Page 20 of Broken Bayou
I step back, tucking thesweetheartcomment away along with my terse retort.
The officer studies me. Like he knows me. I smile but can’t place him. Like so many other faces I’ve seen since my arrival, his hovers just beyond recognizable. I wonder if he remembers me from the past or if he’s been trolling social media sites. Then his eyes shift to my chest, and I get my answer. To his credit, at least he blushes when I catch him looking. I don’t say a word, just stare at him. He clears his throat, tips his hat, and walks away.
Travis cuts his eyes to me. “You okay?”
“Not really.” My eyes dart to the muddy water, then down to the orange boots. I look up at Travis. “This is why you asked me to breakfast, isn’t it? To bring me here.”
He shifts on his feet, sighs. “I wanted to catch up but ... yeah. I figured it’d be better if we were here together. You were in town. This drought’s got everything coming up. Then I learned about the car. Seemed like I should include you. But now that we’re here, maybe that was a mistake. This is even crazier than I expected.” His face hardens as he looks past me, over my shoulder. “Shit.”
“What up, bro?” a man says behind me. I know his voice immediately, even though it’s been years since I last heard it.
Doyle, one of Travis’s older brothers, grins at me when I turn around. He’s built like a praying mantis. His jeans and stained T-shirt both look two sizes too big for him. His face is covered in acne scars. This face I recognize. Not just from the past but also from the corner of Main and Bridge Streets. He’s the one who honked at me when I was on the phone with Mama. The one who told Travis a fancy lady was driving around town. I shift away from him.
At Doyle’s side is another of Travis’s brothers, Eddie. A grizzly bear wearing cargo shorts and a purple-and-gold LSU T-shirt. He was another reason Travis and I connected with each other. We both had siblings who needed us to parent them.
The years had not been kind to these two men, and I wonder what stories their deep creases and tough hides could tell. I also wonder about the other brothers. The ones Travis said left town or maybe he had used the wordescaped.
Eddie shuffles his dirty boots rather than picking up his feet, and when he stops, he rocks back and forth like he’s on rough seas. I remember Eddie the most. He followed Travis around like Mabry followed me. Limited speech development, no eye contact. Again, like Mabry.
During my third year in grad school as a research assistant studying children bullied on playgrounds, I made a special trip home to my mother’s latest apartment, where Mabry still lived, and hugged Mabry so tightly she coughed. Most of the children I was studying needed genetic testing, something Mabry was never offered. She fell through the cracks, somehow managing to get her GED despite not being able to even get a driver’s license. Then I learned about FAS and knew Mabry didn’t need genetic testing after all. Fetal alcohol syndrome strikes randomly in families, and it struck Mabry. Hard. Cognitive defects, abnormal facial features like large low-set ears and the smooth philtrum above her lip. And yet, I’m sure Mama didn’t abstain when she was pregnant with me, and I turned out fine enough to graduate summa cum laude from Baylor without even having to try that hard. It took years for me to harness my anger at the unfairness in that, at Mama for denying Mabry her full potential.
“Not sure why these Texas folks had to come in,” Doyle says in his thick south-Louisiana drawl, breaking off my thoughts. “Look, see, we coulda done this for free.”
I remember Doyle as a lanky kid with severe acne who scurried around during those lazy summer days, shy and sneaky and always watching.
Travis motions toward the water. “These Texas folksarefree. They’re volunteers.”
“Huh. Well, you should of kept it local, bro. These boys might go diggin’ where they shouldn’t.”
“She don’t wanna be alone!” Eddie’s agonized cry cracks through the heat, startling me and several people near us. He rocks and hugs himself.
Doyle slides a look at me. “Don’t mind my brother, ma’am. He’s an idiot.” He tilts his head. “Hang on a minute. You that girl that used to run around with those crazy old twin ladies in that big ole house?”
“Hi, Doyle,” I say, keeping my shoulders back, spine straight. Ready for whatever he says next.
He lets out a long whistle. “You look different with your shirt on.” That one I’m not ready for, and as I stutter and try to craft a smart retort, he adds, pointing to my chest and laughing, “Guess TV does add ten pounds.”
Travis pops his brother in the chest with the back of his hand. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” He lowers his voice; his jaw is tight. “Get the hell out of here.”
“Yeah, yeah. Was just leaving.”
As Doyle walks off, my eyes burn a hole in his back, pissed I hadn’t pointed to his crotch and said that even a camera wouldn’t help his cause.
Eddie pauses a moment. I turn my attention to him, but he won’t look me in the eyes. Instead, he reaches into his cavernous front pocket and extracts a metal object, holds it out to me in his massive palm. I glance at Travis, then take the small object from Eddie. It’s a metal doll, little arms and legs soldered to a round body, like a small misshapen baby Frankenstein.
“Thank you,” I say, even though it gives me the creeps.
Eddie smiles at the ground, then lopes off to catch up with Doyle.
Travis says, “Sorry about that. Doyle’s the one who’s an idiot.” He points to the metal object. “Eddie still doesn’t talk much. I think thosedolls are his way of communicating. He doesn’t normally give them away, though. He must like you.”
I think of Mabry’s sketchbook and wonder if, even though she spoke more than Eddie, that was her way of communicating; I’m surprised I haven’t thought of that before now. It’s common in children exposed to trauma. I start to quiz Travis more on Eddie, but as I go to speak, a woman’s sharp high-pitched scream cuts through the low rumble of the crowd.
People gasp and lean in to look toward the bayou. The tow truck is backing up. A diver is standing on the bank, taking the chain from the truck, and heading back into the water.
“They found it!” A man in the crowd yells, and I feel Travis’s hand find mine and give it a quick, almost imperceptible squeeze.
I’m starting to feel dizzy, maybe from the heat. Maybe not. “Travis.”
