Dennis Yates - Minus Tide

She hadn’t gone fishing since high school, never cared for the crowds that turned the bay into something resembling city gridlock. Late on Friday and Saturday nights she and James would sometimes go to the boat ramp to party with friends. Nothing too serious. Someone with a pickup rigged with stereo speakers blasting from the tailgate, a pony keg hidden under tarp. Everyone seemed to get along, even with the visitors from Buoy City who occasionally got swept up in a migrating party of their own. Then Sheriff Dawkins began to crack down, made some minor-in-possession arrests and got everyone too paranoid to do much of anything on weekend nights except hang out at the 101 or go to the movies in Buoy City.

Ann parked next to the staircase that led down from the top of the bank to a floating wooden dock below. She put the gun in her pocket and grabbed the flashlight from the glove box before she got out of her car. Stopping for a moment to look out over the bay, she saw that the dark mouths of small streams she used to explore in her kayak during high tide now stood above the bay like drained aqueducts. There was a network of these canals that led through the tall grass, secret places where Ann often found solitude. Now hours before dawn, the water seemed heavier than usual as it returned to the sea. She recalled it was that time of the year when it filled up with plankton and in the sunlight looked as if it had been silted with copper dust.

When she got down the two flights of wooden staircase, she noticed a small boat tied up next to the dock. There was no sign of anyone around. The parking lot above had been empty. She drew her gun and stepped closer to the boat, wondering if someone might be lying inside, but all she saw were some life preservers and a ragged crab ring. She smelled gasoline coming from the boat, felt a puff of warmth that had drifted from its motor.

“Ann?” said a voice from behind her.

She spun around, aimed her flashlight up into a face and made sure it saw the gun in her hand.

“Don’t come any closer.”

“It’s me Ann. It’s James.” The figure backed beneath the ridge of concrete seawall and was swallowed by thicker shadow. His voice had sounded familiar.

“Let me see your hands,” Ann ordered. As James raised them into the beam of her flashlight she began to recognize them. He’d always bitten his nails down to the quick. And there were the same chicken-scratch scars where he’d accidently cut himself while fishing. It occurred to Ann that something was missing.

“James wears a class ring. I don’t see one on your left hand.”

“I traded it for two bottles of tequila,” James said.

“You traded it for booze?”

“It’s a long story. Jesus Ann, it’s me. Put the gun down before something happens.”

Ann brought the flashlight up into his face again and made him squint. She took a few steps forward and noticed the pale welt next to the corner of his right eye, the scar he’d received back when they’d lived in Portland. It has to be him, she thought. Already feels like another lifetime ago. When she shoved the pistol into her coat pocket she could hear him sigh deeply.

“What are you doing here?” Ann said. She felt short of breath, floaty. For a few moments she wondered if she were talking to a ghost, if she’d truly begun to lose her mind. He seemed to sway a little, as if he’d been drinking.

James relaxed and moved closer. “I got your letter that Duane was dead… The navy finally forwarded it to me.”

Before she had time to resist, he opened his arms and Ann fell into them. Once they touched she felt herself wrapping up close. It was like her body was rushing ahead of her, anxious to return to a place it had been to hundreds of times. She buried her face under his chin and smelled his neck, the whiskey coming from his breath. It was him. The last person in the world I’d expected to see tonight. They held each other on the creaking dock, listened to the roar of a semi truck as it vanished around each new bend in the highway like a dying tuning fork.

“God I’ve missed you Ann,” James said. “I thought this day would never come.”

“What happened to you?”

“I was discharged. They couldn’t get my shoulder fixed so they cut me loose. I get a small disability check and a chance to go back to school.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Back in March.”

“You’ve been out since March? Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“I was feeling sorry for myself and needed time to think. So I went to Mexico and stayed drunk until I almost ran out of money.”

“Did you figure things out?” Ann said. She felt tears trickling down her cheek, and when James discovered them under his palm he smoothed them away.

“Some of it I guess. I decided I needed to come back home and face a few things, that if I didn’t do something about it now they’d be pulling me down forever. Then when I got your letter, it all seemed to come together, that the time was right. I thought I was coming back to something I knew. But I was wrong. Everything here is totally screwed up.”

“Tell me about it,” Ann said. She took his hands in hers and they both sat down on a bench. The wood was cold and sparkled with fish scales. It reminded her of the sequined dress she’d worn to her senior prom, of James introducing her to cocaine.

James was shivering. He hadn’t had time to grab his jacket, was lucky he’d slept with his shoes on.

“You’re freezing,” Ann said.

“I’m okay,” James said.

Ann took her jacket off and threw it around them both like a shawl. She rubbed his arms with her hands, kneaded his tight muscles to bring the blood back.

“Where have you been staying?”

“Over at dad’s fishing shack. Until tonight that is. A van showed up with a hanging front bumper and crushed headlight. It looked like it had been in an accident. I could see where a tree limb had gouged the side. Some guys with guns got out and one of them smashed the bulb above the shack. I was barely out the window before they kicked in the door.”

“Who were they?”

“I wasn’t sure at first. All I knew was they weren’t a bunch of kids looking for a place to party. Luckily dad still keeps this boat stashed under the dock. I would have started the motor but I was afraid of drawing attention. Later on they walked out on the bank looking for me, but by then I’d already paddled too far out on the bay for them to see me. I just drifted in the dark for a long time afraid of making too much noise. Then I saw them get into the van and drive away. When it got quiet again I started to hear other voices coming from the shack. Unless I’ve gone completely crazy I’m sure it was Tammy, Mitch and the sheriff. And it didn’t sound like they were just getting ready for a fun day of fishing either.”

Ann felt an icy chill spread up the back of her neck and into her scalp. “Are you sure it was them?”

“It had to be, Ann. You don’t forget people you’ve grown up around that fast. Now tell me what’s going on.”

“All I know is that I’ve been up all night looking for them, ever since I went by to visit Tammy after closing the store. From what I could tell there’d been a struggle, and some blood was left on the sink. But no Tammy. And then later when I tried to find Mitch and the sheriff I found their wrecked patrol at the edge of Dead Man’s Point. Something horrible has happened, James. Now after what you’ve said I think they could have been kidnapped. If it’s really them, then we need to go help.”

“Are you sure we should get involved?”

“What are you talking about? Tammy and Mitch are my friends, our friends.”