I Still Dream About You

Maggie’s Rehearsal

THAT AFTERNOON, MAGGIE WAS GOING TO TAKE A TEST RUN DOWN by the river to make sure that on the third, there would be no last-minute surprises; you never knew when or where they might be doing roadwork, and if there were any detours she wanted to know about them now. She took the precaution of wearing dark glasses and a scarf. She didn’t want to risk the chance of someone seeing her driving on the river road and remembering it later. She now wished she had maintained a lower profile around town, but after Hazel died, she had appeared quite a few times on Good Morning Alabama, offering home-selling tips; now younger people who might not have recognized her as an ex-Miss Alabama sometimes recognized her as the Real Estate Lady. She realized it was just another irony of life; first you want to be famous and in the end, it turns around and bites you.

Fortunately, today she knew exactly where she was going. It was to a certain spot where her father had always gone fishing, and if it still was as she remembered, it was the perfect spot for her purpose. As she drove, she looked over at her latest checklist, on the seat next to her.

River-Run Items

1. Wraparound weights

2. Glue

3. Raft and paddle

4. Raft instructions

5. Reading glasses

6. Cheap watch

She had everything with her today, except for the watch. She wasn’t about to jump in the river wearing her good gold watch, but she would need a watch to time the glue. She would go to the drugstore next week and buy a Timex, and on the morning of the third, she would put her good watch in an envelope for Lupe, her housekeeper, along with her money for the week. She wanted to say a proper goodbye to Lupe (hard to do when you don’t speak Guatemalan), but she figured a nice gold watch says, “I appreciate you” in any language.

One of the reasons she had addressed the note “To Whom It May Concern,” and not to Lupe, was that Lupe could neither read nor speak English. Nevertheless, she was always anxious to please. No matter what you asked her to do, she smiled and said, “Yes,” the one word she knew. Unfortunately, she was not a very good housekeeper. She had chipped or broken almost every dish Maggie owned and Maggie wound up having to do most of the cleaning herself, but she was so sweet, Maggie didn’t have the heart to fire her.

As Maggie drove along, she gradually realized she had not been out this way for years, and she was surprised to see quite a few of the new Jim Walter manufactured homes scattered here and there; other than that, though, the area was still pretty rural. A few barns still had faded SEE ROCK CITY advertisements painted on their roofs. A good half hour later, about ten minutes past the old Raiford Fishing Camp, she found the little turnoff spot she was looking for and slowly drove her car down the winding red dirt road and parked in the small clearing. It was completely hidden from the highway up above, so she got out and changed her shoes. Thankfully, although it had grown over with weeds, she was able to find the little path that led down to the river. It was a good three-minute walk, longer than she remembered, but the good news was that this part of the river was still pretty deserted, and the few beer cans scattered around the bank were old and rusty. She didn’t think anybody drank Schlitz or Pabst Blue Ribbon anymore.

She calculated that two trips from the car and back should do it: one to get the weights and one for the raft. Today, she would just check to make sure that the spot was still here and as perfect as she remembered. It was, and on her next trip down, she would hide everything in the bushes and be ready to go.

Coming up with a method had been difficult, but surprisingly enough, figuring out the logistics had been the most difficult part. She couldn’t drive down on the third and leave the car parked up in the clearing; she had a responsibility to Steel City Leasing and would feel terrible if someone were to vandalize it or steal it. She couldn’t leave a note saying where it was, because if her car was found anywhere near the river, there was sure to be a search, the very thing she wanted to avoid. She couldn’t just ask a friend to drop her off. There were no buses she could take, and she certainly couldn’t walk. She finally realized there was only one solution. She hated to do it, but she was going to have to take a cab to the river. It would be tricky, of course; the last time she had called a cab, it had come an hour late. This was one of those times that, just like Hazel, she was going to have to depend on people and hope for the best.

But this decision, like every other, entailed having to make yet another decision. Should she call City Cab, Yellow Cab, or Veterans Cab? Her plan had been to call the cab company from a pay phone so there would be no record of the call on her phone bill. She would order the cab a few days before she was leaving, give the dispatcher a false name, and have the driver meet her at another address, up the street from her complex. Later, she realized that to be on the safe side, it would be best to order a cab from one of the independent cab drivers listed. They drove their own cars, so later people wouldn’t be so likely to remember a cab being in the neighborhood on Monday morning. Nothing was simple. You had to think of every little thing.

When she got home from the river, she stopped and checked the mail: nothing but junk and another flyer from Willow Lakes Retirement Community. Before she threw it in the trash can, she happened to glance at it. She was glad she did. Written in big bold letters across the top of the page was this phrase: SOME PEOPLE SLIP INTO RETIREMENT, OTHERS JUMP RIGHT IN. And if that wasn’t a sign from the universe that she was doing the right thing, she didn’t know what was.

That night, as Maggie was eating another bad TV dinner, she spied something in the kitchen and realized she didn’t need to buy a new watch to time the twenty minutes for the glue on the Velcro to dry. She would just take her rooster egg timer and use it. She spent the next few hours packing most of her clothes for the theater and the Salvation Army, and it wasn’t until after she finished that she realized that she needed to keep one casual outfit to wear down to the river. She rooted around and pulled out a nice powder blue matching outfit and put it alongside the egg timer.

At two A.M. that night, Maggie sat straight up in bed. Good Lord, what was she thinking? She couldn’t wear an expensive workout suit to jump in the river! People in Alabama were serious about their fishing, especially down at the river. They didn’t fish in designer clothes, and if for any reason someone were to see her, it might arouse suspicion. She had to be more careful than that. What she needed was a good red herring outfit: something that would throw people completely off the track. After racking her brain, she suddenly came up with an idea for the perfect thing. She was glad now that she had watched all those Agatha Christie English mystery shows on PBS.

THE NEXT MORNING before work, she wandered around a few sporting goods stores, looking for some kind of man’s sweatshirt or T-shirt in an extra large that she could wear with a pair of jeans. She hit pay dirt out at Sportsman’s World. There were all kinds of fishing T-shirts to choose from:

BORN TO FISH, MADE TO WORK

REEL MEN EAT TROUT

CHICKS DIG ME, FISH FEAR ME

KISS MY BASS

She was not sure which to get and kept looking until she found the perfect shirt hanging on the last rack. It was so crude, so crass. Something she would never be caught dead wearing:

FISHERMEN DO IT WITH A BIG POLE

She found one in an XXL, but the problem was paying for it without having someone notice. She managed it by sticking the item in the middle of a pile of WOMEN FISH TOO, GET OVER IT T-shirts and, luckily, the girl at the checkout counter never looked.

Maggie had to admit there were times when it was best that salespeople didn’t get personal. She was halfway out the door when something else hit her. What shoes would she wear? Her workout shoes were far too nice. Should she pick up a pair of cheap flip-flops? No, too many rocks; she might trip on the way down. She turned around and headed to the back of the store. She would buy a pair of large men’s boots. It would be just another red herring, in case anyone found footprints. For someone who had always felt stupid, she was surprising herself with how clever she had turned out to be. Then again, she had always loved Nancy Drew mystery stories. It was too late now, of course, but she wondered if she should have become a detective. She might have been very good at it, if it didn’t require a lot of paperwork.