And as I cautiously scampered down the rocks and retreated back toward the slippery stairs, I looked back at the rock opening and was struck by a seemingly random, but considerably eerie thought, accompanied by a shiver of foreboding worthy of a thousand goosebumps.
Wouldn’t this be the absolute perfect place to hide a dead body? Right in that little rock formation; where nobody would ever find it. The thought spooked me enough to hustle up the stairs and sprint my ass back to the cottage, unnerved.
Chapter 14
Presentable
I spent a good chunk of that day at the winter pool, as usual, mostly hanging out with my new friend, Travis, as we perfected various histrionics off the diving board. His body mass was doing a significantly better job than mine at providing oceanic turbulence. Oh, we might have snuck in a cannonball (or two!).
“GENTLEMEN I REMIND YOU FOR THE THIRD AND FINAL TIME – THERE IS ABSOLUTELY NO CANNONBALLING IN THE POOL!”
I was even getting used to Travis’s southern accent, and could now decipher ninety percent of the conversations. I even started wishing I had an accent—which he told me I did—say “Paahk your caah?” he teased.
Anyway, I liked his accent better. And we were having a great time, popping in and out of the pool and alternating trips to the sauna to see who could stand it the hottest (hint, not me!) and who could get from being seated in the sauna, ready, set, go, into the deep end first. It was a great day, and I was looking forward to eating barbecue over at his cottage that night, followed by watching the Friday Night Double Creature Feature and cooking s’mores, as was our plan!
My parents made me wash up extra good, and my mother sent me back to the bathroom not once but twice to clean under my fingernails. She also made me wear jeans without any holes in them and a clean (by summer standards) dressy shirt which I did not like.
“You need to look presentable, Jimmyrocket. You are going to be someone’s dinner guest, and that’s pretty special”
My mom reinforced my responsibility and “best behavior,” stuff only served to unleash hoards of hyperactive butterflies that heretofore, weren’t there.
“I look fine, Ma. Can’t I just gooooo now?”
“Daaaad! Can I?”
“Ok, Jimmyrocket, go ahead and be home by 9:00. That’s 9:00, not 9:01 hear me?”
“Don’t make us come calling for you, ok, pal?” It wasn’t a question.
“Sweetie, you want a flashlight?” Mom chimed in.
“Jeez Louise, Ma, nobody over like, six uses a flashlight here! Ever! Gawd, Ma!” And to a fading cascade of last-second parental instructions behind me…
I was out the door like Dinty Moore!
Chapter 15
Telling
It took me about two seconds to get to his house. Another quaint, cookie-cutter cottage, this one having dark navy shutters, and a big rock in the front yard, dusted with snow. There was an enormous Winnebago RV with a Confederate flag (I’d never seen one in person.) flying from its rear antenna. To me, it looked pretty cool, like something I saw on TV in a Civil War movie.
I jogged up and rang the doorbell which made more of a buzz sound than a bell. Then I accidentally kicked the door when Travis’s dad answered it, making it bounce back in my own face. Oh, groovy.
Mr. Tucker was a big, rugged-looking man, both wide and tall. He was dressed in overalls and sported a short “wiffle” haircut, framing a large, square face.
“Y’all must be Travis’s friend Jimmy, right?”
“Yes, sir.” He opened the screen door, without me getting hit again.
“I’m Travis’s father, Hank, but you can call me Mr. Tucker. Well, come on in, son, it’s mighty cold out there.” I hustled in where Travis was waiting.
“Hey.”
“Hey!” It only took me like a sec to get here. (I wasn’t really good at starting conversations with adults around.)
He led me into the kitchen where his mom was cooking.
“Jimmyrocket,” said Travis, “this here’s my mom.”
“Hey there, James?” said Mrs. Tucker (ugh, nobody calls me that), “I’m so glad y’all and Travis have been havin’ fun togetha ovah at the pool? I do hope y’all lihk chicken pot pie. It’s mah specialty!”
“Smells mighty nice here. Don’t it?”
Travis’s parents stayed in the kitchen preparing dinner, the delicious aroma already filling the air, while we played Crazy Eights in front of the fireplace. As we played, we chatted about normal kid stuff, sports, school, our favorite television shows and that sort of thing, until dinner was ready.
As we passed the time waiting for dinner, the house smelled of sweet and savory deliciousness. The sweet aroma of home-cooked pie blended perfectly with the scent of charcoal emanating from the red-hot fireplace. The entire cottage smelled like a campfire, and I liked it. I was starved and struggling not to salivate down my chin.
The dinner itself was even more delicious than the smell. I’d never had anything better. We sat around the typical rectangular-shaped table in the cottage’s useful, but not large, kitchen, which as always, featured plenty of knotty pine mixed with kitchen counters and floors of linoleum.
The pot pies were brimming with tender chicken and assorted vegetables, with a sweet, flaky crust and savory sauce. I couldn’t understand why we never had chicken pot pies this good at my house. I guess Morton’s frozen dinners weren’t the best after all.
Of course, the dinner was also an occasion for random banter and assorted conversation. “Get-to-knows,” is what Travis’s dad called them. That’s fine.
Although I was a bit more shy than my usual self, I politely answered whatever was asked of me and remembered all my please and thank yous and spoke only when I was spoken to. Travis’s parents struck me as somewhat strict and more than a bit curt, something I really wasn’t used to.
About halfway through my final bite of dinner, having left a very clean plate, the conversation shifted from fun facts about The South and Mashnee and details of Alabama and the normal how was my winter going, to queries about me and my folks. Like, my background and stuff.
“Let me ask you a question there, James.” (Why now the formal James?), Travis’s father inquired. His deep voice was flavored with a pronounced drawl. “I never knowed no one, nohow with the surname ‘Rocket’ before.”
