The High Tide Club

“Who are the other two women he took over earlier?” Lizzie asked.

“Varina Shaddix is the only other surviving member of the High Tide Club, and Felicia is her great-niece,” Brooke said. “Varina’s Geechee, and as a young girl, she worked for the Bettendorf family.”

“What’s a Geechee?” Lizzie wanted to know.

“They’re called that, for the Ogeechee River, which is one of the big tidal rivers in South Georgia,” Marie said. “In South Carolina, they’re called Gullah.”

“The Geechees are the descendants of the slaves who were brought to Talisa from West Africa,” Brooke added. “Varina’s family, the Shaddixes, have lived at Oyster Bluff, in that settlement, for generations.”

“So this Varina, she was black, and yet she was friends with Josephine and Millie and Ruth? Wasn’t that kind of unusual? This being the South and all?” Lizzie asked.

Brooke shrugged. “Josephine’s an unusual woman. Very conservative, politically, but on the other hand, she’s deeply concerned about the environment and keeping Talisa from being developed. She said she and her friends regarded Varina as a sort of little sister, because she was five years younger.”

“Even so, that puts her in her midnineties,” Lizzie observed. “Does she still work for Josephine?”

“Not anymore. After she retired from her job in Jacksonville, she got homesick and moved back to Talisa and worked for Josephine in some capacity, but she currently lives with her great-niece Felicia, who’s become her caregiver.”

“What’s Felicia like?” Marie asked, gazing back toward the rapidly disappearing waterfront.

“Very smart and polished. She’s a PhD, teaches African American studies. A little prickly, maybe. She’s convinced Josephine has taken advantage of her Auntie Vee her entire life.”

“And has she?” Lizzie asked.

“Not for me to say,” Brooke said with a shrug. “I can tell you Josephine feels genuine affection for Varina. But there’s something else, something she obviously feels guilty about in her relationship with all these women.”

“Any idea what it is?” Marie asked.

“Wait until you meet her,” Brooke said. “Josephine Warrick is not somebody who easily relinquishes her secrets.”

* * *

Twenty minutes later, they were within sight of the island when the boat’s motor sputtered, coughed, and quit.

“Sheeeuttt,” C. D. muttered under his breath. The cigarillo fell from his lips onto the floor, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“What’s wrong?” Lizzie said. “Why’d we stop?”

“Mechanical difficulties,” C. D. said. He switched the key in the ignition, and the engine turned over for a moment, then died again. His second and third attempts to start the motor achieved the same result.

“Damn it.” He stood and yanked the cover from the outboard, fiddling and cursing for a full five minutes as the boat fell and rose gently with the tide.

“Don’t tell me we’re stuck out here,” Lizzie said, sounding panicky. She wrapped her arms protectively around the cat carrier.

“Naw, it’s probably just a fouled spark plug,” C. D. said. He opened the door to the stern locker, reached in, and rummaged around but came up empty.

“Damn it.” He stood with his hands on his narrow hips as the boat rocked up and down. The sun beat down on the three women who stared expectantly at their captain. The drug-addled cat mewed loudly, thrashing against the sides of the carrier.

“Now what?” Even Brooke felt a tiny prickle of anxiety. They could see the faint green outline of the island, just tantalizingly out of reach.

The old man sighed heavily and went back to the locker, finally extracting a long wooden oar.

“Now we paddle.” He nodded at Lizzie, still seated on the bow. “You might wanna move, ma’am.”

For the next thirty minutes, C. D., standing on the bow like a Viking boatman, poled the craft in the direction of the island. The tide and the current aided somewhat, but sweat drenched his shirt, and he finally took it off, using it to mop his gleaming face. His bare chest was sun-blackened, the skin as saggy and leathery as a saddlebag, with patches of kinky white chest hair. His damp pants hung limply on his hips, and he panted with exertion as the boat inched toward his target. Brooke worried that he might keel over at any minute, and from the worried look on her mother’s face, she knew Marie was thinking the same thing.

A hundred yards from the dock, the wind died, and their progress slowed dramatically. “Tide’s changed,” C. D. said grimly. “Can’t fight this current.”

Without another word, he set the oar down, removed a timeworn billfold and a box of cigarillos from his hip pocket, and tucked it into the glove box.

Then he jumped into the water. Dogpaddling, he called to Brooke, “Throw me that bow line, would ya?”

“What are you doing?” Lizzie cried. “There are sharks in this river. I read all about it. Get back here immediately!”

“Gonna walk it in,” C. D. said calmly, standing on the shallow river bottom. “Unless you know a better way.”

“Call somebody,” Lizzie ordered.

“Like who?”

“I don’t know. The police. The Coast Guard. Get them to send a helicopter.”

He chuckled. “My phone’s dead. Anyway, we ain’t out in the open ocean, and this don’t count as no life-threatening emergency. Ain’t nobody gonna send a helicopter over here when we’re just a hundred yards from the island. You ladies just sit tight.”

As they watched, he tied the bow rope around his narrow waist and proceeded to do as he’d promised, walking the boat, at an agonizingly slow pace, toward the island. When they finally reached the dock, he tossed the line to Brooke. “See if you can tie us up to that piling,” he instructed. “Then tip the outboard back into the water so I can climb up on the prop.”

Five minutes later, the old man hauled himself up into the boat. He lay panting on the fiberglass floor, as dark and wet as an oversized otter.

Then, with effort, he heaved himself to his feet. “Goddamn, I need a drink.”

“Me too,” Marie said weakly.

* * *

Louette stood next to the red pickup truck, squinting into the sun. When she saw the boat arrive at the dock, she ran out to the end. “What happened?” she called. “I’ve been waiting here for an hour. I could see you out there, but there was nothing I could do.”

“Engine conked out on me,” C. D. replied. “Where’s Shug?”

“He took the ferry into town to pick up Miss Josephine’s medicine after I tried to call you but didn’t get an answer.”

“Phone’s dead,” C. D. said.

“Is Josephine okay?” Brooke asked, climbing out of the boat.

“Last night wasn’t a good one,” Louette said. “The doctor called in something stronger for the pain.”

“Oh, my,” Marie said quietly. “Will she feel well enough to see us?”

“Louette, this is my mom, Marie,” Brooke said before climbing into the bed of the pickup. “And this is Lizzie. Her grandmother Ruth was one of Josephine’s best friends.”

“Nice to meet you ladies,” Louette said. “Just slide up here on the front seat with me, if you don’t mind being a little close for a few minutes. As for Miss Josephine, she’s got herself set on seeing you no matter what. It’s all she’s talked about for days now.”