Behind my right knee gave me green. And when something unexpected touched my cheek, yellow.
I didn't think about that for long.
Other, smaller, sharks, drawn by blood, were coming in fast.
The first one, maybe five feet long, lunged in and tore a chunk out of the side of the bull shark. Then another chunk came out. More blood. More sharks.
But if I tried to move past the dying bull shark, I'd attract those same savage bites. I'd become part of the frenzy.
I finally realized I hadn't breathed in about thirty seconds. The top of my snorkel had long been underwater.
As my brain put all of this together, I saw a gaff reach into the water. It was a long-handled pole with a giant hook at the end. We used it to pull fish out of the water.
Now it was dragging the bull shark away from me.
Uncle Gord! Finally!
I fought the urge to suck for oxygen as I waited for the shark
to be pulled from the now-sideways cage. Once it was clear, Uncle Gord simply let go off the gaff. With a dozen small sharks now ripping at the body of the massive bull shark, it began to sink.
And I was finally free to escape.
Blackberries again.
It was Friday morning, and I sure didn't want to say good-bye to Key West.
I was standing beside Uncle Gord's old white Chevy truck. Sherri had pulled up on her scooter. As soon as she took off her helmet and shook her long hair free, I tasted the blackberries.
It was going to be a long time before that happened again. Uncle Gord was sending me back to Chicago.
“You sure you like the truck?” he was saying as Sherri walked closer.
“Love it,” I lied. In a few places, springs were sticking out of the front seat. The body of the truck had dozens of rust spots from the salty moist air of Key West. Nobody could love a truck like this.
But he and I had been lying to each other since breakfast. Lying is not right, but we had been doing it to protect each other.
And his lie probably had more truth in it than he wanted to admit. He'd said he couldn't afford to keep me or Sherri on as summer workers. He'd said he didn't have enough money to pay what he owed me. Or even to let me stay at his house anymore. He'd offered me the truck instead of my wages.
We both knew it was a lie, because we were both still shaken up about the bull shark. It was a good thing he'd been able to grab his rifle and shoot it. Otherwise yesterday's shark video would have had a much different ending.
I knew he was lying because he was afraid I'd get hurt if I stayed around.
“Hey,” Sherri said, “leaving already?”
I didn't trust my voice, so I nodded. I was leaving. I didn't know if Uncle Gord would be all right, but he wasn't letting me stay to help him. I didn't know if Uncle Gord's dive shop would be in business next year, so I didn't know if I'd be back. And that meant I didn't know if I'd see Sherri again.
I'd sure miss the taste of blackberries. But how could I tell her that with Uncle Gord standing right beside the truck?
Sherri gave a crooked smile. “Scared of sharks, I guess.”
Uncle Gord laughed. It was a forced laugh, like he had been waiting for an excuse to laugh.
“Should have seen him pull his wet suit off after he got back on the
GypSea
,” Uncle Gord told Sherri. “He'd filled it with more than water, if you get my drift.”
“Ha, ha,” I said.
Uncle Gord opened the driver's door for me to get in. He couldn't get rid of me fast enough.
“Well,” I said. “I guess this is good-bye.”
“You've got plenty of cash for gas and hotels,” Uncle Gord said. “And you have my cell number in case anything goes wrong.”
“Yes,” I said.
Sherri went around to the other side of the truck.
“Stupid shoelace,” I heard her say to herself.
She squatted as Uncle Gord kept talking. Even the top of her head, which was all I could see, was distracting.
“Don't drive for more than four hours at a time,” he said. “Make sure you stop and stretch. Take naps too.”
“Yes,” I said. I wanted to be talking to Sherri. Not to him. But really, what was I going to say?
Hey, Sherri, I think you're really cool. I wish I wasn't so weird, then maybe you could like me too.
“And we'll see you next summer when business picks up again, right?” His lie.
“Right.” My lie.
Sherri was in sight again. She wandered back around the other side of the truck. All the way to the front to where I stood at the driver's door.
“See ya,” she said. Casual. She stuck out her hand to shake my hand.
“See ya,” I said. I shook her hand. I would not have minded a hug. Like say, for about a half hour. “Hope your shoelace stays tied.”
What a dumb thing to say.
“See ya,” she said again. She let go of my hand.
“See ya,” I said again.
And that was it.
I got in the truck. Started it. And drove away.
As I made my way along Flagler Avenue, I was the slowest driver on the road. At every traffic light, I wanted to turn around. First, I knew Uncle Gord was in trouble. Second, I didn't want my last good-bye to Sherri to just be a handshake and two words.
See ya.
I knew what was going to hurt over the next few hours.
The mile markers.
About a hundred years earlier, a guy named Henry Flagler completed the railroad that linked Key West to Miami. Mile marker zero was at the Key West Post Office. Mile marker one was one mile closer to Miami. And so on, all the way to Florida City, where the markers ended at 127.5 miles.
At the end of every summer, as Uncle Gord drove me to Miami for my flight to Chicago, I'd see the mile markers, knowing the higher the number, the farther away I was from Key West. It was always depressing.
This time promised to be a lot worse.
Hope your shoelace stays tied. See ya.
Those were going to be my last words to her.
My last words. Not the last words of the summer, knowing I would come back. But probably my last words. Because this wasn't like the other times. Uncle Gord wasn't driving me. It wasn't the end of summer. And there wasn't anything to come back to.
I passed the Key West airport, telling myself I should turn around. But Uncle
Gord had made it clear I was not welcome in Key West.
At mile marker four, I passed the entrance to the Key West Golf Club. It made me wish that Uncle Gord did something safe like golfing, instead of looking for pirate treasure. It made me wish that my biggest worry was trying to hit a golf ball.
As I thought about this, the truck's ride became really bumpy.
A little farther down the road, just before reaching the small stretch of open water to Raccoon Key, I realized the back left tire was going flat.
Normally, this would be bad news.
Instead I grinned.
It was a sign: I was being told I shouldn't leave Key West.
I pulled over onto a side street, Key Haven Road, where there was a big parking lot next to a gas station.
Yup. Good news. I couldn't leave Key West. Not until the tire was fixed. How could Uncle Gord blame me for this?
Another idea hit me.
I stepped out of the truck into the Gulf breeze. I opened the hood and pulled a few spark plug wires loose. Then I tucked them in place so it would look like they were connected. Now I could tell Uncle Gord the engine had stopped working too. That would buy me a day or two longer in Key West. At least the weekend. And the guys who called themselves Miami lawyers would be gone at the end of it.
I'd see what I could do between now and then.
I had just shut the hood when I saw a familiar scooter ridden by a familiar person.
Sherri.
I tasted blackberries.
Yup, things were definitely looking better and better.
“Wow,” Sherri said, as she pulled up on her scooter beside the truck. “What a coincidence. I was going out to Raccoon Key because I heard about a job. Lucky for you, huh?”
“Lucky,” I said.
Very lucky.
“How about I give you a ride back?” she said. “You can call a towing service or something from town.”
“Sure.”
She patted the back of her scooter. “It won't be fast. But it should get us there.”
I jumped on the back of the scooter. I was afraid to put my arms around her. She grabbed my hands and wrapped my arms around her waist.
“That's better,” she said. “Hold on tight.”
Like I wouldn't.
She took us all the way back into downtown Key West. She went slowly, and it was the best half hour of my life.
She parked in front of an ice-cream store.
“Let's talk,” she said, pulling off her helmet and shaking her hair loose.
Like I wouldn't.
I bought her a milkshake. Chocolate. Vanilla for me. We sat in the shade of a palmetto.
“Yesterday afternoon,” she said after a long slurp, “when you guys were out in the
GypSea
, I came back to the office. I saw Judd inside. I thought it was weird. You know, because of his social security
number being wrong. So I watched through the window. He was on the computer. So I know he's up to something.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But what?” I still didn't know if I should tell her about the three-hundred-million-dollar treasure.
“And don't you think it's weird that you nearly died twice in accidents in one week? I'm sure that's why Gord is sending you away.”
“Maybe it's weird,” I said again. “Or maybe it's just bad luck.” I kept my eyes on my milkshake. She was very distracting, and I didn't want her to know it.
“And one other thing,” she said. “Just shaking hands good-bye is rotten.”
I lifted my eyes and stared straight into hers.
“Huh?” I managed to say.
“We've been working together for four summers. Maybe you aren't going to be back next summer. Don't you think after all that time it should be a little more than a handshake for good-bye?”
“Um, yes.”
“But with Gord there, what could I say to you? I'm glad we can at least have a milk-shake together before you go.”
“Me too.” I said. I lifted my milkshake as if I were toasting her.
She kept staring at me.
“What?” I said.
“How can you be so stupid?”
“What?”
“I'm not going to throw myself at you,” she said. “So you'd better figure out what to say next if you want me to stick around to finish my milkshake.”
I nearly choked.
Did she mean...
“I mean,” she said. “There's a reason I don't have a boyfriend. And lots of guys ask me out.”
Did she mean...
“And maybe that reason is you,” she said.
Wow
. I didn't know what to say.
She waited a few moments. Then she frowned at me. And stood up.
“Good-bye then,” she said. “I guess I've made a big enough fool out of myself.”
“Um, no,” I blurted. “Let me explain.”
She sat down. “Okay. You've got thirty seconds to give me a reason to stay.”
“I'm too weird for someone like you,” I said.
“You don't seem too weird. And I've known you a long time.”
“Your face. Each time I see it, I taste blackberries.”
She raised an eyebrow. Puzzled.
I took a deep breath. And explained.
I spent the rest of the day looking for Judd Warner. I finally saw him leaving the dock in the late afternoon.
It was easy to stay out of sight. It was a Friday evening. Lots of people on the streets.
I followed him back to Uncle Gord's dive shop. That shouldn't have been surprising. After all, Judd Warnerâif that was his nameâworked for Uncle Gord.
It wasn't surprising, either, that the dive shop was empty. With me and Sherri out of work, only Judd and Uncle Gord still worked there. And I knew Uncle Gord was getting ready for another night trip on the
GypSea
.
What was surprising was that Judd broke into Uncle Gord's office.
I was watching from a window near the back of the shop.
Judd snooped around for a few minutes, and when he stepped outside the office again, he had a pistol in his hand.
I crouched farther down behind the window. I waited for him to walk past. I held my breath and hoped he couldn't hear how loud my heart was beating.
Judd stepped past the counter. He didn't look behind him. He didn't see me.
He was wearing black pants and a black T-shirt. As he walked toward the back room, he folded a piece of paper and stuck it in his back pocket. He lifted his shirt and put his pistol into his belt. He dropped the shirt to cover the pistol.
I kept holding my breath. I watched his shadow. It took a step toward the front, then was gone. He stepped outside. A few moments later, the door at the front opened and closed. I heard the turn of the key. Judd had locked the front door behind him.
I stood up.
What should I do?
If I called the police, what would I tell them? It didn't look like Judd had robbed Uncle Gord. It seemed like the piece of paper had been important. The police would ask me what was missing, and I wouldn't be able to tell them. Plus, it would be Judd's word against mine.
I wanted to let Uncle Gord know about this. But then I'd have to tell him I had not left Key West.
I stood for a while longer. Flies buzzed against the window. Other than that and the street noises, the dive shop was very quiet.
I thought it was strange that Judd was wearing black jeans and a black T-shirt. Although it was early evening, it was still
very hot. Why wear black in this heat? I had never seen Judd wearing black before.
I grinned at how smart I was. If you were going to follow people at night, wouldn't you wear something dark?