Wrapped in Rain(57)

At noon, I was frustrated at finding no trace of another human but found myself enjoying the quiet, methodical paddling and the smooth gliding feel of the canoe. By midafternoon, the creek fanned out with fingers going every which way. It would have been easier to find the proverbial needle. I cut my paddle into the water like a rudder, turned the boat, marveled at the canopy that now covered the creek, and cranked the motor. I grabbed the handle, revved the engine, and the canoe slid out underneath the canopy. By three thirty I was back at Clark's and could see the dock at Spiraling Oaks. Gibby was tirelessly teaching Jase the art of casting while Katie sat on the dock, reading through sunglasses. From a distance she looked peaceful. Maybe the first peace she'd had in some time.



I turned the canoe, waved tojase, who was smiling larger than life, nodded to Katie, who smiled at me from behind her sunglasses, and started up the right finger of the creek. I tried to think like Mutt but decided that was impossible. I wasn't sure his escape was purposeful. He'd just as easily choose one finger over the other without a care in the world. The creek was wider and held more water than the one I traveled this morning, but the beauty was the same. A world unto itself. A great blue heron passed overhead, gliding on one or two wing flaps, then alighting quickly and settling among a section of lily pads where the shiners were stirring up the water.

A mile up creek, I came to an old, now-dead cypress tree where years earlier some fun-loving kids had hung a rope swing from a branch fifty feet in the air. Using a neighboring tree as a platform, the swinger could launch himself off the platform, swing out into the middle of the creek, and plunge into the dark middle where it looked to be about fifteen feet deep. The rope was rotten, covered in green mold, and hadn't seen use in years. Given the look of use on the platform and the number of swinging knots on the rope, I guessed this place had at one time been covered up in screams and laughter. It reminded me of the quarry.

At five, I switched gas tanks and began thinking about dinner. I hadn't eaten all day, and aside from trying to think like Mutt, I was getting hungry. The smell of Clark's wafted up creek and hooked my nose, and I dug in the rudder. I reached the dock thirty minutes after dark and beached the canoe in the ferns. I found Gibby working in his office and Katie and Jase playing ping-pong in an otherwise empty game room. The smell reminded me of Rolling Hills.



Gibby looked up, and when he didn't see Mutt, he asked, "You hungry?"

"Yeah, I think I could eat."

"Good, I think your friends are hungry too. I offered to feed them, but she said she'd wait on you. I think I know just the place."

Clark's was busy when we arrived, but the wait was only forty minutes, so I dropped a quarter in the turtle-feed machine and entertained Jase with turtle food. He was curious. Tender. A sponge. He didn't miss much. When they called "Rain" over the loudspeaker, he said, "Unca Tuck, that's us."

We walked through the restaurant around all the animal mounts and between the plates. Jase's eyes were big as half-dollars. We sat down inside, next to the window overlooking the creek. Our portion of the restaurant sat directly over the water, giving us a lifeguard's view of the creek.

After the waiter brought our drinks, I looked down at Jase, who was sucking milk through a straw and concentrating all his attention on the water. I sipped the tea and let the sweetness swirl around my mouth. Brown glass Budweiser bottles glistened across the room, adding ambiance.

I told them briefly about my trip while Gibby ordered for all of us: shrimp, catfish, fries, hushpuppies, and grits. The waitress set a small bowl of grits in front of Katie, who turned up her nose and nudged them out of the way with her fork. I reached across and slid them back in front. "It's an insult to the cook if you don't try them." I took a bite of my own and smiled. Jase watched her as she dipped her fork. Covering the end in grits, she closed her lips around the steaming cheese-colored paste. After a second of uncertainty, she lifted her eyebrows in surprise, nodded, and took a second bite, larger this time. After all her time in New York, Katie hadn't fallen that far from the tree. Jase saw her smile, dipped in his spoon, scooped out half the bowl, and shoved it in his mouth.



"The best part," I said, looking at both Katie and Jase, "is squishing them between your teeth." Katie covered her eyes as I squeezed the grits between my teeth like pudding. Jase took another spoonful, followed my lead, and spilled grits all over his lap and the table.

We ate and, due to underage ears, Gibby told us the PG version on Mutt. Despite the subject matter, the food was great. Katie paid the bill through a secret alliance forged with the server during a bathroom run, and Gibby led us out to the end of the dock, where he explained his best understanding of Mutt's disappearance.

Cabin lights across the creek glistened on the glasssmooth water. A cool breeze fluttered up the creek and cooled my face. Somewhere in the dark, a mullet jumped six or eight times and disappeared. Off in the distance, an owl hooted, and west, toward the river, we saw the last remaining light from a sun that was, even then, setting over Texas.

"Where will you stay?" Gibby asked.

I hadn't even thought about it.

Katie spoke up before I had a chance to answer. "We've got a room at the Courtyard Marriot, just up the road." I looked at her blankly. Gibby took it in stride while I wrestled with the possessive pronoun in "We've got a room."