скачать книгу бесплатно
I got down on my knees and allowed Misty to straddle my shoulders. The tricky part would be getting up.
“Hey, you guys, give me a hand,” I hissed to my coconspirators.
We were making more noise than a Ringling Brothers circus. I was positive someone had already called the cops, so when Misty fell off my shoulders and we landed in a heap of arms and legs, I knew we were busted. It didn’t come as a surprise when the front porch light went on.
“Beat feet,” Bunny yelled, dropping the incriminating paper.
Running sounded like one of the best ideas I’d ever heard; too bad Misty was sprawled across me.
“Get up,” I demanded. Then I pushed her off and scrambled toward the hedge. Yay for adrenaline and the flight response! I was well hidden in the leafy foliage before my compatriots made it halfway to safety.
By the time we tumbled into Bunny’s car, every dog in the neighborhood was barking. The Bennett family must’ve had some larcenous genes lurking in the background. The way she pulled her car out of the alley, sans lights, was pure genius.
“I about busted a gut.” Mary Alice lapsed into a fit of giggles. “I can’t believe we did that.”
Neither could I. Had I totally taken leave of my senses? Oh right, this was the goody-two-shoes club’s summer of mischief—innocent, of course. And if I could talk Daddy into buying that one, I was shoo-in for an Academy Award.
“Where are we going?” Misty asked. She’d obviously recovered her sense of speech. From the moment I pushed her away, until we were well out of the danger zone, moaning had been her only form of communication.
“We’re going to the truck stop,” Bunny answered, whizzing down Main Street.
The only place in town that was open twenty-four hours a day was the truck-stop restaurant on the interstate.
“I’m hungry for some pecan waffles,” the princess of our misadventure informed us before she launched into a boisterous sing-along with Carole King.
“Running from the law makes you hungry, huh?” I asked. My pesky sarcasm reared its ugly head again. I was beginning to doubt our friendship, and that made me sad.
“Yes, ma’am,” she said, gracing me with the dimples that had turned boys all over the county into slobbering idiots.
Bunny was drowning her waffles with syrup. “Are you over your snit?” Her question was directed at me.
“Beg your pardon?” I asked, emphasizing the question with my famous arched eyebrow. Bucky taught me that trick, and I had to admit it made an effective statement.
“So, how does Charlie feel about you going back East to school?” Although Mary Alice, the inveterate peacemaker, was attempting to head off a spat, her choice of questions left a lot to be desired.
“Charlie has nothing to do with where I go to school. I haven’t discussed it with him. And it’s really none of his business.” Bunny punctuated her assertion with a hair flip.
Sometimes that girl was a real bitch. As I watched her, I tried to remember why we were friends. To be totally honest, it was one of those situations where you intellectually acknowledge a person’s faults, but for some reason you choose to ignore her shortcomings.
But when it came to her cavalier attitude toward Charlie, she pushed all my buttons. In all probability it was a good thing we were about to scatter to the four winds.
College would be a new beginning for all of us, and I wasn’t sure our friendships would survive.
Chapter 6
I think I mentioned I was employed—sort of. That is, if you called sitting by a pool sipping Tab and watching kids play Marco Polo a job. At any rate, every other afternoon and on Saturday mornings, I was a lifeguard at the Meadow Lake Resort where Charlie and Colton gave ski lessons to the debutantes from Houston whose parents owned summer mansions. I referred to those airheads as Bimbos in Bikinis—not that I was jealous of their bosoms or anything.
The days I worked were high on my “look forward to” list, because I could hang out with Charlie. Every so often Colton would join us. Although they were twins, they were physically as different as night and day. Charlie had the looks of a blond surfer boy while Colton resembled a young Clint Eastwood.
They were both handsome guys, but there was something about Charlie I found irresistible. What’s it about sexual chemistry? People through the millennia have asked that question and the answer’s always eluded them.
So I continued to pal around with Charlie. We’d talk for hours. At times it felt like we were on a date. On other occasions, it seemed more like a therapy session, especially when he lapsed into a discussion of Bunny.
There was obviously more than a little trouble in paradise; in other words, they were fighting like cats and dogs. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. I wasn’t surprised, but I really didn’t want Bunny to be hurt. And more importantly, I didn’t want Charlie hurt.
But Charlie and Bunny’s relationship had nothing to do with the day my world went to hell. It started out innocently. I was doing a Saturday-morning shift at the pool. Charlie had some private ski students and Bunny was in San Antonio with her parents.
“Hey, Sunshine.” Charlie strolled over to my lifeguard stand. My heart did its usual flip-flop. Darn it, I wished it would stop doing that.
“Would you do me a favor?”
Anything, especially if it involved lots of kissing. That thought deserved a mental slap. “Sure. What do you need?”
“I have a private client coming up from Houston for a lesson this afternoon and Colton’s busy so I’d like you to drive the boat.” Charlie and his brother made money team-teaching water-ski lessons. One of the twins would drive and the other one would get in the water to assist the student.
“You might remember the guy. His parents own a house out on the island. In fact, I think you dated him a couple of times.”
“Are you talking about Stuart Redding?”
“Yeah.”
Boy, did I remember that jerk! “I had one date with him.” And a team of wild horses couldn’t have forced me back into a car with that pervert. He was one of those rich kids who thought a country bumpkin would be an easy lay. One quick jab, and that notion was dispelled!
“He’s not very nice.”
“What did he do?” Charlie was about to segue into his white-knight routine. No telling how he’d react if I told him about my Stuart encounter.
“Oh, nothing much.”
“Are you positive?”
“Yeah. What time do you want me?” I’d been driving a ski boat since before I had a vehicle license, so this would be a no-brainer—plus Stuart was afraid of me.
“Let’s say three o’clock.”
“Okay.”
Later, as I looked back on our conversation, it struck me as ironic that a simple little request could have such a profound impact on my life. My shift was over and I was sipping a Coke when a flashy new Corvette roared up and screeched to a stop. The driver was Stuart “I’m nothing but trouble” Redding.
We’d been on the water almost an hour and Stuart still hadn’t managed to get up on the skis. It usually took a six-year-old kid about three tries before he was up and away. I wasn’t positive, but I suspected Stuart was a pothead and that affected his coordination.
I’d made the boat stop and start about two dozen times and the guy still couldn’t do it. Billy Tom, who happened to be our spotter, and I were placing bets on how soon Stuart would give up.
I felt terrible for Charlie. He’d been in the water so long he probably looked like a California raisin. And that wasn’t the worst of it. Even over the rumble of the motor I could hear Stuart cursing. From the snippets I overheard, I knew he’d disparaged Charlie’s teaching methods, my driving, the river, the weather and God only knows what else. Yep, he was something, all right.
“Charlie’s swimming back to the boat,” Billy Tom said.
I cut the engine so Charlie could hoist himself safely onto the rear platform. He heaved his skis aboard and sat there for a few minutes with his head in his hands. Then he grinned at me, brightening my day.
“Hey, Sunshine. You up for one last try?”
“Sure.” If he’d asked me to jump off the bridge I would’ve done it. I would’ve run with scissors if he’d suggested it.
“I suspect he’s a lost cause, but I’m gonna try one more thing. If I get him up, give it enough gas to keep him in an upright position, okay? Go down the river where it’s not quite so crowded. I’m leaving my skis here, so after he goes down help him into the boat and come back to get me. I don’t think he’ll stay up very long. Is that okay?”
“Uh-huh.”
Charlie jumped back in the water and paddled over to his student in preparation for another try. When he gave the thumbs-up, I hit the gas and much to my surprise whatever Charlie did worked.
“He’s up,” Billy yelled.
“Thank goodness,” I muttered. The whole thing was getting old.
“Give it more gas. He’s a pretty big guy.” Billy said. “I want to keep him up as long as possible.”
“I do, too.” I made a wide, gentle arc into the river. Our passenger did not need to get fancy. Experienced skiers preferred the smooth water outside the wake. Novices, on the other hand, were safer within the confines of the boat wave.
“How’s he doing?” I shouted to be heard over the roar of the engine.
“Fine,” Billy said, and then amended his assessment. “Uh-oh. He’s out in the smooth water. I wonder how he managed that?”
Yeah, how did he do it? It took some measure of control to jump the slight swell created by the boat, and control wasn’t his forte.
I decided the derelict Two Mile Bridge would be a great turning-around place. We could go under the bridge and I’d slow down to allow our student to sink into the water. Then we’d retrieve him and this fiasco would be over.
Too bad it didn’t happen that way. Not even close.
“Stop, stop, stop!” Billy screamed. “Stop! Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God!”
It was the desperation of his last “Oh, God” that prompted me to jerk back on the throttle, stalling the engine.
“What?” I launched myself from the driver’s seat and ran to the rear of the boat.
I looked toward where our student should’ve been, but there was no one in sight. The only thing I could see was the yellow nylon ski rope stretched out behind us.
“He hit the bridge pillar.” Billy put his hands on his head and rocked back and forth. “Oh, my God! Shit! He hit the bridge!”
“He did what?” I wanted to smack Billy. “What? What did he do?” Surely Billy was wrong.
“He hit the bridge,” Billy Tom moaned. “He smacked into the concrete!”
My heart flapped around like a landed bass, but I somehow maintained enough awareness to know we had to do something.
“Pull in the rope, Billy! Right now!” My tone of voice must have penetrated his building panic, because he did as I instructed.
I turned the boat around and slowly motored back to the bridge. Please, God, please, God, please, please, please—Billy had to be wrong.
“There he is.” Billy spotted Stuart’s orange life vest. “Damn! Damn! Damn! Look at his neck.”
One glance at the unnatural angle of his head and I about lost it. He had to be dead. With all that blood in the water, he had to be dead.
Dead!
I motored up next to the body and Billy was in the water almost before I cut the engine. He was now issuing orders. I, on the other hand, was but an inch from pure terror. “I’m going to take him to shore,” Billy called. He had Stuart in a rescue hold and was swimming to the riverbank.
“Drive over to that dock and see if someone’s home. We have to call the cops,” he shouted.
I wanted my Daddy. He could make everything better, I told myself. But could he really?
I barely had the boat stopped before I was out of it and sprinting up the hill, praying that someone would be home.
“Help us,” I screeched, beating on the door. My guardian angel must’ve been working overtime. Thank you, God!
Mrs. Thompson was a tiny woman with steel-gray hair. “Take a deep breath and put your head between your legs,” she told me.
After she was sure I wasn’t going to pass out, she asked, “What’s the problem?”
Somehow between sobs, I managed to spit out my story. By that time, Mr. Thompson had joined us. He was the one who called for the rescue units.
Mrs. Thompson was a retired nurse and she ran with me to where Billy Tom had laid Stuart on the grass. Regrettably there was no need for medical assistance. She confirmed my worst suspicion; Stuart was not returning to his good life in the Corvette lane.
“Someone has to go downriver to get Charlie.” My teeth were chattering like castanets, making it hard to get the words out.
“Charlie?” Mr. Thompson asked.
“Yeah, he was teaching Stuart to ski and he dropped off in the water over that way.” I nodded toward Charlie’s location.
Looking back on it, I think I scared Mr. Thompson half to death. The way he jumped into his boat and sped off, he must’ve thought he was about to find another dead body.
It seemed like an eternity, although it was probably just a matter of minutes before he returned with Charlie.
“Oh, Charlie.” That was all I could say before I broke into tears.
“It’s okay. I promise, it’ll be okay.” He sank down on the grass where I was huddled in one of Mrs. Thompson’s blankets.
Damn, I was cold.
“Listen to me,” Charlie commanded. “It wasn’t your fault.”
He enveloped me in an embrace. He was warm. He was safe. And my world had just imploded.
“Sweetheart, are you all right?” Much to my surprise, Daddy was sitting on the ground next to me. Where had he come from?
I looked up and was astonished to see a fleet of fire and police vehicles.
“I’m taking you home.” Daddy pulled me to my feet and propelled me in the direction of his cruiser. “Come on, boys, I’ll drive you home, too. Tomorrow will be plenty of time to talk about what happened.”
Chapter 7
