Randy White - Twelve Mile Limit

She was a wearing a red tank top, khaki shorts with starched pleats, and thin sandals. A woman as tall as Ransom, but flat-chested, with pale Irish skin, freckles, and curly red hair clipped boyishly short. The bright red of her tank top made her hair the color of old copper. Take one look at her and you assumed certain things from her appearance, the muscle tone, and the way she carried herself: She probably had green eyes, didn’t tan, was a high school athlete, maybe competed in college, too. Good at endurance sports, almost anything outdoors, and had inherited a family passion for St. Patrick’s Day through her father, whom she probably adored. Not unusual among women athletes.

There was something else I knew about her, even though we’d never met: Amelia Gardner was a survivor. On a black and windy night, out of four desperate people, she was the only one who’d made it to the light tower.

Dieter finished by talking about “free-floating” anger that seeks physical relief and how, if we dealt honestly with our emotions and recognized them for what they were-symptoms of loss-it would enable us to pull wisdom and meaning from pain. “It will deepen and strengthen our relationship with ourselves and increase our resilience in living. That is Janet’s gift to us, but we must choose to accept her gift.”

Jeth, at least, seemed to hear that. I saw him sit a little straighter, listening.

Then it was Tomlinson’s turn, just as we planned. He stood and tugged at his ratty, gold paisley surfer’s shorts, his sun-bleached hair hanging long, and stood scratching at his goatee until he had everyone’s attention. Then he held up his hands for quiet and said, “The party’s gonna be a little different tonight. The rules are the same-you put ten bucks in the bucket, then eat and drink all you want. But one thing everyone needs to know. This party’s going to be in Janet’s honor. We are going to celebrate the life of our sister, that good, good woman, and it is going to be one hell of a party!”

A couple of people hooted and there was gradual applause, then louder applause.

Tomlinson raised his voice a little. “I already talked to Claudia about it. It’s time to stop feeling bad about Janet being gone and start talking about what a great life she had. About what she contributed to the lives of us all. Man, I miss her! Damn right I do! Janet Mueller was a spiritual horse. There was no load so heavy that it took the light out of her eyes. She had energy, my children, a great karma, and here’s what I can tell you: Energy can’t be destroyed. That’s a fact of physics. Janet may have taken a different form, but her energy’s still here.”

I’d heard Tomlinson make this point before. In fact, after trailering my skiff when we’d returned to Marco Island, I’d stopped at the island’s tiny cemetery where, a while back, he’d once spoken very similar words at the funeral of a young girl. The child’s second funeral. Exhausted from my days at sea, I’d sat for nearly an hour alone, next to the girl’s headstone, before starting the long trip back to Sanibel.

Now Tomlinson said, “Janet’s still with us and loving us and looking over us. Which is why we are gonna party our asses off tonight. Just to get things warmed up, I here and now challenge Doc’s sister, Ransom Gatrells, to a limbo contest. And, ladies? I’ll be wearing a brand new sarong, a hand-painted Cartier from New Orleans, so get your seats early. Zamboni and the Hat Trick Twins are back in fighting shape and ready to rumble.”

My friend continued, “I want to send out a special invitation to all the waitresses at Mucky Duck, Green Flash, Chadwick’s, and Sanibel Grill. As always, there will be a topless division. For the last seven years, that very popular division has been won by the Davis sisters from Mason City, Iowa, Andrea and Kristin, and God bless their family genetics. But one of the sisters has gotten married, so Andrea is at half strength. Ladies, the time to strike is now.”

I noticed Jeth drop his head, shaking it, maybe laughing, maybe fighting back tears, I couldn’t tell. Saw Amelia Gardner smile as everyone hooted and applauded. I also saw Gardner turn suddenly, scanning the little crowd until her eyes found me. Then she stopped, as if she recognized me, before returning her attention to Tomlinson, who was using his hands to call for silence.

“One last thing,” he said. “Day after tomorrow, Sunday morning, here at the marina, we’re going to hold a service for Janet. I talked to Claudia about this, too. It’s time to say good-bye, my children. It’s time for some closure. We can shed all the tears we want on Sunday. We can bawl like babies, but tonight, damn it, tonight we are going to kick a little cosmic ass. Tonight we’re gonna live the hell out of every single, drunken moment, and love each other like the family we are!”

When he said that, I found my eyes turning involuntarily to my left where JoAnn and lanky Rhonda sat side by side on a picnic table. I saw, to our mutual amusement, that their eyes had swung automatically toward me. I nodded at Rhonda’s smile but pretended not to see JoAnn’s bawdy wink.

I did notice that Gardner was moving in my direction, but gradually, as if she didn’t want to divert attention from Tomlinson.

As Tomlinson said, “There’s a very powerful woman I need to introduce right now,” Gardner stopped walking, giving me a brief, pointed look that maybe meant something, maybe didn’t. Then she waited as he continued, “We didn’t expect her, but the timing couldn’t be better. We all know the story. Four people were set adrift, and only one of them made it to the light tower. If you think we’ve been through hell, imagine what she went through. That woman’s here right now. She came here because she wants to talk to the people who care about Janet and answer our questions.

“Out in the parking lot, she told Ransom and me that she’s made it a point to go to all of the families, one by one, and try to clear up any misunderstandings. We’re Janet’s family, and I think we all know what the lady means. That’s why I described her as a powerful woman. I watched her get out of her car in the parking lot a few minutes ago, and she had an aura so bright it damn near hurt my eyes. She’s got a strong and caring heart, so let’s welcome Amelia Gardner to Dinkin’s Bay.”

He nodded to Gardner, who was smiling, but not giving it much, keeping herself within herself, as people applauded politely. “Amelia, you mind if we adjourn to the main docks? We’ll do it any way you want it, but I suggest you grab a beer, get some food, relax, and make yourself at home. Then you can talk to us as a group, if that suits you. Afterward, you’re welcome to stick around and drink heavily with the rest of us. But I warn you-you may never be the same woman after you see the limbo contest.”

Gardner’s laughter had a jazz singer’s rasp, and her voice was a foggy alto that did not mesh, at first, with her Boston accent. She was articulate and polite, and seemed slightly nervous speaking to a group of strangers, which was understandable. “The only favor I ask,” she said, “is that you don’t hold anything back. I want to answer all your questions. I want to set the record straight as best I can. I don’t care what rumor you’ve heard, no matter how outrageous, I want to address it.

“There’s a thing called ‘survivor’s guilt,’ and I know I’ve got a bad case of it. This is my way of trying to help all of us. So, you bet, I’d love a beer. I’ll meet you over on the docks.”

A couple minutes later, as I walked alone across the shell parking lot, toward the mangrove path that leads to my house, I was surprised when Gardner came up behind me and said, “You’re not leaving, are you?” Then, when I stopped and turned to face her, she added, “You’re Ford, right? Dr. Marion Ford?” Her tone was businesslike, formal, and confident.