by Barbara Ebel
A hand gave her a shove and she almost landed on her butt, but she swung her hands in midair and righted herself before she toppled over.
“Melissa, what did you do that for?” she yelled.
“No, what are you doing?” Melissa’s voice was lower than her sister’s, with a control and authority mature for her age.
“Picking up this turtle. Look how big he is! I want to show him to you and Nancy, Pop-Pop when he stops fishing, and Mom and Dad too.”
Melissa sighed and took a step back, moving her toes further away from the specimen with an ancient history. “I wouldn’t if I were you. That’s a snapping turtle.”
Annabel reeled back with surprise and replied with skepticism, “How do you know?”
“See? It has a large pointed head and a long ridged tail. Pop-Pop explained them to me and he’s the expert.”
Annabel listened but nevertheless picked up a stick the length of her forearm. She poked it in front of the turtle’s mouth, enticing him like the stick was alive. Suddenly, the reptile lurched with a defensive quick and powerful snap.
Both girls jumped. “I told you,” Melissa said.
“Good thing that wasn’t my finger,” Annabel said, peering back at her parents, who weren’t watching. “Otherwise, Daddy would have to sew it back on this afternoon.”
Melissa grimaced. “But Dad said doctors aren’t supposed to treat their own family.”
“I bet you’re going to be like him when you grow up.”
“Not as smart or successful as you, though.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You may do more stupid stuff than me, but that makes you learn more lessons. You take riskier chances, are more curious, and solve more problems than me.”
Annabel let that sink in. Maybe there was some merit to what she said. Her older sister also doubled as a guardian angel when it came to her and Nancy.
The turtle finally decided to amble off and Melissa and Annabel told Nancy what they saw. Their younger sister stopped playing with the snail and ran back to her parents. No way would she stay in the vicinity of a snapping turtle.
The two girls ignored Nancy as she left and checked out their grandfather’s bucket of fish. The same three trout flip-flopped inside, so they glanced out at him, hoping he was ready to reel in another. At their feet, however, water began seeping on their flip-flops and their toes began disappearing under river water.
“Look,” Melissa said with alarm. The serenity of the water had quickly changed; it was gaining speed, especially in the center of the river. As bad, or worse, the water level was rising rapidly.
Annabel’s eyes grew wide, she grabbed the bucket, and both girls sprang back.
“Pop-Pop,” Melissa yelled.
The heartrates of both girls sped up as they stood helpless, their Pop-Pop struggling to stand and fight from being pulled away with the sweeping current. Failing to maintain a strong hold on his fishing pole, it was yanked out of his grip, and drowned in the mayhem of water racing past him.
The girls ran towards Danny and Sara. “Pop-Pop needs help,” Annabel yelled as Melissa lingered behind. A shortness of breath took hold of Melissa and she began to cough.
Danny and Sara bolted up from their chairs. “Oh my God,” Danny said. “The TVA started the generators.”
Because of previous instruction from their parents, the girls understood. Once the dam’s generators came on, they would force a large volume of water into the river.
“Sara, grab me two ropes from the car trunk. The extra ones.”
Putting on a life vest, Danny raced to the shore and scouted the trees close by. When Sara handed him the marine-grade ropes, he knotted one around a small trunk. The other end he circled and tied around himself. Holding the other one, he headed out into the water. Barely in time, since his father could no longer fight the power of the water and his feet left the bottom of the river.
Danny was further down from where his father had fished and the bend worked out in their favor. His father, Greg Tilson, was robust enough to keep his head up and Danny shouted as loud as he could as he threw out the other end of the second rope.
Although Annabel wanted to shut her eyes in fear that her Pop-Pop would soon be gone forever, she watched as he fought with all his might against the current and wrapped his strong hands around the thick rope. Danny held and pulled his end with all his might. His father was a big man and a river in the midst of a man-made onslaught of water would be a challenge for men even stronger and more able-bodied than Danny.
Greg clasped his son’s upper arm as they united in knee-high water. They both ambled out of the water while Annabel’s eyes stayed glued on the situation.
“Pop-Pop,” she yelled, running to him. He leaned over to catch his breath while Danny rolled up the free rope and then untied himself from the tree.
“Annabel!”
Annabel turned quickly. Her mother shouted her name again, so she ran over. Her sister coughed excessively and could only look down at the ground.
“Her coughing won’t stop,” Sara said. “Run quickly. Her inhaler is in the back seat of the car.”
Annabel sped away. Her legs couldn’t have worked any faster. Now it was her turn to come to the rescue. When she returned, she placed the prescription inhaler in Melissa’s hand and waited as the amazing medicine for asthma worked enough magic to bring her sister’s breathing back to normal.
-----
Annabel and Stuart crossed another street. Her colleague voiced one or two pleasantries while she went back to pondering that eventful day at the Caney Fork River when she was nine years old. She realized what an iconic day that had been and wondered why she had never realized it before. Of course, the patient’s asthma attack in the office had stirred up her memories.
As the family scrambled to pack up their things to prematurely leave the river that morning, Melissa made progress with the dissipation of her asthma attack and the panic she’d felt due to her grandfather’s mishap. Her breathing slowed down and the little bit of wheezing she had experienced also stopped. Six years later, her luck ran out; she died on the upstairs landing of their grandparents’ house. Yet that day on the river, it was as if she’d read a crystal ball into the future and foresaw Annabel’s ability to become someone extraordinary and have a meaningful purpose. It was as if she took herself out of the equation.
There was also the situation with her grandfather, who had forgotten the day before to visit the Tennessee Valley Authority website and consult the generation schedule for the next day. Danny had reminded his father to do so, and yet perhaps his failure to check was a forerunner of what eventually happened. Her Pop-Pop, in the end, had dementia. Maybe it was not all related to the stroke he’d had. There may have been more “forgetful” incidents those preceding years so as to not lump all his forgetfulness into a “vascular dementia” etiology. Sadly enough, she thought, her grandmother had already passed years before from cancer.
Annabel and Stuart stopped in the front of the small restaurant that the office manager, Becky, had mentioned.
“Let’s go to this one,” he said. Not waiting for a response, he opened the door.
Inside, the tables were all round with two or four chairs. The colorful place mats matched the paint colors on the walls; it was a cheery atmosphere. When a waitress seated them, both students studied the menu and soon gave their order.
For once, Stuart spoke before Annabel. “At least they’ll be springing us from that small office for lunch every day. It will give us a break from kids with runny noses and sore throats.”
“It is a bit claustrophobic in there, isn’t it?”
“I agree, but I am glad to be paired with Dr. Clark. She’s energetic, the kids seem to like her, and she’s quick to teach.”
“Good for you, Stuart, especially since you disliked OB.”
“I’m not saying peds is my thing, however.”
Annabel unwrapped her utensils from a paper napk
in and stared out the window.
“You’re awfully pensive since we left the office,” Stuart commented, “and you look sad.”
“Hmm. I didn’t know it showed.”
Stuart focused on her and raised his eyebrows.
“Dr. Gillespie and I just saw a young girl with asthma. She hit too close to home. A half-buried memory of my older sister’s death from asthma has blasted itself into my thoughts. I can’t shake it, but I will.”
Stuart kept his arms on his lap but leaned in closer. “Annabel, I bet that’s the worst thing to do. I heard you mention your sister once during our internal medicine rotation. Don’t block her out. I bet you two were close.”
“We were inseparable. Close as twins, or at least that’s my perception of our relationship now. She would have gone into biology or medicine or something like that. Along with my parents and grandfather, she probably steered me to where I am now.” Annabel fidgeted with her spoon as the waitress placed down two glasses of water and left. A pool of moisture gathered in her eyes again, and she swiped at both of them.
“If she was diagnosed with asthma, how did she die?”
“She had an attack at my grandfather’s house while no one else was there. Her inhaler had run out and she was getting a new one that day. She called for help. My Uncle Casey, who’s a paramedic, raced with his colleague to the house, but they wasted time. Melissa hadn’t mentioned that she wasn’t at our house. When they finally arrived at our grandfather’s home, the front door was locked. Anyway, long story short, she didn’t survive; they found her dead inside.” Annabel swallowed hard and focused on the place mat in front of her. “And to make matters worse, for some time, my dad was angry at Casey because he initially went to the wrong house. But it wasn’t his fault.”
“Especially being a young girl, that was a lot to process. No wonder a similar patient brought all the memories back. I can understand why you’re feeling the void of your sister.”
Annabel wiped away a tear. “And my parents. How on earth did they get through the following days, or month, or years? I hear that losing a child is the worst thing imaginable.”
“They suffered in silence. They still had two girls to look after. I bet they still grieve and think about her just like you’re doing today. You should have a talk with them about it someday. Not a decade from now, but in the near future. I bet your mom would especially like that.”
“You’re right.” She managed a chuckle. “I sure didn’t mean to lay my family drama on you.”
The waitress placed down their sandwiches and, noting their subdued conversation, left right away.
“Thanks, Stuart. I guess I needed to talk about what was bothering me.”
“Don’t mention it. You know, crying is therapeutic. It looks like you’ve been storing tears for your sister in a hidden closet.”
She nodded. “You still are planning on a psychiatry residency, aren’t you?”
“Absolutely.”
“You are going to be the best.”
“Maybe. Or close to it,” he said and grinned.
Annabel continued to feel better as she polished off a burger and then smiled at her classmate. “Stuart, did you ever attempt to play with a snapping turtle when you were a kid?”
CHAPTER 3
A few weeks before eleven-year-old Toby Owens’ medical appointment with Dr. Gillespie, he and his friend, Jonathon Harmon, rode a wave onto shore and scrambled out of the crystal-clear water. They hated to leave the sugary white Destin, Florida beach for the time being, but the day was early and there was plenty more fun on their agenda. Besides, they would be back later. The two youths were not finished swimming for the day.
The boys had spread a blanket down on the sand on which to place their things. They picked up their towels and dried themselves off. “I’ll race you to the room,” Toby said.
Without hesitation, Jonathon slipped into his sandals, jammed his towel under his arm, and followed. When the boys made it off the beach, they ran around a fenced-in-pool and several zigzag-edy paths around gardens and arrived at the ground-floor rooms of the hotel their mothers had booked.
Toby wore a proud smile. “Beat you again.”
“You always do.”
“You can’t help it that you’re as pigeon-toed as a pigeon.”
Toby’s red hair stood on end and his face was flushed, partly from the sun and partly from running. His upper cheeks were dusted with tiny freckles that still peeked out of his slight sunburn. “Change into shorts and I’ll meet you out here in a few minutes.”
Jonathon skulked his way into his room, and Toby hurried into his. They soon materialized in dry summer clothes.
“Come on,” Jonathon said. “We only have fifteen minutes to meet our moms.”
Although it was their first visit to the Panhandle, they had a strong familiarity of the touristy area around where they were staying. The boys had picked other kids’ brains about the area … especially the “rich” kids who often took such vacations.
Plus, this trip was the highlight of Toby and Jonathon’s whole summer, as well as their mothers’. Anne Owens and her friend had flown down to Ft. Walton Beach with their sons, rented a car, and driven the short distance east. Both boys’ dads had given their blessing. For a change, the women were having a trip free of their husbands to shop, sunbathe, and drink margaritas.
The boys decided to avoid the main east-west thoroughfare of 98 and walked instead along the Destin Harbor Boardwalk. They came to a deck and an overhanging restaurant sign where a big palm tree grew out of the sand next to the steps going inside. Both boys scanned the open-air inside seating where they were supposed to meet their mothers for lunch, but didn’t spot them anywhere.
“They must still be shopping at the mall across the street,” Toby said.
“I don’t understand. There’s shopping in Ohio. Why buy stuff here when you can be chilling at the beach?”
Toby shrugged his shoulders. “My mom loves to shop. This is her vacation too. I guess they can do what they want.”
Two boys from inside the restaurant stepped down and sat on the same step as Toby and Jonathon. The two groups of boys still had space between them on the wide staircase.
“Hey,” one of the older boys said. He wore a pair of shorts that doubled as a bathing suit and had a scar on his forehead. He looked close to fourteen years old; his buddy seemed older too, and chewed a mint he swiped from a bowl back at the cashier’s counter.
“Have you been inside yet?” the same boy asked them.
“No,” Jonathon answered. “We’re waiting on our moms. We’re going to the go-kart track after lunch. Have you been there?”
“Of course. You two must be tourists.”
“We’re from Ohio. Isn’t everybody a tourist?”
“Not exactly. We live an hour away. The Gulf Coast is a regular trip for us.”
“Yeah,” the other boy spoke up. “As long as a family member is heading this way.”
“I’m hungry.” Jonathon turned back to look at the restaurant. “What’s to chow down on in there?”
“The best hush puppies and mudbugs anywhere,” the first boy said.
“Mudbugs?!” Jonathon exclaimed. “Eew. What are they?”
“Are you kidding me? You two are stupid out-of-towners. They’re crawfish.” He glanced at his friend for a better explanation.
“They’re freshwater crustaceans,” his buddy responded. “Like miniature lobsters. Chefs fry ‘em up along the coast in Creole seasoning.”
“They truly come out of the Louisiana mud,” the first boy emphasized.
“Yukk, they sound disgusting,” Jonathon said.
“Not any worse than that slug crawling along the bottom of the staircase,” he replied. “You two really are wimps. My buddy and I would eat that slug in a heartbeat if someone would bet us on it.”
Toby had had enough of listening to their ridicule. Just because he and Jonathon were from the north didn’t make them
less adventurous. If the two boys from Florida could ingest mudbugs and slugs, so could the two of them.
“Why do you need a bet?” Toby asked. “Can’t you guzzle that thing down whether or not there’s money riding on it?”
“I dare you,” the first boy said. “And because you’re probably poor, my buddy and I will both chip in three dollars to watch you eat it.”
“In which case,” his friend said, “we’ll still have that money later to spend at the go-kart track next door.”
Toby was seething mad. He glanced at Jonathon, who acknowledged him with a nod. He studied the brown, slimy slug on the bottom board. It was almost an inch long. The thought of sliding it down his throat was disgusting, but not taking the dare would be worse to his ego. He wouldn’t even taste it if he put it in his mouth and swallowed. He would show them and he’d walk away with six bucks.
He moved his feet and slid his buttocks down to the next step. With a straight face, he picked up the shell-less mollusk. It recoiled slightly and Toby closed his eyes for a second. Opening them back up, he popped the thing in his mouth, worked it to the back of his throat, and swallowed with as much saliva as he could generate.
With a bemused smile, he patted his hands back and forth. “There. Hand it over. Six bucks.”
Jonathan scrunched up his face with disbelief and the two other boys shrugged like there was nothing to the dare.
“We’ve eaten worse,” the boy with the scar said. “But a bet’s a bet.” He dug his hand in his pocket. “Hey,” he motioned to his friend, “pay him and I’ll owe you. I don’t have any money.”
With a sigh of relief, Toby watched as the other boy pulled out the cash and forked it over to him. They made small talk for a while, their feud-like talk subsiding, until Anne Owens and Lucy Harmon showed up at the top of the steps and told the boys it was time for lunch.
Jonathon rose and said “bye” to the older youths. When he and Toby followed their mothers to a table, he whispered, “I can’t believe you did that, but I’m glad you did. Did it taste gross?”