“Why would I?” Birdy said. “Pick the right married man, it’s like owning a puppy you don’t have to babysit or muzzle on Saturday nights. Let him talk oranges all he wants; the whole time, you can use him like a sex toy. That’s advice from the only friend you have who knows how badly you need to get laid. Besides, you wouldn’t ask for help if you weren’t already a lost cause.”
“We sure are different, the way our minds work,” I responded, yet conceded the truth of every word she’d said.
Loretta wasn’t so easily dealt with. She was still on the porch when I entered and had spent the delay fuming. “You might warn me in advance before inviting strange men onto the property,” she said. “If it’d been night, I might’ve shot him for stealin’ our citrus.”
“Or invited him in to share a joint,” I replied, picking up an ashtray. “Did Mrs. Terwilliger give you your afternoon pills?”
“The moon-eyed look on that man’s face when he got in his truck-my lord. Who is he? I bet he didn’t mention he was married, did he? Of course not. They never do.”
“Loretta,” I said, “maybe you would’ve found an exception if you’d bothered asking the married men you dated. His name’s Kermit. His daughter and wife are both as nice as they can be.” I glared for a moment. “Kermit was hired by Mr. Chatham. Remember Mr. Chatham?”
“What’s her name?” my mother responded, which was unexpected. It threw me for a moment.
“Sarah,” I answered. “She’s starting to lose her baby teeth… They’re so grown-up, at that age. I might take her for a boat ride.”
“Not the daughter’s name. She brung me a bag of sour oranges, god knows why. What’s his wife’s name? You said you met her.”
I had made no such claim. It was another attempt to rattle me. “I’ll introduce you when she brings Sarah back for that boat ride,” I countered, which came off smoothly enough to attempt a change of subject. “How about a nice glass of sweet tea?”
When I returned from the kitchen, however, I was reminded why I’d moved out of the house while still a senior in high school. Loretta wouldn’t let the matter go.
“Kermit, huh? Wasn’t that the name of a frog?”
“A wealthy one, as I recollect,” I said, removing a wad of bills from my shirt pocket. “That reminds me. My clients gave me a hundred-dollar tip today and booked me again for Monday. You should’ve seen the snook they landed. I’ll stick your half in the jar.”
That’s what I paid Loretta, half of my tips, for the use of “her” dock.
“More rich Yankees. If taxes get any higher, they’ll own the whole damn state.”
“They’re from Nashville, and you’ve never met a finer couple. If you don’t want their money, just say so.”
“Are they rich as Kermit? I bet he told you he was rich, too. Don’t believe it. No one with money would stoop to stealing citrus.” Using both hands, she took a sip of her tea. “What’d you put in this? It ain’t sugar. We too broke to buy real cane sugar now? Bet if you made tea for him, it’d be sweet enough.”
Ignoring the woman only made her meaner, but I ignored her anyway. I went through the kitchen to the mantel over the fireplace, where, beside the clock, was a vase with a lid. I made sure the lid clanged good and loud after I deposited a fifty. But easy profit wasn’t enough to derail an interrogation.
“Are you sleeping with him?”
“Hard to keep track,” I said, spooning more sugar into her tea. “I average about seven men a week. Which one you talking about?”
“Might as well said seven hundred. You’d be walking different if that nonsense was true. I mean, the married man just now! He looked at you like something served with gravy on a plate. Don’t tell me you two ain’t having carnal relations. Lie all you want, but I know the signs.”
“You’ve had plenty of experience,” I said agreeably.
“None of your sass. I know, because I watched your face when he got out of the truck. And the way your body acted-that’s something a woman can’t hide. Hannah, the way you perked up, pilots could’ve seen your nipples from an airplane. It ain’t that cold out, sweetie. You think the frog-named man didn’t notice?”
I straightened my collar to allow a quick glance down. My shirt was frost gray with buttons and vented sleeves from L.L.Bean; a size too large, for that’s what I prefer. Beneath was an Athleta sports bra, designed for modesty and comfort. Fishing can be wet work, so I’m careful about such things.
“I believe I’ll speak with Tomlinson about the weed he brings you,” I said. “You’ve either got the eyes of an eagle or you’re hallucinating. Loretta”-I held up a warning hand-“I don’t mind insults in private, but if you ever speak like that in front of others, I’ll… I’ll-” I couldn’t think of a threat I hadn’t made, nor one that offered the hope of working.
“In front of Kermit, you mean?” she chimed in. “You’re a fool if you think he came here just to steal a box of oranges and a citrus tree. You know how I hate a person who nags, but-”
“Mr. Chatham trusted him,” I interrupted. “He hired Kermit to save his groves from disease. I’m helping out of respect for a man who was good to us-” Midsentence, I stopped and backed up. “What do you mean, ‘stole a tree’?”
“Because he did. I saw him do it. Well… saw it in his truck. This was just before your skiff pulled up.”
“It would take a backhoe and a trailer to cart off one those trees,” I said, and studied my mother’s face. Was this an exaggeration intended to badger me or did she believe it had actually happened?
Loretta sensed my seriousness. Always careful not to cross the line-it would have meant a night nurse-she decided to retreat. “Guess you’re right,” she said in a careful, uneasy way. “But Hannah? Personally? I wouldn’t trust the bastard-even if he didn’t steal a tree small enough to hide in that Silverado he drives.”
Now I didn’t know what to believe.
I heated up the dinner Mrs. Terwilliger had prepared and left wrapped in foil, then returned to my boat to shower and change.
Sunset was around six-thirty. It would be dark by seven, which is when Kermit said he would call. If he called… if I answered-or even if I didn’t-I needed the truth about Loretta’s claim. As tired as I was, I changed into boots and hiked back to the citrus orchard. Sarah had left a book there on a towel, which I collected, but there was no sign of a missing tree, including seedlings I hadn’t noticed.
I felt better… but then remembered the wild orange seeds my Uncle Jake had planted on land that was no longer ours. Kermit had seemed keenly interested. I hadn’t revealed where the tree was (only one had survived), but he might have assumed it grew on an adjoining property, which it did.
The sky was a swirl of saffron and arctic blue, but there was still some light. I skirted the remains of a canal dug by the same ancient people who had built mounds in the area, then slipped through a fence. It had been five years since my uncle had died, or since I’d tried to find that young tree, but I knew the acreage well. Childhood memories of building secret huts or dreaming away in secret places are slow to fade. Even so, I found a dozen spots that looked familiar, but not what I was looking for. Possibly, the new owners had cleared the land for building or pasture.
It was nearly dark. There was comfort in the fact that a five-year-old citrus tree would be too big for one man to handle, so I headed home.
At seven sharp, Kermit called. I was alone, sitting in my cabin’s settee booth by then. I don’t know why the ring startled me so-perhaps because I’d thought about little else while the minutes dragged past. Sarah’s book-which, in fact, was a sketchbook-was an acceptable excuse to answer. The drawings inside, however, provided a dozen reasons why I should not. Her stick-figure people showed angry women, but only smiling, oversized men. Trees exhibited anger, too, with canopies that boiled like smoke. Sometimes, beneath Sarah’s pencil, the paper had torn. When a girl with stick-figure braids was the subject, she was always by herself, and dwarfed by trees or a smiling man. Only when the girl was swimming, or paddling a canoe, did the artist grant her a beaming, stick-figure smile.