yellow tape, eager to look at the spot where Rob
ert’s truck went into the water.

  “I would’ve given you a ride. No sense in you riding on rough terrain to get here.”

  “Rough terrain?” Sam stepped closer to the opening in the metal guardrail and studied the river to see if she could see any signs of the truck. “Most of the ride here was along the road. Pretty boring ride, actually.”

  “Oh, right, this is barely a warm-up for you. Hey, so listen, Robert’s blood alcohol results came back.”

  Sam stood there frozen above the Bouie River, expecting Annie to tell her Robert’s blood alcohol was well above the legal limit. “Yeah, so how drunk was he?”

  “Robert had no alcohol in him. No trace at all.”

  “Nothing? He was totally sober? Then he...he was alert and not impaired in any way when the accident happened?”

  “They’re still waiting on more toxicology results. Could’ve been weed or something else.”

  “Not Robert. He never got into weed. He only drank beer. You know that. Then it had to have been the other guy’s fault.” Sam’s body was suddenly filled with rage at what this man did to her brother. She recalled seeing Robert hooked up to the ventilator—all because of this guy hitting Robert’s truck and causing it to careen over the side of this bridge and into the water.

  Sam stood at the ledge and tried to see below the surface for any signs of Robert’s Chevy. The morning light reflected on the rippled water, making it difficult for her to see anything under the murky surface. She paced back and forth, squinting to try and view anything submerged. Then she caught a glimpse of a large dark object way below the surface. She glanced to the side of the river, figuring she could scramble down the riverbank, wade in the water, and swim out to the middle where the truck was. But here atop the bridge would be the quickest entry into the river since it’d only be about an eight-foot drop into the water. She fumbled to kick off her sneakers then peeled off her socks and tossed them to the side.