Slow Way Home (10 page)

“The peanuts aren’t good enough to fill Ervin’s pockets more than you have to. You forgot your change.”

“I heard that. I’m charging you double today,” the fat man called out.

The patrolman laughed and turned to go back inside. “Safe travels now.”

The edge of the sky was just turning into strips of pink when we reached our new home. As we drove over the tall bridge at the edge of town, the brown marsh and skinny pines seemed like something out of
National Geographic.

Leaning over the steering wheel, Poppy breathed deep. “I can smell the salt air clean inside this truck.”

Resting off a highway, Abbeville was a fishing village on the Florida Panhandle. A place where pirates might’ve once hidden in the marshy islands visible from the city streets. I guess that’s what Poco’s daddy had in mind when he selected it as our new place to live. A place protected and forgotten.

Downtown was made up of two streets that ran right next to a river that connected with the Gulf of Mexico. A pharmacy and a grocery store were nestled across the street from the water. A dime store and other local businesses completed the community.

“I want y’all to look.” Poppy pointed to the telephone booth that sat under a chinaberry tree. A small sign next to it read “U.S.A.’s 66

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Smallest Police Station.” Right then I breathed deeper than I had since leaving the boiled-peanut stand. Poco’s daddy suddenly seemed like the smartest man on earth. Where else could we have gotten a better start than in a town with a police station so small it would fit into a phone booth?

“It says to keep on going two miles up Highway 98,” Nana said.

The papers that Poco’s daddy had provided were scattered across her lap.

Outside of town, modest block homes and trailers dotted the roadside. On the other side of the highway, pine trees and lush vines stood guard over the gulf water. A wooden shack with a spray-painted sign that spelled out “Lazy Lounge” in wavy letters was the last place we passed before the steep curve.

The Rest Easy Campground sat on the right-hand side of the road just like the paper said. Across the highway, a clear view of the gulf welcomed us. A big gray bird crashed into the water and then reappeared with a fish dangling from its long beak. Sections of the water flickered as the final rays of sun were played out.

While Poppy checked in at the double-wide trailer that served as an office, Nana massaged her arm as if a mosquito had gotten her.

“It sure is pretty here,” I said.

Even though her hair was short and jagged, her smile was still filled with the reassurance that I had come to depend on. “I got an idea this place is just right.”

By the time Poppy parked the trailer and we unpacked, it was already dusk. I eased the door open and surveyed the surrounding campers. The crisp night air teased me into hoping we were still in North Carolina, and I leaned out to see if I could hear the ocean waves. Turning to close the door, I saw the words “Sunshine State” on Poppy’s truck tag.

“When did you change the license plate?” I asked.

“Go on and close the door before you let bugs inside,” Nana said.

“We’ve had to make some changes. Things won’t be the same as they used to be. Nobody knows your situation like we do. You take
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that judge, for example. Has he spent a whole entire year with you like we have? And I never did hear . . .”

“We took you away, Brandon, because we thought it was the only thing to do.” Soapsuds were still on Nana’s hands when she touched my shoulder. She sat on the doll-sized sofa and pulled me close to her.

My elbow pressed into the softness of her stomach, and her breath was warm against my neck.

“Sugar, some people might disagree with what we’ve done. They won’t see it the same way we do. So we had to get new tags and come up with new names for us to use down here.”

Part of me wanted to pull away from her. But the soft, familiar mushy part of her skin and the reassuring vanilla smell of her clothes kept me close.

Nana picked up the envelope Poco’s daddy had given them.

“That’s why we bought this stuff from Mr. Calato’s son. He saw to it that we’d have the right papers and so forth. You know . . . to start over.”

Visions of me standing in the principal’s office trying to start school with a new name raced through my head. What if I forgot my name and accidentally wrote my old name on a test or a worksheet?

“What’s my new name gonna be?”

Nana clasped my hand. Hard callused places were now softened by the dishwashing soap. “Well, I didn’t want this mess to disrupt you any more than it had to, so you’re still Brandon. Only the last name will change.”

“How do you like the sound of Davidson? Old Brandon Davidson,”

Poppy said. “Sort of sounds like a movie star name to me.”

“Well, he’s pretty enough to be in movies,” Nana said. “As for me and Poppy, we’re going to be more down to earth. I’m Pauline Davidson from now on and Poppy is . . .”

As he stood, the air-vent handle scraped the bald spot of his crown. “I’m Albert Davidson. Pleased to meet you, sir.” I laughed when he shook my hand and massaged his scalp all at the same time.

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“Good gracious alive, let me get back to these dishes before the water turns cold.” Nana continued to shake her head and wash the dishes until the grime of underworld fingerprints were erased away.

Poco’s daddy had even lined up a job for Poppy down at the marina.

After years of working on broken-down tractors and old cars, he picked right up on fixing boat engines. He even seemed to like working with the men who didn’t ask questions when Poppy introduced himself as Albert Davidson from down the state.

“Down the state” was the answer we gave everyone when asked where we were from. Most people looked at us like any part of Florida that didn’t stretch out over the Gulf of Mexico was a foreign country and were not interested in hearing any more about our make-believe address. Everyone except Miss Travick.

My new teacher was fresh out of college and drove over from Tallahassee to teach us. Her hair was golden like the lady senator’s back in North Carolina. She wore short skirts, butterfly hair clips, and long beaded necklaces. When I first saw her standing outside the classroom, the smell of butterscotch perfume made me dizzy-headed.

“Where are you from, Brandon Davidson?”

By this time I had the line down perfect. “From down the state.

We moved here so my granddaddy could work at the new marina.”

Nana’s feet shuffled on the concrete sidewalk behind me. “I dropped the records off at the principal’s office. It’s all in there.”

“Oh my gosh, where down the state? I’m from Fort Myers.”

My eyes searched behind Miss Travick. Rows of new classmates stared back at me. The pencil I had just purchased from the school office began to feel slick in my sweaty hand. Words and names we had rehearsed swirled in my mind, but the town printed on the school record was nowhere in the script.

“We’re from Anglers. Nothing more than a little knock in the road. Down past Melbourne.” Nana spoke the words so confident even I was beginning to believe her.

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Miss Travick regained with another wide smile. “Oh, well, you never know. We don’t get many new people.”

The first day at lunch nobody would let me sit at their table.

Every time I approached an open seat, someone would move over and stretch their arm across the table so I couldn’t put my tray down. The laughter made me hunger for something that food could not provide.

Trying not to capture the attention of the teachers, I smiled like I had wanted to sit by myself all along. Pouring iced tea from a pitcher at the teacher’s table, Miss Travick caught my eye and smiled back. I saw her get up and whisper to a boy three tables away. His wide brown eyes searched the room until he saw me. Nodding, he got up and brought his tray to my table.

“Hey,” he said. “You’re new, right?”

“So?” I said.

He gulped from a carton of milk. “My name’s Beau Riley. I sit two rows over from you in class.”

“So?”

He shrugged and picked up a french fry. “Don’t pay no attention to none of those jerks. They’re just testing you is all. Where you from?”

“Mars.”

“I hear it sure is cold up there.” He cracked a smile and kept on going. “You like to fish?”

“Yeah.”

“You ever eat mullet before?”

Turning to see if there was another table to move to, I stopped when I saw the others looking at us. “I don’t think so.”

“Some dummies think it’s a trash fish. Now, I don’t know how they think up there in Mars, but it’s good eating. My mama and daddy are carrying us mullet fishing this Saturday. You interested?”

Two girls with matching T-shirts printed with smiley faces walked over to our table. “Hey, I’m Ashley and her name’s Lisa,” the blonde one said.

“He’s . . . hey, what’s your name again?” Beau asked.

“Brandon. Brandon Davidson, from down the state.”

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•

•

•

Beau Riley was the only person in my life who made me be his friend. Soon it didn’t matter if Miss Travick had told him to talk to me or not. Beau was the president of our class and held up his head with a confidence that reminded me of a grown man. By the second day kids who wouldn’t let me sit at their tables were lining the lunchroom seats next to Beau and me.

He even worked his magic on Nana and Poppy. When Nana first refused to let me go fishing with strangers, Beau had his mama stop by so we could see that she was decent. She had curly red hair and a beauty mark on the side of her chin just like Miss Kitty on
Gunsmoke
.

“Where y’all from?” Bonita asked. She let the standard answer fly past and soon started telling Poppy that she heard a big government contract was going to bring in a lot more work to the marina where he was working.

“Well, that sure is good news,” Poppy said and brushed away a gnat.

“Yeah, well I heard it the other day down at Nap’s Corner. It’s a restaurant just the other side of the bridge. I work there four days a week. And what about you, Pauline? You working?”

Nana pulled her shirt down lower. “No, but I’ve been studying about trying to pick something up. You know, just while Brandon’s in school.”

Bonita waved her hands like an excited baby. “Ooh, ooh . . .

you ought to come down and talk with Nap. But Nap’s not his real name. They say it’s really Enoch or some other Bible name. Anyway, we got a spot open on the lunch crew. He fired that other girl.

I warned her that Nap wouldn’t put up with being late. Anyway, the tips are real good and the best thing is you can be home when school lets out.” She ran her hands through Beau’s hair until he edged away. “I sure believe in being home when my kids walk through the door.”

When Bonita and her husband, Johnny, returned with Beau the following Saturday, a boy not more than six was sitting on top of a big
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spare tire in the back of the truck. Later Beau introduced the boy as his brother, Josh. The dark-skinned boy with auburn hair smiled to reveal a missing front tooth.

Johnny brushed off his hand and removed a faded baseball cap. He nodded patiently and answered Nana’s questions about the safety of his boat. Feeling blood burn my face, I was relieved when Poppy patted her shoulder. “I want y’all to bring us back a mess now.”

Out on the sea, the heavy sun broke the November chill. The boat rocked with the currents, and a band of seagulls seeking handouts followed close behind. We settled near a marshy island. Besides the seagulls, the only visible life on the island was an eagle’s nest tucked on top of a dead tree.

Salt from the air tickled my tongue, and when no one was looking, I stuck it out to see if any would gather.

“Brandon, honey, do you need to put on your windbreaker? It’s getting chilly,” Bonita said.

I shook my head, and watched as Johnny arranged a folded net on the plywood that covered the back of the boat. The net squished together to form the shape of an accordion that Johnny played like a skilled musician. Then, without saying a word, they all took their places as Johnny drove the boat around in a wide circle.

“Hey, man. You better get over here and help. We ain’t catching your supper for you.” Johnny’s broad smile and a point at the steering wheel was all I needed. Gripping the sun-baked metal, I could see Johnny out of the corner of my eye. He lit a cigarette and pretended like he wasn’t watching.

The front of the boat dipped to meet the white-crested waves. I dug my toes deeper into the soles of my shoes and rocked only a little bit. Johnny laughed and yelled to the others. “Look at ol’ Brandon.

He’s working it now.” Only twice did he reach down and adjust my direction. His touch was that of leather, and his thick fingers were nicked in a way that made me think of tree bark.

We circled wide, and then Johnny took back control, directing the boat into the middle of the net we had dropped off. Beau and Bonita 72

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yanked the motor up with one swift pull. Once inside the net’s circle, they lowered it again and Bonita gave him a thumbs-up sign. As if reading my mind, Beau nudged me with his elbow. “He’s fixing to turn the motor back on to scare the fish into the net.”

Later when we pulled the net, I leaned into it just like Johnny showed me and yanked with more determination than I knew I had.

We were all together fighting to bring in our catch. Wearing long yellow gloves like the ones Nana used to wax the floor, Bonita and Beau grabbed a hold of the twitching fish that clung to the net like ornaments on a Christmas tree. “Yeah, man,” Johnny yelled as the ice chest filled up with silver-colored fish.

Watching Johnny laugh and tousle the younger boy’s hair, I felt the old ache. The same one I used to feel whenever I saw Uncle Cecil driving up the driveway with Mary Madonna and Mac in the backseat. The same way I felt whenever I looked too long at the picture that now sat on the small dresser in the camper. A family portrait taken at Sears with Mac’s stiff hand propped on Uncle Cecil’s shoulder and Mary Madonna’s arm touching Aunt Loraine’s skirt.