Forever Friday (21 page)

“In
Cleopatra
. But she’s not here.”

“What?”

“She’s moored over at the dock in Seabrook. Shipshape and loaded with a week’s worth of supplies.” Huck laughed. “I had to do something exciting while you worked. Now, as Mister Jack told me when I was ten, close your mouth before Mister and Mizz housefly change address.”

It didn’t take Huck long to become an “old salt” like Gabe. She quickly learned the difference between fore and aft, port and starboard. In less than two days, she could raise and lower
Cleopatra’
s sails, command the helm, and tack into the wind. They didn’t need to worry about complicated navigation because they never left sight of land, dropping anchor close to shore each evening.

Breakfast and lunch were prepared in
Cleopatra
’s small galley, while suppers were cooked on the beach over a driftwood fire, the orange and blue flames disappearing into glowing embers. On some nights, the cool Gulf breeze would gust, scattering red-hot coals like hundreds of fiery cat eyes across the dark, deserted sand. Not bothering with suits, they’d swim in the warm shallows, then wrap in a blanket and hold each other close. After sharing deepest secrets with the moon and stars, their spoken words transformed into soft murmurs of love-making, lasting well into the wee hours. Then with heavy eyelids, they’d return to
Cleopatra
, falling asleep to the gentle lap of waves against her bow.

Days were spent exploring and relaxing. There was always coffee to
drink and subjects to discuss. The Long Division was a favored topic, and how they’d defeat it best.

First was their strong faith—which was a given—along with mutual respect. And when it came to household chores, they’d decided that gender didn’t matter. All work outside their day jobs, whether washing dishes or weeding flower beds, would be shared. Each would have a preference, but if they pulled together, there would be more time to spend doing the activities they enjoyed most.

Saturday mornings would be a period of reconnecting. A time to lounge in their cozy parlor and talk without the demands of schedule. If the weather was dreary, they’d just snuggle on the love seat, while a slow rain pattered against the panes. Some Saturdays they’d plan projects, then spring into action. Others would be spent rereading the postcards. Touching. Dreaming.

Above all, they vowed to protect their privacy and never take part in matri-”moan”-y, that all-too-common practice of constantly griping about one’s spouse. If there was a problem, they’d face it head-on, allowing each other the freedom to air any grievance. Hopefully, arguments would be rare but, when they did occur, would be mutually solved under the unified stance of their marriage vows.

At midafternoon on their last full day, Gabe sailed
Cleopatra
into a small clear-water cove off Atkinson Island and dropped anchor. Huck climbed up from the galley carrying an apple and paring knife. “Want half?”

“Are you going to peel it?” Gabe licked his lips.

“Don’t I always?” Huck sat on the edge of the cockpit, hanging her legs off the starboard side, feeling free. She’d still not told him about Clark’s letter, and tomorrow they’d be back to their normal routines.
The entire trip had been ideal, and she didn’t want to ruin a moment of it. So last night at supper’s campfire, she’d decided
not
to show him the letter, burning Clark’s final words while Gabe gathered driftwood. Clark was happy and out of her life, so what good would producing the letter do? And the fact she’d saved it this long might be cause for even more hurt. She and Gabe had promised to share their deepest secrets, but this one had become shallow at best.

Huck watched the apple peel drop into the water. She’d still tell him Clark had married. That would be a good thing. But it might require a tiny fib.

Several small fish bolted for the peel, catching her eye. And then she spied something shiny on the sandy bottom.

“Gabe! Come quick. We’ve found money.”

“Where?”

She pointed the knife toward half a dozen small round objects. “Coins. Think they’re Spanish doubloons?”

“It’s possible.” Gabe rubbed his chin. “Legend says that Jean Lafitte buried treasure around here. Treasure that’s never been found.” He studied the coins. “Water looks to be about fifteen feet deep. The sun must be at exactly the right position for us to see them.”

“Maybe it’s a pirate treasure,” Huck said conspiratorially.

“Maybe. Unless it’s man-eating sharks fishing for greedy humans. I’ve heard they use coins for bait.”

Huck ignored the comment. “Well, we must take a closer look. It could be a significant historical find.”

“Or some local fisherman had a hole in his pocket.”

After an apple break, they agreed Gabe should dive to the bottom
and retrieve the coins. “If I get eaten by a shark, take good care of Blue Norther,” he said, then grinned.

“Don’t you even suggest it.”

“Okay. Don’t take care of our car. I won’t be around to know.” He dove into the water.

“Gabe Alexander!” Huck scolded. A dangerous shark in this part of the bay was unheard of, but still, one never knew when tragedy might strike. An icy shiver inched up her spine as she watched Gabe descend into the depths. “Mother said to never borrow trouble,” she said aloud. “So I won’t.” Still, an ominous feeling surrounded her.

Fifteen seconds later, Gabe had retrieved the coins and signaled he was on his way to the surface. Huck breathed a sigh of relief.

But after five more seconds passed, he was still at the bottom. Then five more. What was he doing? “This is no time to show off how long you can hold your breath,” Huck shouted as the coins fell from Gabe’s hand. Why did he drop …? No! He was struggling. Caught in something. Trying to free himself!

Grabbing the paring knife, Huck leaped off the boat. For a split second, she lost her bearings, almost swallowed some water, then saw Gabe. As a child, she’d been a good swimmer, but East Texas creeks were narrow, shallow.

Swim faster
, her brain and heart screamed in unison.

Not like that. Use both hands. Grip the knife between your teeth like you did when playing pirates with Cutter. Swim deeper
.

Eyes stung.

Ears popped.

Deeper!

Lungs begged to explode.

Fingers too weak now to hold the knife.

And then Gabe’s strong hand grabbed hers, hacking the blade through a giant ball of tangled fishing line.

Everything went black.

The next thing Huck saw was the shape of his face, silhouetted against bright sunlight. “I thought … I’d lost you,” he said, barely above a whisper.

She tried to talk but coughed, shooting raw burning pain from lungs into sinuses.

“Just lie still. We’re back on
Cleopatra
. You’re going to be fine.”

Huck coughed again, motioning to sit upright.

Gabe cradled her in his arms. “You’re going to be fine,” he repeated.

Within thirty minutes, she was wrapped in a blanket, sitting in the cockpit, nursing hot tea sweetened with honey. The weakness in her muscles made her arms tremble. Her sinuses were still sore, but she was on the mend.

“You saved my life … our life together.” Gabe stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. “How you freed me from that web of fishing line with a little paring knife I’ll never …” A tear slid down his cheek.

“But I blacked out. You saved me.”

“You saved me first,” Gabe countered.

They laughed.

“It’s a good thing you could hold your breath like that.” Huck sipped her tea.

“I learned how during the war. Our gas masks didn’t always work properly.” He smiled and lit a cigarette. “By the time you showed up with the knife, I could only have lasted … say … another hour or two.”

“If I wasn’t so exhausted I’d hit you.”

“Oh. I almost forgot.” Gabe held up a shiny silver coin. “Found it in my trunks. It’s Spanish all right.”

“A doubloon?”

“I’m afraid not.” He handed it to Huck. “Date’s 1891. Has a picture of King Alfonso the Thirteenth minted on the front. And he’s
still
king. I’ve been reading about him in the newspaper.”

Huck rubbed her thumb across King Alfonso. “Isn’t he the king who saved himself and his bride from an assassination attempt on their wedding day?”

Gabe nodded as he inhaled smoke, thought for a moment, then exhaled. “Probably from a jealous fiancé.”

“Probably.” Huck smiled. “Did I tell you that in Mother’s last letter, she mentioned Clark was married and living in Chicago?”

“Good. I hope he stays that way.”

“Married or in Chicago?”

“Both.” Gabe frowned, then tossed the rest of his cigarette into the water and stood. “How ’bout I head down to the galley and rustle up some supper? I’m too tired to build a fire on the beach.” Without waiting for her answer, he disappeared below.

After taking her last sip of tea, Huck set the cup aside. She’d already asked God to forgive her for the fib and would never tell a lie to Gabe again, even a white one. Gazing at King Alfonso, she considered how close she’d come to losing Gabe. The first time was when he’d fought with Clark and she’d heard Mister Jack’s wild cry in the night. Until this moment, she was certain Gabe had guided the knife in her hand, even though he didn’t seem to remember. Huck shivered.

Now she wasn’t so sure.

Summer 2006

Adam Colby

Smatterings of windblown rain pelted against my darkened study window like handfuls of pea gravel flung by small children. I sat up in my makeshift bed and checked the time. Twenty minutes after midnight. It had been raining off and on for four days. Four gray, colorless days that matched the cloud of gloom surrounding my heart.

Lightning flashed. I counted the seconds. One-thousand-one, one-thousand-two, one-thousand-three. A distant rumble. Cursing the uncomfortable couch, I tossed my pillow to the floor, stood, and grabbed my robe.

Another flash. Another three seconds. Another rumble.

My computer hummed and the screen crackled to life with a message from the National Weather Service.
A low pressure system remains stalled over Harris and Chambers Counties
, the message read.
Flooding possible. Avoid driving in low-lying areas
.

“Tell me something new,” I mumbled, plopping into my computer chair. I switched on a small lamp, then picked up the silver coin I’d left atop my mouse pad for the past week.

King Alfonso.

Yevette had handed it to me during our second meeting. The now troublesome king had been the catalyst for our continued discussion about Huck and Gabe. A conversation resulting in more questions … some of them hard to stomach.

We’d met at The Braided Rein, a smoky steakhouse that boasted the tenderest cuts of beef south of the North Pole. Cute cowgirls with braided ponytails poured beer from frosty ceramic jugs into thick-handled mugs. Rumor was if a patron complained about the food, he’d be served an actual braided rein—or some other piece of horse tack—grilled to perfection. A live band encouraged patrons to dance, and ladies were welcome to do a little “boot scootin’ ” on top of a century-old bar.