Chapter 8

I called home at lunch to let Mom know that Kim and I were going out to the property to try to track down the mystery creek. Some of the cheerleaders were going to the basketball game that night to thank them. The basketball team had a terrible season. When your starting center is only six-two, you’re probably not going to get a lot of rebounds. We’d won a grand total of three games all season and our biggest winning margin was four points. If I knew how to play basketball, I could have been a power forward. I don’t even know what that means, other than second tallest guy on the team. Kim was in track and field mode so she was going to give it a miss.

Coach Hamilton brought everyone together at the start of practice. “Alright, gentleman, who’s ready to play some baseball? What we’ve been waiting for, right? Our first meet is Wednesday,” he said and everyone laughed.

“Thanks, Coach,” I answered. I’d called a game a meet last year because that’s what we had in swimming and I figured we would have meets until I graduated. Worked for me.

“We have Northwoods on Wednesday and it’s a home game. Every team has its own personality. I’ve seen you practice and I have a good idea about this team but until you face an opponent, I won’t really know what this team’s true colors will be. Randy, you’ve seen a lot of their batters before and you’re starting. Rusty, you start against Prep on Friday. I think these two, with a couple of good relief pitchers will give us the luxury of playing small ball whenever we want to. That’s a plus.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t want you to produce at the plate. I’d like to see us win a few mercy rule games.”

I raised my hand. “I don’t know what that means. Small ball or mercy rules. Sorry.” There were a couple of groans but the guys were just messing with me.

“Small-ball means we settle for manufactured runs. We get a man on base, maybe he tries to steal second, and we advance him with a hit or sacrifice to get him into scoring position. If the other team has good pitching, we might only win by one run and small-ball can help us get that.” I nodded understanding. “Mercy rules. If we’re up by ten after five innings, the game is over.”

“What if we’re up by twenty after three,” Legs asked.

“I like your thinking. That too. Or fifteen runs after four innings. Alright, here’s a couple of things that aren’t going to change during the season. First, when you’re in the field, adjust to the batter. Thumper will move you if you’re paying attention. Lefty, Legs, try to keep Aquaman somewhere between you. You know this field so you shouldn’t be surprised by where the fences are. Someplace like Ben Lippen has a deep left field so you’ll need to make appropriate adjustments. We’ll talk about that kind of thing on the bus before away games. Trust each other to be in position, and back each other up. Zip, and Two-hop, I expect you to turn some double plays. Thumper, that means you’re backing up Stretch. Legs, you know to move in. You guys all know this.

“At the plate. First, don’t swing at pitches that aren’t strikes. Man, that sounds easy, doesn’t it? Also, don’t strike out looking. I’d rather see you swing and miss an outside pitch than have you watch a strike down the middle. You should know by now that I’d rather have you hit to an alley than swing for the fence and serve up a can of corn.” I had no idea what he was talking about.

“Wednesday is Aquaman’s first-ever organized baseball game. Guess who’s first up.” They all answered, “Aquaman” and that mystery was solved. “I’m going to do something I never do and tell you right now, to swing for the fence. Be a nice way to start your career and our season. No pressure. For every game, I want their pitcher to work to retire the side. None of that nine-pitch inning crap. Finally, don’t admire your work. If you hit a deep ball, don’t wait at the plate to see if it goes. Maybe you just hit an inside the park triple. Whose picture is on my office wall?”

“Pete Rose,” we answered.

“And you know why. Not because he’s a great player but because he always hustles. That’s what I want from you. Good day or bad. Ahead by ten or down by ten, I want to see you hustle. Also, he was a great player.”

I started to take the field and he held me back and motioned for a sophomore to take center field. “What do you think, Pierce?”

“About?”

“Are you happy to be out here to play baseball? What’s on your mind right before the season starts? You’re a bit of an anomaly, Pierce. Everyone else has been playing since their T Ball days when they were five, and last season you said, ‘I think I’ll play baseball’ and here you are. I’m curious.”

“We’ll, sir, I guess I’m happy to have the chance. I didn’t expect to be playing varsity so that’s pretty cool. It’s easier than swimming.” He gave me a look. “Swimming is work. Lots of miles and whether you win or lose, you can look in the mirror and see the culprit. Baseball seems like it’s going to be more fun. There’s a lot more talking and teamwork and stuff. I don’t want to let anyone down.”

“The only person you have to worry about for that, is you. Did you have fun swimming?”

“Yes sir. Definitely.”

“Winning is fun, right?”

“Yes, sir. It’s the payoff.”

“Let’s hope we have some payoff, here, too. I think we’ve got a pretty good team. Glad you’re on it, Aquaman. Grab your bat and see if you can make Rusty work.”

After practice, I met Kim at the car and we drove out to the property. We pulled on rubber boots we typically used at the stables when it was muddy. They looked goofy as hell but they let you muck around without ruining your shoes or riding boots. We tramped across the muddy field to the creek and then followed it downstream. It was only half as wide as it had been a couple of days ago and the flow was a lot slower.

We were able to get within a hundred feet of the street before the undergrowth became too thick for us to pass through. We could see the creek for about half that distance and then saw it bend to the left.

“Alright, Sherlock, what now?” Kim asked.

“Elementary, dear Watson. We look from the street.” It was the only thing we could do without bushwacking.

We tramped back across the field and then out to the street. Looking like some sort of bizarre fashion models, Kim wearing running shorts and me in my baseball pants, we trooped down Fort Johnson Road. We got to the place where we thought the creek would come out if it didn’t turn more than we’d seen, then walked further south.

“Listen. I hear water running,” Kim said, stopping and bending low. “Where is it?” The road was about eight feet higher than the field and there was no easy way down the embankment.

There was really only one possibility. I walked across the street and found that our creek came out from under the road into a drainage ditch. A culvert had been put in place before the road had been paved. I motioned and Kim crossed over to me.

“How long has this been here? It’s not like we drove this road very often but I’d remember if it was a dirt road. This has been here a long time. Okay, we know where the water goes. What do with do with this information, Jack?”

“It’s floodwater management. It’s probably going to flow out to Clark Sound, maybe by Seeley Street. I don’t think there’s anything to slow this down on its way to the Atlantic. No one cares where this water goes or how much of it there is, as long as there’s no flooding. Right? Who would care? That means if we dug a pond and diverted water from the creek to fill it, no one would care. Why would they?”

“Would we have to ask someone? Would we have to get a permit or something? The back of our land is designated wetlands but the front isn’t.”

“That’s a question for Franklin. I want to know the answer before we ask someone officially.”

“Wait. Is the water fresh or salt? Is it brackish or what?”

“I think it’s fresh. I could scoop a cup and see how Mom’s orchids do with it.”

“You wouldn’t. Don’t kid around like that.”

“I’ll hike back in the next time it rains and see where it starts. I can look at the topographic chart to see where the high point is for this. I think there’s a little ridge, maybe three or four feet higher than the clearing about two hundred yards back. If it starts there, it’s got to be fresh. Also, if it’s not fresh, why would it be so much faster after a rain?”

We walked back to my car and changed out of our rubber boots. I sacrificed a towel, laying it out in the trunk so mud from the boots wouldn’t get everywhere. Kim walked to the passenger side, barefoot, and deep in thought.

“I’m kind of glad we’re not going to build for a while. It’s going to take us a while to figure all this stuff out. How much do our neighbors know about this area that we don’t, and how can it only be a couple of miles from home and we’re clueless about it?”

“We should make a list of all the stuff we don’t know,” I said, starting the car.

“Dufus. How can we do that?”

“Good start. That’s the first thing we don’t know.” She gave an appropriate groan and unfastened the top. We dropped it for a slightly cool, but very invigorating ride home. A block down the street we saw Karen’s car in her driveway so we pulled in.

Karen met us at the door, giving Kim a big hug. In a quiet voice, she said, “If you take Mom riding again, great, but don’t let her push you into it. She can be...”

“Excited.”

“Overly excited. Yes. Come in.”

“Hey! Did you hear that? I said ‘hey’ instead of hello or hi,” Angela said.

“Dang. She’s going southern on us.”

“I got the job.”

“Good for you. When do you start?” I asked.

“Tomorrow. We were just going clothes shopping.”

“Congratulations. We were just out at the property and saw your car. We’ll get out of your hair and let you go shopping,” I said, turning for the door.

“I don’t suppose you’d like to go riding with us again sometime?” Kim asked. It was such a silly question that we all laughed. “What size shoe do you wear?”

“Eight, why?”

“I think Mom wears an eight. I’ll check to see if she has some boots that you can have. She hasn’t ridden in forever.”

Back in the car, I asked, “What size shoe do you wear?”

“Seven, why?”

“Because I wear nine. Bobby wears thirteen or something. I have tiny little flippers and so do you.”

“Flippers. You’re funny.” She was quiet for a mile or so. “Does it matter? Would you be faster with bigger feet?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. It’s not like I can do anything about it. It would be kind of interesting to find out. What if the top ten fastest swimmers all had feet that were size twelve or larger? Who knows?”

“You are probably the world little-flipper record holder for the two hundred IM.”

“Nice. Home?”

“Your house. I have a bunch of clothes I need to pick up. I keep changing but never taking care of laundry.”

Dane’s truck was already there which was unusual for so early on a Monday. We went inside and it sounded like he and Mom were arguing. I hadn’t heard that before. I looked at Kim and we shrugged. “Let’s stick our nose in the kitchen and maybe they’ll quit.”

“Or maybe we’ll get our noses punched,” she said, then grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the kitchen.

When we went in, they both stopped and took a deep breath. “Hey,” Mom said and looked back and forth. “We were just discussing Dane’s mother and her visit.”

“Ah. And what role do we play in that?” I asked.

“My mother is the smartest person in the world,” Dane said and then stopped. “My mother thinks she is but her real problem is that she’s got a blind spot the size of Rhode Island. She doesn’t realize when she’s steamrolling over people. She has it in her head that people should be grateful for her expertise. She is very smart. She is extremely organized, and she has put that to good use. Unfortunately, she tends to rub people the wrong way.”

“And that’s not going to happen here,” I said.

“No. It’s not. My mother is the kind of person who makes a checklist before she goes to the grocery store.”

“Lots of people do that, Dane. My mom does.”

“Right. Does she organize her shopping list by department? Does she put little squares to the left of each item so she can check them off when she puts things in her cart? My mother will see something she needs that’s not on the checklist, so she will add it to the list, make a little box, put it in her cart, then check it off.”

“Oh, that’s just messed up,” Kim said.

“Very messed up. She won’t be here an hour before she finds ten things that aren’t organized or put on a list and she’ll tackle that to help us out.”

“And you don’t want to be helped out.”

“No. We don’t have a list of music for the band to play. We’ve booked The Little Big Band to play. All I asked is, ‘can you play String of Pearls and In the Mood, and he smiled and said, if it was on the radio before the war, they could play it. That’s all we want. They know the songs. My mother, who probably isn’t even familiar with that music, I don’t know, maybe she is, will ask to see their playlist and then rearrange it or try to nail down our song for our first dance. It’s just her way and I don’t want that. Christie wants to appease her.”

“How long is she here for?” I asked.

“Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday with an early flight home on Saturday.”

“And she’s staying here?”

“If she doesn’t, why do we have this big house? Yes. Dane would probably put her up in Wild Dunes someplace.” Wild Dunes was forty minutes away on the far end of Sullivan’s Island.

“How much of that time are you working or did you take it off?” Kim asked Dane. I could see her wheels spinning.

“I have surgery tomorrow morning and if it goes as planned, I’ll be done in time to pick her up at the airport at ten.”

“Who has the ultimate decision on all your wedding planning?” Kim asked.

“We decide it together,” Mom said.

“Not anymore. Dane and his mother have a history, right? You don’t. So, Dane, whenever she says ‘you should do this’ or ‘you should do that’ just say, ‘I’ll run it past Christie.’ You’re not agreeing and you’re not taking responsibility for ensuring her ideas are used. And, all you have to do is mention to her afterward and you’ve kept your promise. When Jack and I get off school, we can take her sight-seeing and get her out of your hair.”

It got real quiet and they sat back in their chairs. Dane shrugged. “Might work. I don’t have a better idea. Baby, I just don’t want my mom to come in here and ruin it by putting her stamp on everything. It’s not her place and it’s not her wedding.”

Mom looked first at Dane, then at the two of us. “If you’re happy with that. Are you two sure?”

“She has never been south of Philadelphia. She’s been all over the world but never south,” Dane said.

“Oh, this should be fun,” I answered, not really meaning it.

Kim grabbed her clothes and I turned to her as we were driving back to her house. “You have a plan you didn’t say, don’t you?”

“Maybe. What if she is a really good planner and organizer? Why don’t we distract her with our own wedding? We have plans but what would it hurt to have someone from outside look at what we’re thinking?”

“I don’t know. Why would she do that? Why would she be happy with that?”

“Maybe she wouldn’t. But we could let Katie know, and tell her we’re coming by with Mrs. Idris. Is that right?”

“Edris.”

“Okay. We tell Katie the situation and tell her everything for Dane and your mom’s wedding is locked in but nothing is set for ours. Then we get input from Mrs. Edris. She gets to give her opinion and we can use it if we want. Obviously, we’re under no obligation to use it. In the meantime, we can give her a tour of the Lowcountry and take the heat off Dane. Dane’s happy. Mrs. Edris is satisfied that she got to help, and maybe we get an idea or two. Win, win, right?”

“It’s sneaky, and I like that, but I’ve got a bad feeling about it.” But that was the plan. After I dropped Kim off, I went back to the house and told them our plan.

Dane looked at Mom and smiled. “Do it. If you can tolerate her and take the heat off us, we will be eternally grateful.”

I called Katie at Marion’s Bridal while they listened in. When I finished, she had a question for Mom about invitations so I handed her the phone. While they talked, Dane said, “Don’t get me wrong. I love my mom, but when it comes to things like this, she can be ... a bit ... overbearing.”

“We’ll do our best,” I said with my best southern accent. “With any luck, it will take her a couple of days to understand us.” He laughed.

“Maybe I should enlist the help of Hank and Lula Mae. I can’t begin to imagine.”

I picked up Kim early Tuesday morning, we drove to school, then went for a run. Two-a-day workouts don’t really work for running but they were scheduled to do strength training that afternoon. After a bit of stretching, we started running laps. I suggested a goal of five miles at a seven-thirty pace and she was willing to try. We had no wind, it was still cool, and we were the only ones at the track. Perfect conditions.

As we ran, I encouraged her and reminded her about technique. Running seemed so much simpler than swimming but that was probably because I didn’t know any better. We knocked out the first three miles on pace and she said she thought she could go faster.

“Save your kick for the last lap. Still learning.” She nodded and we held our pace. With one lap to go, she picked it up a bit. I stayed with her and when she turned the last corner, she gave it everything she had.

We crossed the line, she took a couple of deep breaths and asked, “Well?”

I kept walking to cool down, but stayed close. Checking my watch, I said, “Total time was thirty-seven minutes. That’s better than a seven-thirty pace by thirty seconds. Seven-twenty-four. That’s great, Kim.”

“I don’t feel great. How fast was the last lap?”

“Seven fifteen.”

“Holy crap. I pushed that hard and only saved, what, nine seconds?”

“This was your first time to run five miles straight. You finished and you did it with a pretty consistent effort. Do you feel better or worse than after running four miles at Folly?”

“Better, I guess. Not as gassed.”

“That’s huge progress, Baby. You should be happy with that. To knock your time down to seven-minute miles, all you have to do is knock off six seconds per lap. You can definitely do that.”

“I can definitely take a shower. We’re going to be late.”

“Yeah. I need one too. Men’s locker room or women’s?”

“Funny guy,” she said and we hustled.

In homeroom that morning they announced that “It’s Academic” would be in Columbia in two weeks and Porter-Gaud had been invited to participate. Those interested should notify their homeroom teacher. I had no idea what they were talking about. Mrs. Middleton explained it.

“Some of you haven’t had the chance before. “It’s Academic” is a TV quiz show for high school students. Porter-Gaud would select a team of four to represent us, probably with one or two alternates. It’s been two or three years since they’ve been to this corner of the country. They’ll probably have a competition to select our team.”

Kim nudged me. “No one can beat you at Trivial Pursuit. You should do it,” she whispered.

I reluctantly raised my hand. “What’s the upside? I don’t mean to be cynical or anything, but why bother?”

“Jack doesn’t watch TV,” Kim said. “He’s never seen it.”

“Ah. Let’s see. The winning team brings a grant to the school and that’s always nice. If you win, you stay on to compete against the next team. I think any team that wins four or five times, retires undefeated and brings a pretty sizable grant. It gets bigger with each win. It helps with admissions, and, on a personal level, it puts your face out there for colleges to see. It’s a wonderful thing to put on a college application. I’m certain it would help with scholarship applications.”

“People at Georgia Tech would be watching this?” I asked in disbelief.

“Absolutely. Anyone from an elite college or university watches it religiously. I would imagine, and I don’t know this, but I would imagine that if you won, probably everyone on the team would get at least one scholarship offer, and if you retired undefeated, your mailbox would probably be full of them.”

Huh. “Do it, Jack,” Mel said. “Mom, no one can beat him at Trivial Pursuit. We don’t have a chance.”

Mrs. Middleton looked at me and asked, “Should I enter you?”

Part of me wanted to and part of me thought it was stupid. I looked at Kim and she smiled and nodded. “I will make a complemental assault upon it,” I said, twisting Shakespeare’s words from Troilus and Cressida to suit the occasion.

“Anyone else? Kim? Mel? You should try it. What do you have to lose?”

“My self-respect,” Mel answered and everyone laughed. A couple of kids added their names to the list but Kim and Mel wouldn’t be persuaded. Fine. That settled, we moved on to more serious things. So much for my plans to keep a lower profile.

Walking to lunch that day, I passed Miss Lundquist in the hall. She was really beautiful. Beautiful without trying, the same way Kim was. “Hey, Miss Lundquist,” I said as we approached.

“Having yourself a year, aren’t you Aquaman?”

“Yes, ma’am. It sure seems that way. Miss Lundquist, were you at State finals for swimming?” I had seen quite a few parents and some faculty but just then realized she was among them.

“I enjoy success as much as the next person. Let’s hope our baseball team does as well as our swim team did.”

“Yes, ma’am. That would be amazing.” She congratulated me again on my season and I continued toward the cafeteria. If I’d known she was the French teacher, I probably would have taken that instead of Spanish. I had practiced complimenting people the previous school year and started my experiment with Miss Lundquist. I complimented her eyes. Complimenting someone’s eyes was safe. I could have complimented her in many unsafe ways.

At lunch, I got an education on the quiz show, It’s Academic. They were all encouraging and it sounded like it might be sort of fun. I couldn’t believe I’d agreed to try it. Having encouraging friends makes a lot of difference. Partway through lunch, Lani Newsome, Lori’s older sister and Vince’s girlfriend walked over. She bent down and stage whispered, in my ear, “I will own you, fish boy,” then walked away. Everyone laughed because they knew how uncharacteristic that was of her and it was just plain funny.

That afternoon was our last baseball practice before our first game. I was terrible. On a scale of one to ten, I wasn’t even on the scale. Randy struck me out three times. I didn’t even get a decent foul tip. Then, Rusty did the same. I’d swung eighteen times without putting the ball in play. I figured Coach Hamilton would have second thoughts about putting me up first. He was probably having second thoughts about letting me play at all.

I told Kim about it on the way back to my house and she tried to be encouraging but it wasn’t easy to do. How can you completely miss eighteen times? I’d never done that before. She reminded me to expect Mrs. Edris at the house and I needed to be on my best behavior. We heard Mom, Dane, and Mrs. Edris all talking in the dining room and went to opposite bathrooms to shower and change.

Dressed, I waited outside Mom’s bathroom for Kim to come out. “Into the fray,” Kim said, resigning ourselves to the roles we asked for.

In the kitchen Dane made introductions and we waited to see what the next step was. They’d been talking about floral arrangements, and, as expected, Mrs. Edris wasn’t satisfied they’d chosen wisely.

“Kim and I were just going over to Marion’s Bridal. We have a few things to talk about. You could go with us if you like.”

She gave us an incredulous look. “Are you helping plan this?” she asked.

“No, ma’am,” I answered.

“Well, then, whatever would you be doing at a bridal shop?” She was a short woman with dark hair, each one exactly in its place. She looked like the kind of woman you would dread having as a substitute teacher. She had a strong accent but I’d gotten used to Dane so it wasn’t too difficult to understand her.

“Oh, it’s not for them,” Kim said. “It’s for us.”

“Oh, I see. You work there?”

“No. Well, yes, ma’am, I guess we have, sort of. It’s concerning our wedding,” Kim said.

“Your wedding? I thought you were in high school. Am I missing something? Daryn?” she asked using his given name rather than the nickname we all used.

“They’re engaged, mother. They like to plan things in advance.”

“You don’t mean to tell me you’ve let a couple of children get engaged.”

Kim held her hand out to show her ring. Mrs. Edris looked at it and then me. “Well, it’s nice to have money but you can’t be serious.”

“We can,” I said.

“Jack worked all last summer for the money to buy this. He didn’t use mommy’s money, if that’s what you mean,” Kim said, controlling her voice.

She looked again. “It’s not real. It can’t be.”

“Patricia, it’s real,” Mom said, putting her hand on hers. “If I’ve learned anything from this, it’s not to underestimate either of them. Jack worked as a landscaper last summer. He worked forty or fifty hours a week and sometimes more. Hard work. Manual labor. They have my approval and they have the approval of Kim’s parents.” Mrs. Edris was unconvinced. “Jack, why don’t you show Mrs. Edris your plans.”

“Go on, Mom. Go look.”

She reluctantly followed us back to my office. I was glad I’m a bit of a neat freak as I’m sure she would have expected a cluttered teen hideout. Instead, she found an actual office. I peeled back all the transparency overlays I’d been working on and started with the base map. She stepped closer to my drafting table. I loosened the nut and tilted the table so she could see it better. Franklin had printed an updated map for us and it looked good, and it definitely looked professional.

She stood next to the drafting table and looked at the chart, settling on the title and legend at the bottom right. “What is K&J Properties, LLC?” she asked.

“We are,” Kim said. “Kim and Jack Properties. It’s nearly twenty-one acres not far from here.”

She didn’t say anything so I placed the first overlay in position. “This is where we plan to put the house.” I added the second overlay. “This is the barn and pasture, of course, we have a lot of trees to clear. We don’t want to cut any more than we have to but this will be big enough for four horses.” I pointed to the corkboard above my table. It had six pictures of the clearing and trees from different angles.

I added the next overlay. “These are trails. This is all subject to change. We want to preserve live oaks and some other trees but we’ve already started clearing some of the trails. We have a lot of magnolia trees. Some are small and they can go, but some of them are just enormous and we’re keeping them.”

“We,” she said. “We are clearing. What do you mean, we?”

“Okay, it’s mostly me. This is a run-in,” I said, pointing it out on the chart, and then a picture of it on the corkboard. “I have a Bobcat parked there. After I cut down trees, I pull the roots, and move the trees to a pile. Not sure what we’re going to do with all the wood.”

“What’s a Bobcat?”

I pointed to the picture. “It’s like a little tractor. Very versatile. It’s actually Hector’s, that’s the landscaper I worked for last summer, but he keeps it there, out of the rain and I can use it whenever I want.”

“This is real,” she said, finally coming to grips with the idea. “You plan to get married and build all this on property you already own.”

“Yes, ma’am. That’s the plan. We had ten acres but then the property next to it became available so we bought it. The lady on the other side doesn’t have plans for hers so we purchased a right of first refusal and we’ll buy that too, if we can. In the meantime, she will let us use it for riding.”

She studied it for a moment. “I’m not sure ... I’m ... I guess I’m actually impressed. This isn’t some elaborate game.”

“Oh, no, ma’am. We’ve been working on this for months.”

“I can see that. And you already have a wedding date set.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Kim said. “February eleventh, 1984, Jack’s eighteenth birthday. Would you like to go to Marion’s Bridal with us?” How could she refuse?

On the way out to the car, I gave Kim the keys as they continued their conversation. She knew exactly why and I didn’t need to explain it. I held the door for Mrs. Edris, then got in the back, directly behind her. I wanted her attention on Kim rather than me.

Once at Marion’s Bridal, we introduced her to Katie and managed to stay on the subject of our wedding. They started with our invitations. I made a quick estimate about how long we would be able to keep her busy, then went to Katie’s office and called home. Dane answered and was profuse in his thanks. If we got home by seven, Mom would serve up a late dinner and they’d be happy.