Free Signed, Skye Harper by Carol Lynch Williams Page A

side of the Simmonses’ motor home. No other sounds. What time was it?
    I reached toward the moon, going up on my tiptoes, then breathed deep and caught a whiff of Nanny’s cigarette. I walked toward the sound of the waves, where I was sure I’d find my family and the jailbait.
    What I didn’t expect was the ocean to look like a movie ocean, made of dark blue and almost-white colors.
    The group of them moved toward the shoreline, Denny hopping along on his leash, Thelma running ahead with Steve, who carried a surfboard (what?), Nanny’s cigarette glowing when she turned back to me and called out, “Come on, Winston. We don’t got all night.” { 131 }
    82
    The Gulf
    The Gulf looked like a cake with shiny icing. Waves rolled in, but they weren’t huge. The water was calm enough to do some decent swimming in. This place was way more tranquil than New Smyrna Beach.
    I turned and ran back into the motor home.
    My bag! My bathing suit! A towel!
    In moments I was changed, leaving all my clothes on the tiny bathroom floor. Then I ran out the door again, leaping to the parking lot pavement.
    Mark Spitz, I thought. I could almost see him from my dream. Mark Spitz and the 1976 Olympics for me, if I wasn’t doing time because of our unwise decision making in moments of severe stress.
    By now, Nanny walked the shoreline, giving Denny plenty of time to hop this way and that. Steve was in the water. These nighttime waves in the Gulf of Mexico weren’t the same as what we got over on the East Coast.
    “Winston,” Nanny said as I ran past her, “you be careful.”
    Olympics. Here I come.
    The water was warm, silky, and in a moment I was { 132 }
    diving through a wave, swimming hard against the current, and popping up in time to ride a gentle swell up and down.
    This was the life. { 133 }
    83
    Gulf Swimming
    I swam till Nanny called me closer and my arms were tired.
    “You two,” she said when Steve and me stood knee-deep in the waves. Water ran down my face, down my back, dripped off my fingertips. “This sound is putting me to sleep. Fifteen more minutes for the both of you, then you get back in and we leave. I’m going in to bed. Make sure you dry Thelma off good before you bring her in our little home away from home and don’t track any sand into that vehicle. We will never get all that out.”
    “Yes ma’am, Miss Jimmie,” Steve said.
    “A few more minutes than fifteen,” I said. “Please, Nanny.”
    Nanny walked off like I hadn’t spoken, and I knew the answer was no the way she didn’t even look back.
    “Dang it,” I said.
    “Kiss me, Churchill,” Steve said.
    Sure thing, I thought, but I said nothing. Did snot run down my face? I swallowed. Why did I walk toward him? I should wait until I knew Nanny wouldn’t look back and see us. I needed to take this time to swim, while I could, I only had fifteen minutes. { 134 }
    Fifteen minutes.
    Enough time, Patty Bailey said, to have sex. I pushed Patty Bailey’s voice away.
    My body walked toward Steve, who held on to his surfboard with one arm and reached toward me with the other. My mind worked. Mark Spitz. Olympics. A thousand miles to drive.
    “Gotta swim while I can,” I said, as Steve’s hand closed around nothing but air.
    I dove into the water to practice in the moonlit night my last few minutes of freedom. { 135 }
    84
    Copilot
    The highway was deserted, only a few cars traveling against us, only a few that passed. The cypress grew up like giants out of the water to our right. When I squinted, staring at the trees, they seemed to change to slender ladies, with moss for hair, arms dipping or reaching for the heavens, all of them standing in tar.
    I worked my way down the hall, pulled the shade down in the kitchen, and went to the front of the motor home. Nanny had climbed up on the bed above us. And I knew why. To keep an eye and ear out to whatever me and Steve thought to do while we drove. How embarrassing!
    “Churchill,” Steve said when I sat in