was a Gullah fisherman from the other side of the island.
“Welcome to Tiger Island,” he said. “Baby tells me it’s your first time out here.”
“Yes. Yes, it is,” I said.
“It’s a magical place. We can tell that already,” Barbara said.
“You live here full-time?” Rachel asked, as if the very idea were nutty.
“Oh, yes. Me and my whole family.”
“How wonderful!” Barbara said. “I wish I lived here full-time.”
“But Barbara, where would you get your hair done?” Rachel teased.
“I tell you what,” Earl said. “Out here, if you don’t have it, you don’t need it.”
“That’s true,” Baby said, squeezing his hand.
“Now listen,” Earl said. “Maybe Baby has already told you, but it’s worth repeating.
Don’t you go in the water when it’s murky. You want to see those tiger sharks coming.
We don’t call it Tiger Island for nothing.” And then he winked at us and I had two
impressions. One, I wasn’t sure if he was teasing or not. And two, I thought that
wink was aimed solely at Baby.
“Those little sharks wouldn’t hurt a fly,” Baby said, and then she started laughing
as if she’d just told a whopper of a joke. She pecked Earl on the cheek. “We gotta
go, sweets, but you let me know if you need me. OK? I’m serious.”
“You know I will,” Earl said.
We said our good-byes and headed off in the direction we’d come from. We had gone
only a few feet when Rachel, pausing to pick up a honey-colored scallop shell, said
under her breath, “What do you want to bet he’ll need her.”
If Baby heard her, she didn’t let on. She simply continued to chatter in that stream-of-consciousness
way she had.
“Earl is the nicest fella. Well, next to Teddy, that is. Looks like the tide is
coming in. I’m so hungry I could eat a whale. I want to find me a sand dollar. I
haven’t found one in a coon’s age. I wish we were like the Indians and used shells
as money. We’d ALL be rich then. Lookee there, down a ways, at Mr. Blue Heron. Isn’t
he pretty! Fishing the shallows, just like an old man. Hey, are y’all having any
fun?”
“Loads,” Rachel said.
“We’d have more fun if you’d…” Barbara didn’t finish her sentence, which I was relieved
about because I was certain she had intended to say something such as keep your big mouth shut .
“If I’d what?” Baby asked.
“Nothing.”
“I’m going for a dip,” I said, congratulating myself on how adept I was becoming at
avoidance.
“Watch out for the tiger sharks!” Baby chortled, dropping the towel to the sand
and plunging into the surf.
By the time we got back to Tiger’s Eye, we were sunburned, famished, and exhausted.
I threw together shrimp and pasta in olive oil and lemon for supper. Barbara tossed
a good green salad. And Rachel made sure to pour lots and lots of pinot grigio.
We ate outside, the sea breeze whipping our hair and tingling our sunburned skin,
and we laughed as we told stories of Augusts past. The time the fishmonger came to
our house and proclaimed his love for all four of us (Mississippi). And the time
Barbara got confused because we’d rented a little, nondescript house on the Florida
Gulf Coast that looked like all the other nondescript houses in the neighborhood.
After a beach stroll one afternoon, she walked into the wrong bungalow, helped herself
to a Coca-Cola, and flopped down on the couch. The old couple who owned the place
screamed bloody murder when they opened their front door and saw Barbara sitting
there like she owned the place (Longboat Key). The full moon that was so big and
low over the water, Melinda burst into tears and said it was the most beautiful thing
she’d ever seen (St. Simons Island). Hurricane George forcing us from our charming
digs in Orange Beach, Alabama, on our final night, so that we moved on to Mobile
and had a raucously fine hurricane party that was crashed by a contingent of
“Welcome to Tiger Island,” he said. “Baby tells me it’s your first time out here.”
“Yes. Yes, it is,” I said.
“It’s a magical place. We can tell that already,” Barbara said.
“You live here full-time?” Rachel asked, as if the very idea were nutty.
“Oh, yes. Me and my whole family.”
“How wonderful!” Barbara said. “I wish I lived here full-time.”
“But Barbara, where would you get your hair done?” Rachel teased.
“I tell you what,” Earl said. “Out here, if you don’t have it, you don’t need it.”
“That’s true,” Baby said, squeezing his hand.
“Now listen,” Earl said. “Maybe Baby has already told you, but it’s worth repeating.
Don’t you go in the water when it’s murky. You want to see those tiger sharks coming.
We don’t call it Tiger Island for nothing.” And then he winked at us and I had two
impressions. One, I wasn’t sure if he was teasing or not. And two, I thought that
wink was aimed solely at Baby.
“Those little sharks wouldn’t hurt a fly,” Baby said, and then she started laughing
as if she’d just told a whopper of a joke. She pecked Earl on the cheek. “We gotta
go, sweets, but you let me know if you need me. OK? I’m serious.”
“You know I will,” Earl said.
We said our good-byes and headed off in the direction we’d come from. We had gone
only a few feet when Rachel, pausing to pick up a honey-colored scallop shell, said
under her breath, “What do you want to bet he’ll need her.”
If Baby heard her, she didn’t let on. She simply continued to chatter in that stream-of-consciousness
way she had.
“Earl is the nicest fella. Well, next to Teddy, that is. Looks like the tide is
coming in. I’m so hungry I could eat a whale. I want to find me a sand dollar. I
haven’t found one in a coon’s age. I wish we were like the Indians and used shells
as money. We’d ALL be rich then. Lookee there, down a ways, at Mr. Blue Heron. Isn’t
he pretty! Fishing the shallows, just like an old man. Hey, are y’all having any
fun?”
“Loads,” Rachel said.
“We’d have more fun if you’d…” Barbara didn’t finish her sentence, which I was relieved
about because I was certain she had intended to say something such as keep your big mouth shut .
“If I’d what?” Baby asked.
“Nothing.”
“I’m going for a dip,” I said, congratulating myself on how adept I was becoming at
avoidance.
“Watch out for the tiger sharks!” Baby chortled, dropping the towel to the sand
and plunging into the surf.
By the time we got back to Tiger’s Eye, we were sunburned, famished, and exhausted.
I threw together shrimp and pasta in olive oil and lemon for supper. Barbara tossed
a good green salad. And Rachel made sure to pour lots and lots of pinot grigio.
We ate outside, the sea breeze whipping our hair and tingling our sunburned skin,
and we laughed as we told stories of Augusts past. The time the fishmonger came to
our house and proclaimed his love for all four of us (Mississippi). And the time
Barbara got confused because we’d rented a little, nondescript house on the Florida
Gulf Coast that looked like all the other nondescript houses in the neighborhood.
After a beach stroll one afternoon, she walked into the wrong bungalow, helped herself
to a Coca-Cola, and flopped down on the couch. The old couple who owned the place
screamed bloody murder when they opened their front door and saw Barbara sitting
there like she owned the place (Longboat Key). The full moon that was so big and
low over the water, Melinda burst into tears and said it was the most beautiful thing
she’d ever seen (St. Simons Island). Hurricane George forcing us from our charming
digs in Orange Beach, Alabama, on our final night, so that we moved on to Mobile
and had a raucously fine hurricane party that was crashed by a contingent of
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