U Is For Undertow

“Maybe we’ll be gone by then.”

“Then how would you collect the dough?”

“We’d find a way,” she said, irritated with his persistence.

Jon said, “Why don’t you do the obvious? Tell them you have her stashed somewhere and you won’t turn her over unless they make it worth your while. They don’t pony up, they’ll never see her again.”

“I don’t think my dad would go for it,” Creed said. “So far he’s turned us down cold.”

“Don’t ask for forty. Ask for fifteen. That’s enough to get you out of the country.”

“Yeah, but what if they balk?” she asked. “I mean, what if they tell us to take her and shove off. Then what?”

“Then I guess you get your daughter back,” Jon said.

It was the weekend after that that their relationship changed. The last two weeks of June, Walker went to Hawaii on vacation with his folks. With Walker gone, Jon was at loose ends. The first couple of days he hung out at his place, watching TV. On day three he decided it was time to get out. He fired up his scooter and headed over to the Unruhs’, arriving just in time to see the family pulling out of the drive. Looked like Patrick at the wheel, Deborah in the front seat, and Creed, Rain, and Sky Dancer in the back. He wasn’t sure if Destiny was with them or not.

He parked the scooter and then peeked in the yellow school bus, which was empty. He could see her half-finished macramé lying in the grass. “Hey, Destiny? You here?” No response.

He shrugged and circled the house to the cabana, surprised at the pang of disappointment that shot through him.

“Is that you, Jon?”

He followed the sound of her voice and found her sitting on the edge of the pool, her gypsy skirt pulled up around her as she dangled her legs in the water. She wore a tank top, a white one, and he could see the freckles that covered her shoulders and chest. “Sun damage,” she said when she caught his look.

“Where’d everybody go? I saw Creed and his folks in the car with the kids.”

“It’s Sky Dancer’s birthday and he asked if he could go to the band concert in the pocket park on the hill. Deborah packed a picnic lunch. They’ll be gone for hours.”

“Why didn’t you go?”

“Because I was hoping to see you. You want to see me?” She lifted her skirt, showing him that she was naked from the waist down. She opened her legs, exposing herself.

Irritably, Jon said, “What’s the matter with you? Would you cut that out?”

She laughed. “Don’t be a stick in the mud. It’s just us.”

He sca

“This is a very bad idea,” he said.

“I think it’s a very good idea.”

He put his hands in his pockets, his gaze restlessly searching the perimeter of the property. The air was hot and he could hear birds. Two houses away, a lawn mower buzzed, and even at that remove he could smell the cut grass.

She ran her hands down along her belly and between her legs. “What would you give for a piece of this?”

“I’m not going to pay you.”

“I’m not talking about money, shithead. I’m talking about what it’s worth to you.”

“What about Creed?”

“We have an open relationship.”

“He knows you’re doing this?”

“He probably has a pretty good idea. As long as we don’t rub his nose in it, so to speak, then what’s it to him? Creed doesn’t own me and I don’t own him.”

“Anyone could walk in,” he said. “What if the mailman comes by or the UPS guy, delivering a package?”

“If you’re so worried about being seen, why don’t we go into the cabana where we can talk and get to know each other a little bit. If you feel uncomfortable, all you have to do is say so. I’m not going to knock you down and jump your bones.”

She held a hand up, wanting him to pull her to her feet.

Jon ignored her.

“You’d prefer to do it all out here?”

“No.”

“Then help me up.”

Jon grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. Primly she shook her skirt down. “All nice and neat,” she said.

She moved toward the cabana. Jon followed her with a mounting sense of disbelief. This couldn’t be happening. Passing through the door, she lifted her crossed arms and pulled the tank top over her head.

Inside, she’d made a pallet of blankets. Two joints at the ready with a roach clip, a pack of matches, and an ashtray. She unbuttoned her skirt and stepped out of it. Her figure was womanly-generous ass, small breasts with brown nipples as big and flat as fifty-cent pieces. The thatch of hair between her legs was dark and bushy. She knelt on the blanket, picked up a joint, and lit it. She took two or three quick draws and held the smoke in. She closed her eyes and toked once more before releasing the smoke in a thin stream. “You’re wasting time, Jon. Don’t just stand there with your clothes on. You can do better than that.”

He hesitated, looking down at her as though measuring the drop from a ten-meter board. He stripped off his T-shirt and then stepped out of his pants. When he took off his jockey shorts, he saw the change come over her face.

“Oh my god, you’re beautiful. Incredible. I’d forgotten what eighteen looks like.” She crawled to the edge of the blanket and ran a hand along his bare flank and then looked up at him. He bent and kissed her upturned mouth.

28

Wednesday afternoon I took Cabana Boulevard up the hill to Seashore Park, a city-owned stretch of palm trees and grass that skirts the bluff overlooking the Pacific. That morning I’d called Michael and asked him to meet me there. In my shoulder bag I had the file folder of clippings about Keith Kirkendall and copies of the photographs his sister had given me the day before. My body hummed with dread, but there was no avoiding the conversation. I couldn’t bear to lay the revelation at his feet, but there was no escape.

The day was su

I heard Sutton’s MG approaching long before I saw him pull into the small parking lot. He had the top down and his hair had been whipped into an untidy thatch that he smoothed as he stepped out of the car. He wore a sweatshirt and shorts, and the sight of his knobby knees nearly broke my heart. As before, I was struck by his youthfulness. When he was fifty instead of twenty-six, he’d look the same. I couldn’t picture him portly or bald. I couldn’t picture him with heavy jowls or a double chin. As he aged, his face would shrink away from his skull, but it would otherwise retain its boyish cast.