Twisted Creek

Chapter 9

After I did the dishes, I walked back out to the porch and noticed Luke had let the fire burn low. Sitting on the first step, I watched him move onto the dock. The one yard light still burning appeared fuzzy now that the fog had turned into a slow rain.

Tomorrow I’d say I was sorry for acting like an idiot. If he hadn’t built the fire, the teenagers would have spent a miserable night on the lake at the least. I felt bad for not even remembering their old car parked over beside the junkers. The day had been so long it seemed like a week had passed since they’d asked to shove off from my dock.

A thin smugglers’ moon rose, offering just enough light for me to make out Luke. He walked down the long dock toward the water as he had the night before. In fluid movements, he removed his clothes without slowing his stride, dropping them carelessly. The outline of his form was long and lean, powerful with movement and as natural as an animal in his element.

He dove into the water, his hands over his head, and sliced the midnight lake as soundlessly as a shadow’s passing. I sat motionless, listening to the whisper of his long strokes cutting into the water.

When I stepped back inside, the twinkle lights along the back wall greeted me and I was glad I’d left them up. I walked to the small office area tucked almost invisibly between tall shelves. I’d intended to turn off the desk lamp, but reached for a pencil from the can and opened the empty ledger instead. On the back of the first page, without lines to hamper me, I sketched what I’d seen in long bold strokes.

An hour later, I went to bed still thinking of the slim form stretched between land and lake. It might be Luke’s body I drew, but somehow my feelings had poured across the paper.

In what seemed like minutes, I awoke to the sound of Nana talking to someone. It took me a few seconds to get my bearings. Sitting up, I decided Uncle Jefferson never put up doors on this apartment so he could hear anything going on downstairs. The stairwell acted like a megaphone to the second floor.

Bumps and scrapes rattled as if someone were moving bricks downstairs.

My first thought was that we were being robbed. But that seemed unlikely. Who would want anything on the ground level, or upstairs for that matter? Even the old safe was just a joke around the place. It seems Jefferson spent years trying to give the thing away but no one had the strength to carry it off.

I shoved my legs into jeans as I hopped toward the landing. I managed to pull on my shirt by the time I reached the stairs.

Now the voices were clear. I slowed, listening.

“I’ll put the chips over here and the drinks here,” a woman announced. “Where do you want the candy and bait?”

I reached the bottom of the steps to find a dozen boxes stacked in front of the shelves. “What’s going on?” I asked to no one in particular.

A large woman, dressed like a man down to her black, round-toed shoes, faced me. She had short, curly hair that reminded me of Neapolitan ice cream. Her roots were white, then two inches of dark red. The tips were chocolate brown. “Howdy.” She grinned and her clean-scrubbed face crinkled like twisted plastic wrap. “I’m Micki. Mrs. Deals called and told me you guys were moving in so I figured it was time for me to make a delivery.”

Shaking my head, I tried to settle on which question to ask first. The smell of dead fish distracted me for a moment, then Willie Dowman wandered into my line of vision with a cup of coffee in his hand. He sat on the safe by the cold stove, propped his elbows on his knees, and watched.

Nana handed me a cup of coffee, then offered one to Micki, giving me a moment to think.

“Nice to meet you,” I managed. “There must be some mistake. We didn’t order a delivery, and I don’t know a Mrs. Deals.”

The woman lifted a clipboard. “Your uncle ordered this over two months ago. Said for me to deliver it when you arrived.” Micki’s smile sparked across her face and then was gone, replaced by an all-business stare. “I guess he figured you’d never know what was needed.”

“I guess,” I agreed.

Micki continued, “And Mrs. Deals is the old lady who lives down the road in that big house that reminds me of the Alamo. She’s got more rooms in that thing than she can count. She also has the only dependable phone. Cells don’t work out here half the time and most folks don’t bother putting a line in at their cabins.” She gave me the “duh” look middle school girls always seem to know. “Mrs. Deals keeps up with everything.”

She pointed to a box marked “cookies.” “My guess is she’s missing her Milano cookies. Jefferson always stocked them for her. Said she never bought but one bag at a time like no one would notice that way.”

I glanced at all the boxes marked with brand names for snacks, drinks, and candy. I decided on a more direct approach. “We can’t pay for all this.”

Micki shrugged. “Jefferson has an account and it’s well in the black. All this stuff has already been paid for in full, plus the next couple of loads. He said he wanted you stocked for the fall. I left you our listing, but if you need something not on it we’ll try to get it for you. I make my rounds once a week.”

Willie and I watched as Micki unloaded another four boxes from her delivery van while Nana went back to the kitchen.

As the air filled with the smell of cinnamon rolls, the shelves behind the cash register filled with basic first-aid supplies, batteries, and cleaning supplies. The wire racks were loaded with candy and gum. Milanos and Oreos shared a spot right next to the door.

Micki stacked a few cans of soup and beans on the long wall shelves. “Your uncle usually kept the bait in his fridge in the kitchen, but I always thought he could have slid that old drink chest over here by the wall and plugged it in. The chest would keep the bait cool and be far away from any food. It made more sense, but Jefferson wasn’t one to change.”

I nodded in agreement and she relaxed as if she’d been saying the same thing for years and finally someone listened.

When I signed her clipboard, she snapped it shut and offered a friendly smile. “I’ll help you move the chest.” Then with a glance at her Timex, added, “I’m officially on my break now.”

“Thanks, but does bait need to be cold?”

Micki winked. “So I’ve heard. I never caught anything but husbands. And some of them ended up smelling worse than warm worms.” She wiggled her body. “In those days the bait I used for that kind of fishing was plenty hot, I can tell you.”

We shoved the old drink chest across the floor.

Laughing, I asked, “Did you catch your limit?” I decided I liked the break-time Micki.

“I think that last one was over my limit. I should have stopped with three.” She ripped a piece of paper from her clipboard. “I’ll be back next week, but if you need anything, just tell Willie to tell Mrs. Deals and she’ll call. I’ll bring it out for no charge as long as the order’s over a hundred.”

I folded the paper and invited her to breakfast. Willie and Nana were already at the counter testing the cinnamon rolls.

She shook her head and moved her empty dolly toward the door. “No time today. This is Thursday and every little store from here to Lubbock needs supplies for the weekend.” She waved. “Maybe next time.”

Walking her to her delivery van, I wondered what might happen when the weekend hit. It seemed like we’d had company since we pulled up.

Before she started the engine, she rolled down her window and motioned me over. “Watch that old man,” she whispered. “The Landry brothers who fish out here are fine, but that one.” She raised an eyebrow.

“Willie?” He was the only man I could see.

She nodded. “Far as I know, he’s never done anything more than brush against a few women, but I wanted to warn you anyway.”

Great, I thought, I’d left Nana in the café with the lake pervert.

Micki started her engine and I hurried back inside.

I watched Willie Dowman while he ate, but saw no sign. I decided to make sure all the doors were locked at night.

To my shock, Nana stood up and hugged him good-bye. I was speechless. My Nana was a hugger, always had been, but if she knew…knew what, I reasoned. If I told her what Micki said she’d just tell me that she looked into his eyes and saw a good man. Nana was the one person in the world who had never listened to gossip and she wasn’t likely to start now.

Willie paid for his roll and coffee and wished me a good day while I studied him. I decided if he ever did anything fresh I could probably knock him over with one blow. I also decided not to say anything, but to watch him until I knew for sure. If he showed one sign, I’d be calling the sheriff. I had a feeling Sheriff Fletcher would straighten him out.

After breakfast, I talked Nana into going to town. Since she’d already made more money than I had, maybe we should stock up on flour and sugar and make a few things the fishermen might eat.

About an hour later, I left Nana at United and drove over to the mall. Like a speed shopper, I bought sheets, pillows, curtains, and bath rugs. I might have to sleep on the bed Uncle Jefferson left, but at least I’d do it on clean linen. I’d managed to catch everything but the pillows on sale. Walking to the car with all the bags, I felt rich for once.

When I got back to the grocery, Nana waited with two buggies full of supplies. I told myself we’d have to spend a little money to make money and didn’t say a word as I paid the two-hundred-dollar bill.

We stopped for tacos on the way out of town and laughed as we ate them on the drive back.

As we pulled onto the lake road, Nana told the same story about Poor Flo and her mother washing in the creek. She’d often told stories again and again, but usually not this close together. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings by mentioning it. Maybe it was just this place, or being back in Texas, but the past drifted thick across her mind.

“I loved Flo so much,” she said after a few silent minutes. “I made her promise to never, ever leave me. I made her swear. I didn’t want to grow up and old without her. I told her I needed her all my life, but she must not have been listening.”

I reached over and took Nana’s hand. Her memories were like her life, a mixture of happy and sad. She could no more have one without the other than she could have lived in days without the nights.

Once home, Luke showed up to help me carry in all the groceries. He didn’t say anything, but I guessed he was waiting for an apology. I touched his shoulder once as he passed me with a load, but he didn’t stop. I felt the solid muscle beneath his shirt, but short of tackling him I didn’t know how to make him turn and give me time to say I was sorry.

When Nana offered him supper, he refused and disappeared without even glancing in my direction.

Before Nana’s stew was ready, I sat in the wingback chair in the corner of the kitchen and tried to figure out what I should charge for the goods that were stocked on our little store’s shelves.

The wind chime rattled, telling me that someone had opened the front door. I jumped, feeling like we had our first real customer. I’d dusted everything and turned the labels out. I was ready.

When I entered the store, an old woman in a wool coat a size too large nodded at me, then raised one eyebrow and looked me over.

I nodded back, feeling like a shoplifter in my own store.

She picked up a two-pound bag of flour and a box of Milano cookies, but made no effort to speak to me.

“I’m not sure what to charge,” I mumbled, embarrassed that I hadn’t figured it all out before putting the OPEN sign on the front door.

The woman straightened even more and leveled me with her stare. “I know how much they are.” She fished in her purse and pulled out three dollars and a quarter. “I’ll need two cents in change, Allie.”

I opened the cash register and handed her two pennies. “I’ll get you a bag.”

Running to the office, I found the sacks in the third box I tried. When I looked up, the old lady was gone.

I smiled all the way back to my seat in the kitchen. Once settled, I said simply, “I just met Mrs. Deals.”

“Was she nice?” Nana asked.

“Very.” I laughed. “And helpful.” I figured Mrs. Deals was about as nice as she gets, and I didn’t mind keeping the cookies in stock if there was any chance of sweetening her up.

“Willie said her son disappeared years ago. Most think he ran away from home.” Nana talked as she worked. “Mrs. Deals moved out here thinking that if he ever did come back, he’d come here where he was happy. Willie said she paid a fortune to get that line put in so he could call.”

“Willie knows a lot.”

Nana shrugged. “I had to ask him, then he said he only gives out the facts, no extras.”

I went back to my pricing and finished off the cup of coffee. Nana sat next to me without another word.

When I looked up, the shadows had stretched across the windows. Another day gone and I was still here.

I watched Nana’s old hands knead pastry to make more pies. She’d been old all my life, I thought. I could never remember her hands manicured or polished, but to me they’d always been beautiful-strong and solid.

She didn’t look up, but I could see her smiling. She loved to cook and she loved me. In her world, that was enough.

At dusk, she went up for her bath and I walked down to where the road turned onto Uncle Jefferson’s land. Funny, I was starting to think of him as Uncle Jefferson even in my mind-this man I’d never met.

When I reached the fence, I said, “Would you look at that, Uncle J, someone stole that ugly pig.”

Tacking a sign on the post that said OPEN FOR BUSINESS I wondered if there was anyone who ever came down this road who didn’t already know we’d moved in.

In the twilight, I saw Luke coming toward me. He had that slow, easy walk of a man who’d spent years knowing where he was going.

“You planning to light the fire? It looks like it might rain.”

He nodded.

“Mind if I help?”

He shook his head as we strolled back to the lake, gathering firewood as we walked.

“You know Willie Dowman?” I asked.

“Yes,” Luke answered.

I waited for more; then, frustrated, asked, “What do you know about him?”

“He’s been coming out here fishing for years.”

“Anything else?”

Luke was silent for so long I gave up on him answering. When he finally spoke, I jumped at the sound.

“I’ve heard he gives away most of the fish he catches.”

“He doesn’t take them home to his wife?”

Luke shook his head. “His wife died about ten years back.”

Great, I thought, now I feel sorry for the pervert. It occurred to me that Micki, my friendly delivery woman, didn’t look all that normal either. All business one second, all friendly the next. I added another person to my list to watch as we built a fire.

It was full dark by the time we’d dragged enough dead wood over to the pit. Luke struck a match. I sat on one of the rocks that had been pulled around the circle and watched the flames take.

“You learn this as a Boy Scout?” I asked just to break the silence.

“Something like that,” he said as he moved to the other side of the fire and propped against another rock.

“I’ve given up worrying about when you’re going to kill me,” I said, promising myself this was the last time I’d even bother to try to talk to him.

Laughing suddenly, I decided that if we’d been in a bar that was probably the worst pickup line ever. No wonder I hadn’t had a date in two years.

I could see his intelligent blue eyes tonight. He was studying me as if he were Jacques Cousteau encountering a new species of backward-swimming fish. “I’m glad you’re not afraid of me anymore,” he finally said and flashed a smile.

He took a minute, then added, “I light the fire because Jefferson did.” He looked out over the water. “Some nights he wanted to help late boats, but most of the time I think he was just trying to get rid of all the driftwood that piles up along this beach. Every time there’s a storm or a branch falls in the water it seems to circle around and land on this little stretch of beach.”

“He swam the lake, too? That’s why you do?”

Luke laughed again. “No. I’ve done that since I was a boy. I’m surprised you saw me. Maybe I should knock out that last dock light.”

I needed to talk, and it didn’t matter that he was one of the inmates in this nuthouse. “I’ve got other things to worry about besides you. I can’t sleep for worrying and that’s not like me. Usually I sleep like a rock. Nana said once I slept through a tornado in Kansas. On the farm, I used to fall asleep watching the stars at night. My grandpa probably carried me to bed until I was ten. Nana always said he didn’t want to wake me because if the last thing I saw was stars, I’d have good dreams.”

Luke stared across the fire at me and I knew he was probably reading “chatterbox” written on my forehead, but I didn’t care. There were things I needed to say and he seemed to be my unlucky victim. “Worries keep me up now. First, I think it must have been a mistake for me to inherit this place, but it’s growing on me and I haven’t seen Nana so happy since we left the farm. Every day we stay will make it harder for us to leave when that lawyer in Lubbock figures out he handed over the keys to the wrong Allie Daniels.”

Pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes, I swore I wouldn’t let myself cry, not in front of a stranger. “I don’t know where I belong, but this can’t be it. I’m just so tired of looking.” I wanted to add that I was so homesick for a place to belong, but he probably already thought I was crazy. Homesick for something I’d never had. Growing up, I’d been the poor tenant farmer’s grandchild whose mother didn’t want her. At college, I’d worked two part-time jobs and hadn’t had time for socials and sororities.

I straightened suddenly, hating myself for being so pathetic. I should do like that song Nana always sang and count my blessings. But when blessings include live bait in the cooler, deer heads on the fence, and a bum who lights fires in my yard every night, it was a chore just to keep counting.

I closed my eyes and let the warmth of the fire soak into my bones. For a long while, I listened to the sounds of the lake. Then I heard a splash on the water and looked up at the cloudy sky.

Luke was gone, racing the moon once more. His nightly ritual made as much sense as my life. I stood and walked slowly back to the house. I felt like an aging warrior afraid of tomorrow’s battle, but determined to face head-on whatever came at sunrise.