I told him, “I can’t leave you here. You get sick when you’re passed out, you could choke and die.”
Tomlinson used his hand to wave me away, then settled himself back in the sand, eyes closed, curled in a fetal position. “Demon rum,” he said. “Not a bad way to go. Only thing I’ll miss is going into town and playing ball come Sunday.”
We both played Roy Hobbs baseball, a fairly serious brand of ball.
Beside me, Ransom said, “I’ll stay with him.” She sat herself in the sand, using Queenie the totem pole as a backrest, and combed her fingers gently through Tomlinson’s long hair. “Poor old bony hippie man. This boy drive me crazy, but he in my heart and ain’t nothin’ I can do about it.” She looked at him for a moment, shaking her head. “He got a toothache in his soul, my brother, and there ain’t nothin’ I can do about that, either.”
I said, “Yes, he does. I think he probably always will.”
I left the two of them to sleep in the sand, because that’s what they wanted, and headed back to Dinkin’s Bay, determined to get Amelia alone long enough to ask her about the boat. Maybe it was possible. Maybe Tomlinson and Amelia were both right-there was a chance Janet had been picked up and was still alive.
Now, sitting by the fire, Amelia said to me, “I’m going to stay at your sister’s house-if we ever get to bed. She says you’re a runner. How about we go for a run tomorrow, and I’ll tell you all about it. A couple miles along the beach, maybe?”
I told her that would be just fine. She was probably right. Certain subjects are appropriate for drunk talk, other subjects are not. The fate of three missing people deserved elevated status. So I asked her about something she probably would feel comfortable talking about-how the fight started back at’Tween Waters.
“I’ve almost gotten used to it,” she told me. “I was sitting at one of the big tables with Jeth, Ransom, and the two women who live here-JoAnn and Rhonda?-and Claudia, too. Claudia was asking me more questions about Janet. What did we talk about when we were hanging on to the anchor line? She asked a lot of little details about what went on after we were set adrift. That sort of thing.
“I don’t know how they found out who I was, but a couple of guys from the bar came over and introduced themselves. Part of the SAM crowd, one was from Jacksonville, the other from Palm Beach. The moment the first one opened his mouth, I knew how it was going to go, that’s how many times I’ve been through it in the past few weeks. The ones who don’t believe my story, they always start out very polite-like, hey, congratulations, what an honor to meet you. They’ve read all about it, know all the details. Which fooled me the first couple of times, but not anymore.
“It’s something in the tone of their voice. That’s how I can tell. Way too friendly and impressed, trying to make me feel important, but what they’re really trying to do is set me up, trap me, like amateur interrogators. Tonight, the guy from Palm Beach-and he was pretty drunk, too-goes on for ten minutes or so, making backhanded accusations by telling the story to his friend, until finally he stops, looks at me, and says, ‘Lady, how stupid do you think people really are? You’re telling us that three adults in inflated vests just vanished off the face of the earth? Bullshit. Okay, so pretend like we’re not all idiots here and tell the truth. What happened was, you cooked up some drug deal with some badasses from Miami or maybe South America, and they wasted your three pals to make it nice and clean. Somehow you had an in with them. Maybe one of the drug bosses had a taste for redheads, so they let you live.
‘Or maybe what happened was, you and your pals decided to sink the boat for insurance money, and something went real wrong. They weren’t wearing their vests, like you said. Something else I heard was about you and the others maybe being involved with some kind of porno ring.
…’”
Amelia let the sentence trail off, and I noticed that her hands had gradually clenched into fists. After a moment, she said, “That’s when I stopped him. I’d had enough. It’s true that I once had to defend this porno slimeball, and the case got a lot of press, so that’s where that nasty little rumor got started. But no way was I going to let him associate the other three with that.
“You know how they say redheads have a temper? I can’t speak for the others, but I’ll only let someone push me so far. So I stood up and let the guy have it with both barrels. I know all the words, and how to use them. I realize I’m no great beauty, but I’ve had to back off enough of the casting-couch macho types to know exactly where to aim, and the guy didn’t like where my words hit him. So that’s when Jeth stood up and got involved. Then, out of nowhere, the actor was there, right in his face. Gunnar Camphill to the rescue, take two. It was a damn ugly thing to watch, wasn’t it, Doc? Makes me feel sick inside to think about the sound their fists made when they were hitting each other. The flesh-on-bone sound.”
I’d known her for, what? less than eight hours, but I’d already accepted her as what Tomlinson once defined as a PBR-a person who is reality based. One night, over beer, we’d kicked around the definition and more or less refined it. A PBR wasn’t just a brand of blue-collar beer, it was also someone who was not dominated by neurosis, ambition, or ego. It was a person who was relatively honest, rational, and reasonable most of the time; a man or woman who had a general sense of his or her own worth and limitations, who acknowledged the worth of others, who demonstrated a sense of humor, and didn’t take him- or herself too seriously.
With a definition so broad, you’d expect to meet lots and lots of PBRs.
Instead, I seem to be meeting fewer and fewer.
In my opinion, Amelia Gardner qualified, and I would trust her until, if, and when she did something to make me think otherwise. Now I reached over, put my hand on her arm, and squeezed gently. “That remark you made about ‘great beauty,’ I hope you’re not suggesting you aren’t attractive. Because you are. But you’re tired, I can see it in your face. Know what might be a good thing for you to do right now? It doesn’t look like Ransom’s going to be back any time soon, so let me walk you over to my house, change the sheets, and put you to bed. I’ve got a big hammock strung on the porch. A starry night like this, no bugs, I’d rather sleep out there anyway.”
Laughter can communicate a variety of emotions. The amused sound she made was shy, a little weary, but pleased. “I was always the lanky, gawky tomboy girl. All elbows and legs, with no chest at all. I kept waiting for my body to change, but it never did, so now I’m the lanky, gawky attorney lady, all elbows and legs and still no chest at all. But thanks anyway. It was a nice way to tell me I look tired.” She stood, stretched, and yawned, still smiling. “Let me say my good nights, and I’ll take you up on the offer.”
I waited while Amelia fetched an overnight bag from her car, then I walked her to the house. Gave her a quick look at my lab-no octopi or crabs missing-and then took her through the screen door into the cottage and showed her how things worked. Little propane stove for tea. Small ship’s refrigerator if she wanted a snack. If she couldn’t sleep, there were books on the shelves and a shortwave radio near the Celestron telescope that was angled toward the north window. I laid out fresh sheets and towels, then returned along the mangrove path, back to the marina, to give her some time and privacy to use the outdoor shower and change into the XX T-shirt I’d loaned her to use as a nightgown.
I expected the party would have ended. It was well after three by now, but Mack and Jeth, most of the liveaboards and guides, were still there, still sitting around the blazing fire, laughing softly, talking in early-morning voices. Still riding that emotional, adrenaline high, replaying the events at’Tween Waters. We’d won the battles and won the war, and each and every member wanted to cement his or her role in the way things had transpired, secure their place in the marina’s oral history here and now, at the edge of the fire, before memories were tarnished by the edge of the first morning light.