lowered it again and Bonita gave him a thumbs-up sign. As if reading my mind, Beau nudged me with his elbow. “He’s fixing to turn the motor back on to scare the fish into the net.”
Later when we pulled the net, I leaned into it just like Johnny showed me and yanked with more determination than I knew I had.
We were all together fighting to bring in our catch. Wearing long yellow gloves like the ones Nana used to wax the floor, Bonita and Beau grabbed a hold of the twitching fish that clung to the net like ornaments on a Christmas tree. “Yeah, man,” Johnny yelled as the ice chest filled up with silver-colored fish.
Watching Johnny laugh and tousle the younger boy’s hair, I felt the old ache. The same one I used to feel whenever I saw Uncle Cecil driving up the driveway with Mary Madonna and Mac in the backseat. The same way I felt whenever I looked too long at the picture that now sat on the small dresser in the camper. A family portrait taken at Sears with Mac’s stiff hand propped on Uncle Cecil’s shoulder and Mary Madonna’s arm touching Aunt Loraine’s skirt.
Moving away to the other side of the boat, I looked towards the island. I could hear them laughing and teasing each other about who would eat the most fish that evening. The eagle had returned to its nest and turned to see where the noise was coming from. Its head twitched from side to side until the gold beak was directly on me. We held our stare, daring each other to break away. When Johnny cranked up the engine again, the bird snatched a twig from the nest and flew away.
The length of Nana’s hair wasn’t the only thing that changed. To my surprise she took Bonita up on her suggestion and let Bonita put a permanent in her hair. Nana even took a job at Nap’s Corner working the lunch shift with Bonita. Since we only had Poppy’s truck for transportation, Bonita would pick her up and bring her home the days she worked. Sometimes they would pick Beau and me up after school and Slow Way Home
73
we’d all go to the state park down by the beach. Beau, Josh, and me would sit at the concrete tables and eat the hush puppies and fried fish that were left over from lunch rush. We’d walk along the sand and try to capture tiny crabs in Styrofoam cups while Nana and Bonita sat on the car hood talking. Whenever the wind would shift, pieces of their conversation would roll down to the beach like driftwood that floated in with the changing tide.
Mostly Nana shielded her eyes from the sun and offered a smile or a look of worried concern depending on the information Bonita provided. I figured Nana liked being with Bonita because she never had to do any of the talking. There were no lies that had to be told with Bonita.
No one in Beau’s family questioned why I lived with my grandparents. The made-up answer sat on the edge of my tongue ready to be discharged on a second’s notice. I had made it all the way to Thanksgiving without the topic ever being discussed; I had been relieved and maybe even too comfortable.
“How much longer till school lets out for Thanksgiving?” Josh asked. The inlet water came up to his knees, and Beau had told his brother to stand still once already.
The long pole that arched above Beau’s head looked like a rake except for the net that hung at the end. With one fast jerk, he swatted the water. Through the murky water, we could see the crab race away.
“Dog, Josh. I told you to be quiet.”
“I didn’t even move. You just missed is all.”
We trudged towards the tall brown grass and mass of pine trees.
The thick mud sucked us down deeper, and I wondered if we had discovered quicksand. When I turned to see if Josh was still with us, the tall bridge that led into town was far behind us.
A pelican drifted inches above the water and then swooped down for lunch. Sunbeams sparkled off of the broken water until the area began to seem like one big kaleidoscope. Splashing sounds echoed from deep within the nearby island,
Later when we pulled the net, I leaned into it just like Johnny showed me and yanked with more determination than I knew I had.
We were all together fighting to bring in our catch. Wearing long yellow gloves like the ones Nana used to wax the floor, Bonita and Beau grabbed a hold of the twitching fish that clung to the net like ornaments on a Christmas tree. “Yeah, man,” Johnny yelled as the ice chest filled up with silver-colored fish.
Watching Johnny laugh and tousle the younger boy’s hair, I felt the old ache. The same one I used to feel whenever I saw Uncle Cecil driving up the driveway with Mary Madonna and Mac in the backseat. The same way I felt whenever I looked too long at the picture that now sat on the small dresser in the camper. A family portrait taken at Sears with Mac’s stiff hand propped on Uncle Cecil’s shoulder and Mary Madonna’s arm touching Aunt Loraine’s skirt.
Moving away to the other side of the boat, I looked towards the island. I could hear them laughing and teasing each other about who would eat the most fish that evening. The eagle had returned to its nest and turned to see where the noise was coming from. Its head twitched from side to side until the gold beak was directly on me. We held our stare, daring each other to break away. When Johnny cranked up the engine again, the bird snatched a twig from the nest and flew away.
The length of Nana’s hair wasn’t the only thing that changed. To my surprise she took Bonita up on her suggestion and let Bonita put a permanent in her hair. Nana even took a job at Nap’s Corner working the lunch shift with Bonita. Since we only had Poppy’s truck for transportation, Bonita would pick her up and bring her home the days she worked. Sometimes they would pick Beau and me up after school and Slow Way Home
73
we’d all go to the state park down by the beach. Beau, Josh, and me would sit at the concrete tables and eat the hush puppies and fried fish that were left over from lunch rush. We’d walk along the sand and try to capture tiny crabs in Styrofoam cups while Nana and Bonita sat on the car hood talking. Whenever the wind would shift, pieces of their conversation would roll down to the beach like driftwood that floated in with the changing tide.
Mostly Nana shielded her eyes from the sun and offered a smile or a look of worried concern depending on the information Bonita provided. I figured Nana liked being with Bonita because she never had to do any of the talking. There were no lies that had to be told with Bonita.
No one in Beau’s family questioned why I lived with my grandparents. The made-up answer sat on the edge of my tongue ready to be discharged on a second’s notice. I had made it all the way to Thanksgiving without the topic ever being discussed; I had been relieved and maybe even too comfortable.
“How much longer till school lets out for Thanksgiving?” Josh asked. The inlet water came up to his knees, and Beau had told his brother to stand still once already.
The long pole that arched above Beau’s head looked like a rake except for the net that hung at the end. With one fast jerk, he swatted the water. Through the murky water, we could see the crab race away.
“Dog, Josh. I told you to be quiet.”
“I didn’t even move. You just missed is all.”
We trudged towards the tall brown grass and mass of pine trees.
The thick mud sucked us down deeper, and I wondered if we had discovered quicksand. When I turned to see if Josh was still with us, the tall bridge that led into town was far behind us.
A pelican drifted inches above the water and then swooped down for lunch. Sunbeams sparkled off of the broken water until the area began to seem like one big kaleidoscope. Splashing sounds echoed from deep within the nearby island,
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