Chapter Nine #2
A whisper of unease teased through me to hear him speak about his ambitions. For the first time, I realized his dream was big enough that it could very well take him away from Bent Oak. I dropped the quilt onto the planked seat and refused to let the day be tainted by what-ifs.
One container at a time, I set out our lunch of pimento cheese sandwiches cut into triangles. Corn fritters. Deviled eggs. And of course, pound cake with sweet tea.
He whistled his appreciation. “That’s quite a feast.”
“I’m a fan of picnics after my shift. Libby and I come swimming down this way sometimes, when Keith’s in school.” I pointed north. “Not too far that way, actually.”
His forehead furrowed. “Winnie, I don’t want to be inappropriate or forward, but is that safe out here, swimming alone?”
I bristled at that, ghosts of days with Phillip reminding me of all the times he censured me under the guise of being protective. “Are you worried we’re skinny-dipping? If so, why does that matter? Men skinny-dip.”
We actually hadn’t. Instead, we’d stopped short of stripping completely, leaving on our cotton underwear and support bras. Probably not wise to include that part since the picnic was spiraling.
“I worry for your safety. Not just the current, but being out here unprotected,” he said simply. “Do you have any fear?”
An odd statement coming from a man who’d just taken on a racetrack at a hundred miles per hour. Then I reminded myself this was Russell, my friend, a man who’d shown himself to be honorable time and time again.
Could his comment about pursuing his dream, even if it meant leaving town, have driven a knee-jerk reaction from me to push him away?
“I have all sorts of fears,” I admitted, resting a hand on top of his.
“So many that every now and again I decide on the easiest one to face to give myself a break from the weight of it all.”
Today, I would dismiss my fear of rejection.
“Well, to ease my fear”—he flipped his hand to clasp mine—“next time you ladies decide to take a swim, let me know. I’ll just sit with my back against the tree—facing away, of course—and make sure no one else walks up on you.”
“What a noble and selfless deed,” I said with a smirk, drawing a laugh from him as we shook hands on the deal. Then I shifted my attention back to pulling out plates and setting the table. “I enjoyed watching your race last weekend. Congratulations on your win.”
“Why didn’t you stick around afterward?” he asked, pouring tea from the gallon jug into two glasses.
“I had a busy week coming up at the mill.” An excuse. I’d made a hasty retreat, too tempted to stay.
“Maybe after the next race, we could go out for drinks and dancing at the Tipsy Cow. Do you like to dance?”
Like to dance? I loved to dance. All kinds. Even disco. But most of all, doing the shag to beach music.
“I can hold my own.” The warm sun on my skin relaxed me as we filled our plates and sat across from each other.
My fingers itched to trace the checkered pattern of his plaid shirt, to feel the heat of his skin through the fabric.
“My mother signed me up for lessons at a local studio the day I turned five. Tap. Ballet. Jazz. Three times a week. Even baton lessons. She had plans for me to be a pageant girl.”
Sharing even a benign part of my past felt strange after closely guarding my secrets for so long. But this memory was generic enough, not particularly traceable, and I wanted to offer at least some part of my history to him.
He quirked a dark eyebrow. “From your tone, I take it that you didn’t agree.”
The day before the pageant, I stood up to my mother for the first time.
I was only seven. Knees knocking, because I wanted to take a pottery class that afternoon instead.
My father told me if I made my mother happy by participating in the pageant, then he would pay for private pottery lessons. We struck a deal.
Daddy forgot to stipulate that I should try to win.
I was fifth runner-up. There were seven contestants. My mother was so embarrassed she never asked me again. I expected my father to be angry—Mama was his world, after all. But he congratulated me on being a tough negotiator. He was proud of me.
Even then, I’d known that wasn’t an invitation to join the family business. If I’d been a boy ...
I shook my head. “I wasn’t a pageant queen.”
“You’re more beautiful than any of them.”
His gaze held me and I believed it, even as I sat there in cutoff jean shorts and a crocheted shirt that Libby had made for me as a thank-you for helping Keith with his homework. Because his compliment had more to do with me as a person than the external. I wasn’t sure how I knew, but I did.
“Thank you.”
I wanted to compliment him in return but didn’t want it to sound obligatory after his remark. So I let my eyes speak, in the same way his had.
He smiled.
I heard him.
Russell stroked a thumb across the inside of my wrist. “How’s the first date going for you so far? Do you think you might be ready for another?”
Well, he’d certainly waited long enough for me.
His few relationships over the past seven years had been fleeting, although each one had filled me with jealousy as green and ugly as the slime coating the swampy waters.
I’d no one to blame but myself, and my only consolation came from my patience.
My feelings for him were affirmed by my determination to do everything in my power to make sure he didn’t get hurt.
I’d been so focused on freeing myself, I hadn’t given much thought to how my decisions would affect others. Now I couldn’t think of anything other than that. I’d rejoined the world, and even with my knees shaking like the day I’d asked for pottery classes, I wanted more.
Wordlessly, I stood and leaned across the picnic table to graze my mouth over his, lingering just long enough for my answer to be clear. Then I sat down again, enjoying the stunned look on his face.
I unfolded my napkin and draped it across my lap. “Are you ready for lunch? I’m starved.”
2025
Bailey Rae hadn’t expected a pit stop with Martin to check out a report of illegal dumping near the river would lead her on a trip down memory lane.
Aunt Winnie had adored this stretch of the river. She’d told me more than once how she and Uncle Russell fell in love there. No doubt, though, Winnie would weep to see the area now, a scrapyard for someone’s broken-down furniture, mattresses, and trash.
Bailey Rae eyed the overgrown path ahead of them as Martin parked his work truck.
He’d driven her to the shelter to drop off more supplies for Gia and Cricket, detouring afterward when the call came over his radio.
He’d offered to take her home first and circle back, but she’d insisted she didn’t want to add the extra driving to his day after all he’d already done for her.
The answer had sounded logical to her ears, and far preferable to admitting how much she didn’t want the day with him to end. “Thank you for taking me to see Gia and Cricket. I felt better knowing they hadn’t returned to ...”
“Right. Me too, honestly.” He adjusted the brim of his game warden ball cap, his sunglasses shading his eyes.
He reached under the front seat and pulled out two pairs of protective gloves, passing one over to her.
She hopped out of the truck and tugged the gloves on, eyeing the mess in front of her.
“I think our checking in on her helped,” she said, stopping by a dilapidated picnic table and slapping a mosquito on her neck, “letting her know that people care.”
Hands on his hips, Martin kicked at a moldy mattress, a long exhale puffing his cheeks. “Are you sure you don’t mind the detour? This won’t take long. I just need to get an idea of how much manpower will be needed to clear it up.”
She wouldn’t have minded in the least if the river hadn’t brought back memories of Winnie’s death. As it was, she tried to focus solely on the task at hand so she didn’t get lost in the past. In the grief that could still take her by surprise sometimes.
Instead, she focused on the closest pile of debris—a broken end table, an old television, stained mattresses, and a mountain of big green garbage bags containing heaven only knew what.
That didn’t even take into account the stray soda cans, beer bottles, and empty fast-food containers littering the shore.
Was that a rolled-up carpet in the shallow end? “Sounds like a pricey proposition.”
“I found a couple of teens needing volunteer hours for their Eagle Scout badge and a church youth group to help out.”
The closer they walked, the worse it looked and smelled, rotting waste defiling this sacred space. Anger flared inside, a much easier default emotion than grief.
Winnie had always talked about the water like it was a living, breathing thing. If that were true, Bailey Rae didn’t need to be a doctor to know what happened when blood turned to poison.
Martin cursed under his breath. “Whoever did this only had to drive two miles further down the road to the dump.”
“I never thought about this being part of the game warden’s job.”
Kneeling, he snagged a couple of empty cans half submerged in the river and emptied them before tossing them onto the mattress.
“If this aquatic trash contains something as simple as cleaners, pesticides, even a flea collar, it could contaminate the water supply. Preventing illegal dumping is just another aspect of conservation and preservation, keeping the ecosystem in balance.” He shot a wry grin. “Rules are there for a reason.”
She plucked three large pieces of broken glass from the mud and added them to the rest on the mattress. “I guess now isn’t the time to say that fishing without a license pales in comparison to this ...”
“While I see your point,” he said, looking at her over the top of his glasses, “the top end of the fine is the same for both.”
“Really?” She froze, feeling the blood drain from her face as worry for her bank balance blindsided her. “Do I owe a fine? I thought it was a warning.”
“It was.”
She sagged back against an oak tree, disturbing a mockingbird from a low branch so that it fluttered past her in a blur of wings and chirps. “Thank you.”
“Just doing my job,” he said. “Make sure you get that license before moving to Myrtle Beach. They’re a lot stricter over that way.”
“I’ve never given much thought to where game wardens worked or moved.” Bent Oak was such a small town, might he want to transfer to a more prime spot later on? Like Myrtle Beach? “Do you choose your region, or is it like the military, where they move you where they decide you’re needed?”
“I applied for this opening,” he said simply. “My top pick.”
She pushed aside the hint of disappointment and returned to shifting cans and bottles from the shallows over to the mattress.
“Uncle Russell’s family used to own land in this area.
Winnie had held on to as much of the Davis property as possible, but Russell had insisted on selling off parcels to ensure her care after he was gone.
” The loss of both of them was too much to bear sometimes, overwhelming her in the quiet of night or in moments like this.
“The three acres with the cabin and barn are all that’s left. ”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Aunt Winnie used to say this river was the lifeblood of the community. That seemed such a beautiful image. But now? All I can see is the day I found her bag snagged on a rotting tree by the shore.” More of that anger burned inside her, making her feel like the six-year-old who’d wanted to lash out at the world.
“She saved me, and I couldn’t do anything to rescue her. ”
Martin peeled off his glove and rested a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You’re making her final resting place beautiful. That’s something.”
It didn’t feel like nearly enough. She pointed to the knotty roots protruding from the water.
“Uncle Russell used to cut off the cypress trees’ knees. He would strip the bark, refinish them, and gift them as doorstops.” The memory helped give her something positive to think about while the shadow of Winnie’s death hung heavy over her.
“I’ll have to try that sometime.”
She sat on a fat tree stump, feeling like someone had plucked the stuffing clean out of her. “I still don’t understand how it happened. She was a great swimmer. Some whispered around town that she’d killed herself, but Winnie would never do that.”
Kneeling in front of her, he said gently, “These waters can be unpredictable for even strong swimmers.”
“She wasn’t suicidal,” Bailey Rae insisted again, shooting to her feet as the anger in her grew into a fiery blanket covering a grief that could well swallow her whole.
She channeled all that fury at the filth dishonoring her aunt’s memory as she fished debris from the water one soggy piece at a time. Hamburger wrapper. Big Gulp cup. Floating water bottle.
“My aunt was eccentric. Not mentally ill.”
“Winnie was a wonderful woman. I’m glad I had the chance to meet her.” He followed her, picking up cigarette butts and letting her vent.
“There were people in this town who didn’t appreciate her the way they should,” she said, leaning to tug at a soggy T-shirt barely bubbling along the surface.
Frustrated at life, she yanked harder to dislodge the fabric from the branch, or whatever was underwater leaving a long shadow on the surface.
She jerked again, then slipped on the muck.
She plopped into the shallow water. Bubbles gurgled ahead of her as a mass under the T-shirt began to ease upward.
Not the shape of a fat branch at all.
More like a body.
Bile burned the back of her throat, and every cell inside her screamed in denial. This couldn’t be her final memory of Winnie. Not this way.
Screaming, she scrambled up onto the bank, desperate to escape but unable to leave Winnie. If this was her.
Martin held up a hand for her to stay back, everything about him shifting into a calm professionalism she envied.
Shaking and wet, Bailey Rae lowered herself to the ground, unable to pull her eyes from the murky water. Taking deep breaths, she clutched fists full of grass to anchor herself as Martin waded into the river.