Page 19 of Broken Bayou
He clears his throat. “It might be nothing, but I wanted you to see it firsthand, just in case.”
“See what firsthand? Just in case what?”
He steps out of the truck, leans back in. “The divers think they found a car.”
My mouth falls open, but no words come out. “Willa, it’s probably the schoolteacher’s,” he says, studying my face. “But I thought you should be here, you know, in case it’s not.”
“Oh my God.” I drop my head in my hands, press my fingers into my forehead. “Why would you think me being here is a good idea?”
“Because it’s better to know now. Might help with damage control.” His radio barks again. “Listen, it’s going to be the teacher’s car. Okay? Don’t worry. But ...” He shakes his head. “Just don’t worry either way.”
He shuts the door. I tell myself I will not scream. I will not lose it. I will stay in control. This is not about me. This is about a missing person. I’ll sit here and wait for Travis to come back; then he’ll take me home, and that will be that. But the heat in the truck is suffocating me. My silk blouse sticks to my back. And the thought of divers in that bayou, finding what I dumped there decades ago, has me feeling like I’m breathing through a straw. I stare at the hill, then slip on the orange boots and fling open the door. I’ll walk back to my great-aunts’ house. It can’t be more than a mile.
I’m tucking my pants into the boots when I hear the low rumble of a truck and men shouting for people to get back. I look at the dirt road leading to Bridge Street; then I look up the levee.Because it’s better to know now.
I scramble to the top of the levee and freeze. It takes a minute to grasp what is happening below me. Margie was right. It’s a circus.
The scene beside the bayou is surreal. The crowd looks like they are lined up for a parade. People cover both banks and the bridge connecting them, most with cell phones out and pointed at the bayou. Two officers dressed like Travis are attempting to make a wide path through the crowd so a tow truck can back its way to the water. The air crackles with electricity as if a storm is coming, but the bright, hot sky shows no signs of trouble. The levee, on the other hand, does.
A gaggle of elderly ladies who look identical to the ones in the diner watch me from afar. I see their stares, their huddled whispers, no doubt about Krystal Lynn’s oldest daughter. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree and all that. And I understand for a brief moment what it would’ve been like to be Krystal Lynn in this town. Long legs and outsider ways, always drawing the attention. I look down. The bright orange boots certainly don’t help.
Broken Bayou weaves below me like a muddy S. Eighteen miles of river water, four of which amble north to south through town. The side I’m standing on has a few large oaks scattered along the levee, but most of the trees and scrub brush are on the opposite bank. Broken Bayou diverts from a river east of here, whose name I can’t remember, and meets back up with that same river somewhere downstream. It’s narrow but deep, like a lot of waterways in this area. Well, it used to be deep. The drought I’ve been hearing about is taking its toll. The original waterline is now several inches above the actual water.
I once loved trying to swim bank to bank in one breath, but I never succeeded. It always took three breaths. Along with the smell of fish and hot mud, I can almost smell the pineapple-scented suntan oil Krystal Lynn used to slather on me, telling me I needed a good base tan for boys to like me.
Mama.Get rid of it, sweet girl.
Sweat rolls down my back. I unbutton my sleeves and roll them up, but the heat isn’t just external; it’s coming from my veins as well. I need to turn around and leave, but I catch a glimpse of Travis halfway down the levee and do the exact opposite. I walk toward him.
“Travis.” As I say his name, a large man with a belly that looks like a lumpy pillow shoved in a shrunken pillowcase turns from the water and faces us.
“Hey, Chief,” Travis says.
The man waddles up to us. “This is turning into a three-ring, dog-and-pony shit show. Hell, even the DAR ladies broke up their morningbridge game to come have a look-see.” He sucks on the dip in his front lip and spits a brown stream onto the muddy bank.
“Chief.” Travis points to me. “This is Dr. Willa Watters. Her great-aunts owned Shadow Bluff. Willa, this is Chief Jute Wilson.”
I nod and hold out my hand. “Nice to meet you.”
He cocks his head to one side. “I’ll be damned. You’re Krystal Lynn’s daughter.” He rocks back on his cowboy boots and disappears into another time for a moment. He draws another long pull on the dip, spits, and trains his bright eyes on me, rubbing his chin with sausage-like fingers. “Damn shame about Pearl and Petunia. Good people. I heard after Pearl passed, Petunia just laid down and never woke up again.”
I nod. That was the rumor. I have no idea if it’s true or small-town lore.
“When was it, last time you were down here?” he says.
My eyes dart to Travis. I swallow. It’s a simple question, but it feels loaded, like he’s fishing for something.
“Been a while,” I say.
Chief Wilson pats my shoulder. “Tell your mama, Jute says hi.” He scratches his stubble. “That one was a real firecracker.”
Another man approaches. He looks to be around my age, and he, unlike Travis, has a real uniform. It’s brown with ironed creases and topped off with a brown hat and a real badge. As I look around, I notice other officers, too, dressed in blue uniforms.
“What’s with all the different uniforms?” I ask Travis.
“Blue is state police. Brown is sheriff. And polos are Broken Bayou’s finest.” He grins, but I hear an edge in his voice. Bitterness. Something tells me Travis had bigger dreams than being a local cop. Or maybe, because of his father, he has a problem with anyone who’s got more authority than him. That would fit. Of course, there was his mother too. I tell myself to stop diagnosing Travis. He’s not a child. And I’m certainly not his doctor.
The officer in the brown uniform whispers something in Chief Wilson’s ear. Chief Wilson tugs the dip from his lip and smacks it to the ground. “Goddammit.” He looks at Travis, then at me. “Excuse me for a minute, sweetheart.”
