sort of nodded at us here at the table as they made their way down to Unc and Stanhope and the sailor, Jessup still without a word.
“Mr. Dillard,” they both said at the same time, the words solemn and quick. Unc turned his head to them, let out “Boys,” and nodded, then went on again with Stanhope, and maybe a few seconds later here came around the side of the house a deputy from the sheriff’s office, brown windbreaker and Smokey Bear hat on. “Leland,” he called out, then, quieter, said, “Poston, Danford,” to the two cops, and stepped up to the congregation.
That was when Stanhope broke, let his head drop so that he was looking at Unc’s chest. But even in the shadows and light out here I could see the way his jaw was working, the set of it. He wasn’t done.
“Harmon,” he said, and the black sailor shot out “Sir” and turned to him, the word and move so quick it seemed like bad acting, a bit player jumping his lines.
Unc hadn’t moved, his face still to where Stanhope’s had been, and I could see the smallest smile on him: he’d won this round.
Stanhope looked up at Harmon beside him, nodded hard to his left and away from the crowd, and the two moved a couple yards away toward the woods.
Unc looked over here at the house. He moved his head a little side to side, like he was scanning the place same as Harmon had, then called out loud, “Huger?”
I let him look for me a couple seconds more before I said, “Here.”
He lasered in on exactly where I sat, those sunglasses right on me. He looked at me a long moment while the cops and deputy and Jessup—everyone down there but the sailors—turned to me.
“You get us your thermos out that book bag of yours and pour us each a cup of that glorious instant coffee. This is going to take a while.” He nodded, held his look on me.
But I hadn’t brought the bag with me from the jon boat, had left it there when I’d stood and walked away. “Left it on the boat,” I called out.
He pursed his lips, turned to the creek, then looked right back at me. “Sure would like a cup,” he said.
And it came to me, what Unc was trying to tell me: he wanted me to have hold of those goggles, no matter what.
I sat there a few seconds, the all of them—even Mrs. Q had turned to me by then—looking at me, waiting, like a cup of coffee out of a thermos was the only next thing could happen on the face of the earth. But Unc and I knew this wasn’t anything at all about coffee. It was about those stupid goggles, and nothing else. Unc’d found a body, but it sure seemed he was only worked up about being spotted with the goggles. All we had to do was to name Commander Prendergast, the fellow poker night chump Unc’d won them off of, hand them off to Stanhope, and the whole thing’d be over.
But Unc wasn’t going there. And the problem was I couldn’t tell why.
“Huger?” he said, and I could see now, over at the tree line pastUnc and his brood of lawmen, Stanhope and the black sailor, Harmon, looking at me too.
I wanted to let Unc twist out there on his own right now, for whatever reason it was I had of my own. Maybe it was because I didn’t want to get up and walk all the way back down there and back across that plank again, and risk seeing one more time that body. Or maybe it was because I’d wanted to just give the damned goggles up when they’d first got here, because of what they’d made me see for Unc, me as always his eyes: the woman’s face torn up, the pale green of her flesh buoyed by the pole beneath her.
Maybe I wanted to have my own life, to live on my own and not have to ferry Unc through his days, me his chauffeur and caddy and coffee bearer and eyes every day I was alive.
Or maybe—and I knew this was it, finally—maybe it was because it didn’t seem like Unc gave a shit about this body, some woman who’d been killed and left in the marsh. Maybe what made me sit there a few seconds without answering him was because of that
“Mr. Dillard,” they both said at the same time, the words solemn and quick. Unc turned his head to them, let out “Boys,” and nodded, then went on again with Stanhope, and maybe a few seconds later here came around the side of the house a deputy from the sheriff’s office, brown windbreaker and Smokey Bear hat on. “Leland,” he called out, then, quieter, said, “Poston, Danford,” to the two cops, and stepped up to the congregation.
That was when Stanhope broke, let his head drop so that he was looking at Unc’s chest. But even in the shadows and light out here I could see the way his jaw was working, the set of it. He wasn’t done.
“Harmon,” he said, and the black sailor shot out “Sir” and turned to him, the word and move so quick it seemed like bad acting, a bit player jumping his lines.
Unc hadn’t moved, his face still to where Stanhope’s had been, and I could see the smallest smile on him: he’d won this round.
Stanhope looked up at Harmon beside him, nodded hard to his left and away from the crowd, and the two moved a couple yards away toward the woods.
Unc looked over here at the house. He moved his head a little side to side, like he was scanning the place same as Harmon had, then called out loud, “Huger?”
I let him look for me a couple seconds more before I said, “Here.”
He lasered in on exactly where I sat, those sunglasses right on me. He looked at me a long moment while the cops and deputy and Jessup—everyone down there but the sailors—turned to me.
“You get us your thermos out that book bag of yours and pour us each a cup of that glorious instant coffee. This is going to take a while.” He nodded, held his look on me.
But I hadn’t brought the bag with me from the jon boat, had left it there when I’d stood and walked away. “Left it on the boat,” I called out.
He pursed his lips, turned to the creek, then looked right back at me. “Sure would like a cup,” he said.
And it came to me, what Unc was trying to tell me: he wanted me to have hold of those goggles, no matter what.
I sat there a few seconds, the all of them—even Mrs. Q had turned to me by then—looking at me, waiting, like a cup of coffee out of a thermos was the only next thing could happen on the face of the earth. But Unc and I knew this wasn’t anything at all about coffee. It was about those stupid goggles, and nothing else. Unc’d found a body, but it sure seemed he was only worked up about being spotted with the goggles. All we had to do was to name Commander Prendergast, the fellow poker night chump Unc’d won them off of, hand them off to Stanhope, and the whole thing’d be over.
But Unc wasn’t going there. And the problem was I couldn’t tell why.
“Huger?” he said, and I could see now, over at the tree line pastUnc and his brood of lawmen, Stanhope and the black sailor, Harmon, looking at me too.
I wanted to let Unc twist out there on his own right now, for whatever reason it was I had of my own. Maybe it was because I didn’t want to get up and walk all the way back down there and back across that plank again, and risk seeing one more time that body. Or maybe it was because I’d wanted to just give the damned goggles up when they’d first got here, because of what they’d made me see for Unc, me as always his eyes: the woman’s face torn up, the pale green of her flesh buoyed by the pole beneath her.
Maybe I wanted to have my own life, to live on my own and not have to ferry Unc through his days, me his chauffeur and caddy and coffee bearer and eyes every day I was alive.
Or maybe—and I knew this was it, finally—maybe it was because it didn’t seem like Unc gave a shit about this body, some woman who’d been killed and left in the marsh. Maybe what made me sit there a few seconds without answering him was because of that
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