Page 8 of Take Me with You

With today being the beginning of the holiday weekend, a strong catch would be good news because restaurants would buy all I brought to town. At twenty to thirty dollars a lobster, I stood to make a killing if I trapped an average of three or four per pot.

Even though the spring temperatures were in the eighties, I wore a sweatshirt with a hood that I pulled over my head when I reached the open waters of the Atlantic just outside the Port Royal Sound. The sound was formed by the confluence of the Broad and Beaufort Rivers. Parris Island where I lived was surrounded by three bodies of water and was just five miles away from the city of Beaufort where I grew up.

The weather was calm and clear, with bright blue skies for several miles in all directions. I’d heard on the weather channel that a tropical storm off the east coast of Florida could veer off and head north along the coast toward South Carolina over the long Memorial Day weekend. However, many radio stations disagreed and were saying it wouldn’t be that strong. Today was perfect so it was hard to imagine the peaceful weekend being ruined by a storm. I’d been through several storms and they weren’t fun, so the past year I’d spent money to shore up my defense of the shack. With the structural improvements and stockpiling plywood to board up the shack in case of lousy weather, I felt good about my future chances regarding storms blowing off the Atlantic Ocean.

Reaching over the side of my runabout boat I hooked the buoy with a gaff and attached the rope to a small battery-powered winch to lift the trap from the ocean floor. This was the thrill of the hunt and I lived for it. The moments when I’m checking for what’s in my trap are the absolute best. I’ll float through hope, heartbreak and unbridled excitement once the trap breaks the surface, revealing my prize.

Trap one was empty and I let out a long sigh. “Damn, dude. I need a few in each one,” I muttered to the trap. I opened its small hatch and replaced the cat food before tossing the trap overboard. “Please,” I whispered when I motored to the next buoy several hundred yards away. These were the times when I missed Jamie something fierce. He would’ve bitched nonstop about the empty trap and I would’ve kept my sunny disposition and positive attitude. “Let’s get some for Jamie,” I said, pulling alongside the next buoy.

I spoke to myself often when doing the things he and I had done countless times. To me it was like he was with me. The winch groaned a bit louder on trap number two’s haul to the surface. A good sign if there ever was one. “Gonna be six of ‘em,” I said. Jamie and I would bet on the contents of each trap and keep score until we’d hauled the last trap up. The winner got an extra twenty from the sale of them.

“Son-of-a-bitch!” I cried when a half-full trap of lobsters surfaced. “Six on the nose, dude!” I yelled over my shoulder as if Jamie was onboard.

I busied myself unloading spiny lobsters, securing their two huge claws with rubber bands, and placing them in a cooler of ocean water I kept on the boat. Once I completed the ritual task, I baited the trap again and tossed it over, watching as it sank out of view.

“It was a good load, that one,” I whispered, looking at the empty spot where Jamie used to sit. The empty bench looked small against the Atlantic background, but the hole it left in my heart was massive. Suddenly an overwhelming kick to my chest swallowed me whole and I bent over. Pain ripped through me when I remembered he wasn’t part of my life any longer, causing me to weep and lose the ability to keep my emotions in check. It hurt beyond belief that after nearly two years I still wasn’t sure if I’d survive the loss of him. My body crumpled to the wet bottom of the boat and I curled into a fetal position and sobbed uncontrollably.

The tears were for Jamie. The tears were for Memaw and for Daddy. I mourned the loss of a mother I never knew and a grandaddy I wished I’d known. It all hit me with the force of a sledgehammer and I continued crying like a child in the middle of the ocean.

I was alone. I would always be alone. “Please, God. Can you please make this go away?” I cried, hiccupping snot from my nose as I rocked in time with the boat.

I heard Memaw’s voice as clear as if she’d been sitting on the boat with me. I even felt her warm embrace.“You’re not alone, son. I promise you.”

I opened my eyes. “Memaw?”

Of course, Memaw wasn’t there, but I felt something. Not quite believing, I sat up and checked the radio and it was off. Nearby waters were empty of boats as far as the eye could see. A chill crept up my spine and I shivered due to being damp from water on the boat’s floor. I was either hearing things or was finally coming apart at the seams. I made my way to the bench seat and powered the engine up, heading for buoy three.

“Eight,”a voice in my head stated.

I waited nervously until trap three surfaced. “Six, seven, and eight,” I counted. I stared at the wire trap in disbelief.

After emptying trap three and reloading cat food, I made my way to the next one. “Five.” I jumped at hearing the voice, nearly losing my balance and tumbling overboard. Up the trap came. “No fucking way,” I whispered after counting five lobsters.

I let go of the motor’s tiller and twisted around quickly, startled by the mysterious voice. My eyes scanned the horizon and then landed back to the inside of the boat and the cooler of lobsters. Only the sloshing sounds of water against the boat’s side invaded the tranquility of the moment.

“Eleven.”

I hadn’t even started for the next buoy and yet I was anxious to lift trap five from the water.The guesses couldn’t be real.The four hundred yard journey was swift. I hesitated raising the trap out of the water after attaching the rope to the lift. “Turn on the winch, Bo,” I said. I turned it on and sat quietly. “There’s no way there’s eleven. Not a chance,” I mumbled.

Trap five had eleven lobsters and I was told that trap six had none. When trap six surfaced I was convinced I’d lost my mind when it was empty.

Memaw’s voice spoke to me as clear as day.“See? You’re not alone.”

I hadn’t planned on there actually being a God. I could be giving that belief another look.

CHAPTER EIGHT: Hayes

“Where’s your friend, Hayes?” my father asked. He’d been taking congratulatory laps around the venue and these were the first words we exchanged.

The room was full with dozens of conversations buzzing through the crowd while the hired quintet played in the corner. No expense was spared for this schmoozefest. “Phillip is not just my friend, Daddy, but you already know that.”

Daddy leaned in closer and spoke under his breath. “I may know it but that doesn’t make it any more palatable.” He adjusted his bowtie and waved at a peer across the room. I wouldn’t have minded if he joined said friend at that particular moment. “Why can’t you do as Phillip does and show up with a nice young lady? Perhaps spare us all from having it shoved in our faces.”

I was about to lose my patience when I remembered where we were. This was my father’s dream promotion and I took advantage of some of his financial team to assist me in my endeavors. He finally achieved the coveted role as CEO of the company he’d worked at for twenty seven years, and he’d done it before age fifty, probably the thing he was most proud of. His ability to kiss an ass was unparalleled and he’d managed to smooch them all the way to the top. Knowing the veneer he’d hid behind for damn near thirty years, he could finally enjoy being on top where his ass would be kissed from that day forward.

“I’m not hiding behind women anymore, Daddy,” I proclaimed. His golf-course tanned skin quickly paled to a ghastly shade of white. “I told Momma and now I’m telling you.”

He grimaced through a smile he exchanged with another passerby when he grabbed my arm before backing us into the corner. “That is not happening, Hayes. Not while I’m alive. Do you understand me?” he threatened.

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