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  Davey.

  Flashlight

  Matches

  Books

  Jug of water

  Canned food

  Milk for Baldy

  He doesn’t know anything about me.

  Fishhooks

  Fishing line

  Handsaw

  Nails

  Scrap lumber

  I can be whatever I want around him.

  When I got home Dad had already left for work. Mom fixed breakfast for me. She watched me eating for a moment, and I could tell she wanted to say something.

  “Sam,” she said, “I just want you to make good decisions. That’s all I ask.”

  “I know,” I said.

  “That’s all. That’s one thing I was upset about yesterday. But I was also upset with your father for putting you in that situation to begin with.”

  “I know,” I said.

  Mom left to get her things together and go to work at the church for a couple of hours. After she was gone I sat at my desk and thought about the decision I had already made. I knew Mom wouldn’t approve, but it seemed an even worse decision to abandon Davey after I’d promised to help him.

  So I picked up my pen and made a list of the items I’d thought of to take him. Then I went around the house collecting them and adding a few more as they got my attention.

  Salt

  Pepper

  Kitchen knife

  Plastic lawn bags

  Pillow

  I poured the salt and pepper into two sandwich bags so that the shakers wouldn’t be missed. The pillow was an old one from the storage room. I doubted anyone would even remember it. I stuffed everything into one of the plastic lawn bags and took it out to the Bream Chaser. Then I took the wheelbarrow from the garage and collected some of Dad’s scrap lumber and the handsaw and some nails from the storage shed. Dad probably didn’t need the lumber and rarely used the handsaw, but he knew where everything was and noticed anything out of place. I was going to have to think hard to come up with an explanation for what I was taking.

  I wheeled the lumber and tools out to the boat and organized it all on the floor and seats so that the weight was evenly distributed. Finally, I left Mom a note in the kitchen saying that I was going fishing and wouldn’t be back until later that afternoon.

  * * *

  As I raced past Grover’s house again I didn’t turn to look but held it in the corner of my eye like it was just another home along the way with people living in it I didn’t know. And when I headed out onto the river, the blue skies and shimmering water and freedom lay before me like an easy escape from it all.

  I breathed easy, felt the cool wind in my face, and smoothly navigated the turns like I’d been running the same route for years. Despite all the things the counselor and my parents had told me, this was the answer. This was what made me feel like myself again. It had been so easy all along. I couldn’t imagine not having figured it out—having spent too many weeks boxed up with Grover in my misery.

  Davey was waiting for me on the deck when I arrived at the swamp camp. I tied up and got out with my bag of supplies and walked past him. He followed without a word, like he’d known what to expect of me all along and I’d known the same of him.

  He watched as I emptied the lawn bag onto the floor of the camp.

  “I’ve got some boards in the boat, too,” I said. “It should be enough to get you going. You can collect wood to put in that old charcoal grill and use the matches I brought to light it so you can cook fish.”

  “You brought a jug, too,” he said.

  “Yeah, you can pour the water into your pot and use the jug for another fishing rig.”

  “I caught some,” he said. “You wanna see?”

  “You did? Sure.”

  Davey led me outside to the end of the dock, where he pulled up a stringer with five tremendous catfish on it.

  “Wow!” I said. “Those things are huge!”

  Davey smiled proudly. “Yeah,” he said. “You wanna eat one?”

  “Now?”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty hungry. I tried rubbin’ some sticks together to start a fire, but I couldn’t make it work.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll try to get the grill going if you know how to clean the fish.”

  “I know how,” he said. “Daddy taught me. He used to take me fishing on the bridge.”

  “Good,” I said. “I’ve never cleaned a fish myself.”

  “You just get the guts out and scrape off the scales.”

  “Fine,” I said. “You can use the knife I brought you.”

  Davey took one of the catfish off the stringer and used the kitchen knife to gut it. Meanwhile I found some old newspaper and scrap wood and started a fire in the grill.

  “How’s Baldy?” I asked.

  “He’s good. I got him to drink some more.”

  “I brought another thing of milk,” I said.

  “I saw it. Thanks.”

  After a few minutes Davey brought the gutted fish to me. It wasn’t long before we stood over it as it sizzled on the grate. It didn’t look like anything from the grocery store, but Davey couldn’t take his eyes off it.

  “Gonna be good,” he said.

  I sprinkled some salt and pepper over it. “Better than canned food,” I said.

  He looked at me with that excitement in his eyes. “Got everything I need now,” he said.

  I frowned. “I don’t know about that. But you’ve got enough to live on for a while.”

  We tested the fish meat with Davey’s fork until we found it flaky and falling off the bones. Then we put it on the deck and sat around it and picked at it with our fingers. It wasn’t nearly as good as Mom’s, but Davey ate it like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted. When we were done there wasn’t anything left but the skeleton and the head.

  “Keep the grill going and you can cook more later,” I said.

  * * *

  We spent a few hours sawing the lumber into sizes Davey needed for planks. Then we used a few of the scrap two-by-fours to repair the rotten rafters so that he could replace the tin on the roof. It was sweaty work. Heat shimmered off the underside of the tin, the thrumming of cicadas filled the air, and dirt daubers floated in and out of the camp. But I couldn’t remember enjoying work so much.

  As the sun sank below the treetops we sat on the end of the deck, hanging our feet over the marsh grass and passing the water jug between us.

  “When you gotta go?” he asked me.

  I didn’t want to think about it.

  “Pretty soon,” I said. “I can’t be out after dark.”

  “Why?”

  “My parents won’t allow it.”

  “You have both a mom and a dad?”

  “Well, yeah. What did you think?”

  Davey didn’t answer my question. “You wanna take a fish back with you?” he asked.

  It suddenly struck me as a good idea. I was going to have to bring a fish home at some point or Dad would get suspicious.

  “Sure,” I said.

  “You can show it to your parents.”

  “That’s what I was thinking.”

  “Then maybe they’ll let you come back and see me,” he said.

  “Your dad and brother might be here soon.”

  “You can still come see us,” he said. “All of us.”

  I hesitated. “Maybe so,” I said.

  “How about tomorrow?”

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  Davey looked down and I saw disappointment flow over him.

  “I’ll try,” I said. “I really want to.”

  He nodded to himself as I grabbed my backpack and stood.

  “I better go,” I said.

  Davey got another fish from the stringer and gave it to me before I shoved off. “Your dad’ll like that one,” he said.

  I took the fish and put it into the bait well after filling it with fresh water. Then I went to the stern and started the engine. As I motored away fr
om the camp I wasn’t sure how I was going to pull off more trips into the swamp, but I knew I wanted to come back and visit Davey more than anything. And I knew that somehow I’d find a way.

  11

  When I arrived at our dock it was almost dark. Dad came out of the house to help me get the Bream Chaser into the lift. By the time he reached me I already had the front and back hooks attached.

  “We were getting a little worried about you, son,” he said. But I could tell by the way he said it that he was proud I seemed to have been out enjoying myself.

  “I guess I lost track of time,” I said.

  Dad flipped the switch to start the hoist, and I put on my backpack and handed him my fishing rod. Then I reached into the bait well and pulled out the catfish.

  “Well, well,” he said. “What do we have here?”

  “Catfish,” I said.

  “I see that. Congratulations. I told you it just takes a little patience. Did it pull hard?”

  “Not really.”

  “Well, it’s sure a nice one. Go on and take it inside, and we’ll clean it in the kitchen. I’ll handle the boat.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  I started up the dock toward the house, feeling hollow. I told myself that next time I was going to catch my own fish and put the lies behind me.

  * * *

  Mom cooked the fish for dinner that night, but I wasn’t hungry for it. I picked at the meat and ate a little bit and spread the rest around. I didn’t feel as guilty about Grover or the lies as I did about leaving Davey. I pictured him out there alone in the big swamp, sawing and hammering and cooking fish. And at night, sitting on the rotten deck and staring at the still water of the creek.

  His brother and his dad will get there soon, I thought to myself. But for some reason I couldn’t imagine Davey as anything but alone.

  * * *

  It was unusually dark in my room when I woke Tuesday morning. I looked out the window and saw the sky covered with a thick blanket of gray clouds. The bayou was calm and still, with breezy patches of ripple blowing across it. I got up and went into the living room and found Mom watching the news.

  “Looks like a tropical storm’s headed this way,” she said.

  “How bad is it?” I asked.

  “Just a little stretch of nasty weather.”

  I immediately thought about Davey. “Like a hurricane?”

  “Nothing like that, but it’s going to be very rainy and windy. Your father’s coming home in a couple of hours and wants your help getting things ready.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said.

  By late morning it was sprinkling rain. I heard Dad pull into the driveway and watched through the window as he got out of the car wearing his police rain gear. He hurried around the side of the house to the dock, and I put on my parka and went out the back door to help. The Bream Chaser was fine in the lift once we raised it as high as it could go. Next we hauled the dock chairs up to the yard and around the side of the house, where they wouldn’t blow away. Then we stowed away the grill and some other porch furniture, plus a few small planters.

  The rain increased steadily for the rest of the day. I stayed inside on the living room sofa and watched television. I purposely avoided the Xbox because I would have felt guilty playing it after what I’d said to Grover. And then I thought about him alone in his lair and wondered if he even cared about what I had said to him.

  Mostly I thought about Davey. I wished there was some means to check on him or at least get him a message. But there was no way to sneak out with Mom at home and the weather like it was. So I sat there feeling helpless, hoping the storm wouldn’t last long.

  * * *

  Wednesday morning the wind was tossing the treetops and gusting around the sides of the house. Now the rain came in cold slanted sheets, pelting the windowpanes. Dad had to go back to the station because everyone on the force was on call until the storm was over. Mom and I were left alone again, listening to the weather beat on the windows. I couldn’t stop worrying about Davey sitting in the camp with water dripping around him. I didn’t remember him having a raincoat. I didn’t remember him having any clothes other than the torn ones he was wearing. I wished I’d paid attention to the weather report and brought him some gear.

  It stormed the rest of the day. I helped Mom make a salad and a big lasagna casserole for dinner, which she kept warming in the oven for when Dad got home. That evening I was lying on the living room sofa trying not to think about my growling stomach when I heard the front door open. I sat up and turned to see Dad on the stoop taking off his rain slicker. Behind him was a man I didn’t know. After they were both done shaking off their coats and hanging them on the railing they came inside. The stranger wore a uniform, but it wasn’t one I recognized. He was slightly shorter than Dad but solidly built. He had a pistol holstered on his side and wore a tight, serious expression.

  Mom, hearing the commotion, came in off the sun porch.

  “Hello,” she said.

  “Good evening,” the man said.

  Dad waved me over. “Son, come here and meet Officer Stockton.”

  I got up and walked around the sofa and approached the man.

  “Jim, this is my wife, Margie, and my son, Sam.”

  “Nice to meet you all,” he said.

  Officer Stockton held out his hand to shake. I took it, and his grip was as solid as his stare. My eyes traveled across his shirt to the emblem on his breast pocket: PASCAGOULA MARINE POLICE.

  My heart felt like it skipped a beat.

  “Sam and I kept ourselves busy this afternoon making lasagna,” Mom said. “Won’t you stay for supper?”

  “Thank you, Margie,” Officer Stockton replied. “If it’s no trouble.”

  “None at all,” Mom said, and walked toward the kitchen.

  I started following her to help when Dad called me back.

  “Sam,” Dad said, “I told Officer Stockton about your new boat. He wants to talk to you about something.”

  12

  We sat down in the living room. I was on the sofa next to Dad, and Officer Stockton took a wingback chair across from us. The rain continued to pelt the windows, and the room seemed suddenly small and cagelike.

  “Officer Stockton knows just about all there is to know about the Pascagoula River system, son. I told him you’ve been out fishing the bayou and exploring.”

  “I mostly patrol south of here,” Officer Stockton said.

  He had a stern, flat way of speaking that made me uneasy.

  “Most of the boat traffic’s around the mouth of the river and out in the Gulf,” he continued. “But we’ve had some strange things going on in the past few weeks. I was wondering if you’d seen anything unusual?”

  “Like what?” I said.

  “We found an abandoned boat out there. You probably saw that on the news. And I’m sure you saw the search and rescue teams looking for whoever was in it.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  Officer Stockton glanced at Dad. “The vessel wasn’t registered, and we couldn’t track down the hull ID on it. I don’t know if we’ll ever get to the bottom of that one.”

  “I haven’t seen any dead bodies,” I said.

  Officer Stockton paused a moment. Then he said, “No, I imagine we’d have heard about it if you did. Besides, we’re talking about a search grid a good bit north of here. Up in the management area. I’m sure you don’t get up that far, do you?”

  I swallowed and shook my head. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Dad watching me. One more lie.

  “I didn’t think so,” Officer Stockton continued. “But there’s something else we’re looking into that hits a little closer to home.”

  He waited like I was supposed to respond.

  “You know the fish market just south of Kings Bayou?” he continued.

  “Yes, sir. I mean, I haven’t been there in my boat, but I know about it.”

  “Place got robbed about two weeks ago. Somebody saw an alumi
num jon boat, sixteen or eighteen feet long, speed off about two o’clock in the morning.”

  “I’m not ever out that late,” I said.

  “I don’t expect you are, but that boat’s likely to be around here somewhere. It headed north, and I can tell you there’s nowhere to go north of here, nowhere to take out. It’s somebody who knows this river. It’s just a swamp for miles up that way, and a fellow can get lost and hurt real easy.”

  “I haven’t seen anything like that,” I said.

  “Well, like I told your dad, I can’t get up here all that often, and it’s good to have an extra set of eyes on things.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  “Just anything unusual. Any strange boats or people. Anything.”

  I nodded.

  Dad turned to me. “What do you think about that, son? You want to help out Officer Stockton?”

  “I guess,” I said.

  “Dinner’s on the table,” Mom called.

  I stood quickly and started for the dining room.

  * * *

  The lasagna was served with garlic bread and a Caesar salad. Officer Stockton sat stiffly in his chair and told Mom and me how good it all looked. Then we said grace and began eating. After a moment Mom asked Officer Stockton how he’d come to be in law enforcement.

  He wiped the corner of his mouth with his napkin and replaced it in his lap. Then he began to tell us about himself in a factual way, like he was reciting an official report he wrote for dinner parties.

  He’d grown up in Biloxi. After high school he joined the army and served two tours in Iraq. He received an honorable discharge in his late twenties, came home, enrolled at the police academy, and became a marine policeman. He’d been a law enforcement officer in Pascagoula ever since, except for two years when he’d lived in Houston, Texas.

  “What took you to Houston?” Dad asked.

  “My son had a brain tumor,” he replied. “We moved there so he could get treatment.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I hope he’s doing okay.”

  “He died two years ago.”