Brother Word (24 page)

“They too small to keep,” he explained to Lynn. Lynn had tried her hand at casting a few lines into the water, but she had much to learn about the sport. Three times she’d reeled her line back in, only to find the bait missing from the hook.

“You jus’ feeding the fish, child!” Pop had exclaimed, laughing. “There’s an art form to fishing. You feel a gentle tug first, not even enough to make the line ripple. But that tells you the fish is there, jus’ circling the bait. You might want to dangle the line a lil’ bit, make the fish think it’s a live worm—gets ’em every time, if you do it right. Then, right when you sense that fish coming in to take the bait, you jerk back on the pole, let the hook get ’em right in the gills. After that, you just reel him in. Easy pickings, I tell ya. Easy pickings.”

“My goodness,” Lynn replied, overwhelmed. “I didn’t realize so much effort went into this.”

“Oh, don’t take Pop so seriously,” Chance piped up from where he had been watching his two fishing lines. “Pop can—and
will
—compare everything in life to fishing.”

“That’s right,” Pop agreed. “Fishin’ is the perfect metaphor for life.”

Chance looked at his watch. “Uh, Pop, before you launch into your spiel on how fishing should be taught to every child in America, you think maybe we should head back? The bass aren’t biting as much, now that it’s warming up.”

Pop nodded. “Yeah, this is probably gon’ do it for today. Wasn’t great, but not bad, either.”

Chance reeled in his two lines, then walked back to the steering wheel. In seconds,
Jacqueline
was skimming through the water back to the land. Lynn walked up behind Chance and tapped him on his shoulder. “What are you going to do about Travis Everett?”

“I don’t plan to do
anything
,” Chance replied after a pause. “I’m . . . I’m tired of running. If this guy’s here and he wants to talk to me, fine. I don’t care anymore. Everything can be on the record except what happened here two years ago.”

“But what if that’s
precisely
what he wants to talk about?”

“Then he’ll get a bunch of ‘no comments,’ won’t he?”

While Lynn went back to help Pop on the other side of the boat, Chance slowly navigated
Jacqueline
into the docks, which were now not as full with most of the boats still out on the lake. He steered the craft into the registered spot and anchored her.

He was about to hop onto the pier when he noticed her. She was leaning against the “No Running” signpost, smoking a cigarette and staring in his direction with a gaze that smoldered even at ten yards.

Jucinda.

Chance instinctively froze, not because he hadn’t seen this woman for two years, but because her last words to him burned in his memory.

“If I ever see you here again, I swear to God I’ll kill you . . .”

Her threat was more than displaced anger, he knew. Jucinda’s temper had been one of the things Nina had never liked about her mother, though Jucinda had gotten better over the years with anger management classes. But when Nina died, and Jucinda had blamed Chance for not taking her to get medical help, all those lessons Jucinda had learned fell to the wayside.

“I thought I told you never to come back,” Jucinda began, through clenched teeth. She tossed her cigarette down and squished it with her shoe.

“Jucinda, let’s be adults and talk about this,” Chance replied, not moving from his spot on the boat. He could hear Pop and Lynn on the other side, putting away their fishing poles.

“Ain’t nothing more to talk about. You’re the source of all my problems. Always have been, ever since you ruined my baby’s life.”

“Nina
chose
to be with me, Jucinda. You never accepted that, but that’s the truth.”

“How
dare
you tell me that was the truth! That was
not
the truth. Nina was going places . . . she was going to move away from here and make a real life for herself. But you wouldn’t let her, would you? You had to control her life, didn’t you?”

“Jucinda, if you believe that, then that shows how much you really knew about your daughter. Nina was a strong person; she wasn’t about to be controlled by anyone. What we had together was . . . love. We loved each other.”

“Hey, who’s that you’re talking to about love?” Lynn asked, walking around to where Chance stood.

“Now, who’s that!” Jucinda spat, pointing a trembling finger at Lynn. “Uh-huh . . . I knew it. I figured you must’ve had another woman. That’s why you brainwashed Nina’s mind, so you could get rid of her and—”

“Jucinda, now that’s enough. Talk like that is crazy.”

“No,” Jucinda retorted. “
Talk
is crazy, and I’m through talking with you. Kneeling down, she opened a backpack at her feet. When she stood back up, a compact 9 mm pistol rested in her trembling hands. And it was pointed directly at Chance.

Chapter Forty

T
RAVIS HAD CLEARED OUT
a stakeout spot in some thick shrubbery to the right of the space where
Jacqueline
was kept moored. He’d learned from talking with a local fisherman that every boat had a registered spot, and that Bennett Howard had “parked” his boat in the first spot for a number of years, since he usually was the earliest out on the water.

That’s perfect,
Travis had thought, downright giddy because it meant that he was now certain to get Chance’s picture.

He’d been waiting in the bushes ever since half past ten, so he’d seen the middle-aged woman who’d walked right up to
Jacqueline
’sregistered spot and started pacing back and forth for ten minutes before finally leaning against a signpost. Travis had thought her behavior strange, especially after she’d smoked through a half pack of cigarettes and checked her watch every few minutes. He’d taken a few pictures of her, just for good measure. No telling what interesting angle she would provide for his story.

The
Jacqueline
appeared around a bend in the water a few minutes after eleven, its golden-yellow hull shimmering and sparkling in the sunlight. Travis pulled his cap down lower on his head to shield his eyes from glare and steadied his camera. His right index finger twitched spasmodically over the camera’s red button, like a gunslinger’s finger might twitch against a trigger during showdown at high noon.

Showtime, mystery man . . . you’re gonna make me a star . . .

Chance Howard stood alone at the steering wheel, guiding the boat into its spot. Travis furiously worked his tiny digital camera, like he was orchestrating a silent photo shoot.

You’re making me a star! I’m gonna be a star . . .

And that’s when the nervous-acting woman began talking, and Travis quickly realized just how
big
a star he was about to become.

Chapter Forty-one

J
UCINDA, THERE’S NO NEED
for that,” Chance began calmly, raising his hands defensively, the way most people react when staring down the barrel of a gun.

“You ain’t in any position to tell me what I need or don’t need to do,” Jucinda retorted, her hands still trembling around the gun.

“Oh my God,” Lynn whispered, slowly retreating to the other side of the boat.

“No, you stay right there!” Jucinda ordered. Lynn immediately froze.

“Jucinda, will you think about what you’re doing?” Chance asked. “It’s broad daylight and you’re standing there with a gun for the entire world to see.”

“You think I care? Didn’t I tell you not to come back here, Chance Howard? Didn’t I warn you what would happen if I
ever
saw you back in this town?”

“Jucinda, be reasonable. My pop is sick, and I—”

“My daughter was sick, too!” Jucinda cried. “She was sick, and she needed help. But you . . .” She pointed a trembling finger at Chance. “You wouldn’t help her, you country son of a—”

“Jucinda, I tried to help her. Couldn’t you
see
how much I loved your daughter? Couldn’t you see how I’d have gladly traded my life for hers? I told her several times to listen to the doctor’s advice and undergo the chemotherapy.”

Jucinda shook her head back and forth wildly. “I don’t believe you—you just saying whatever you want to now to shift the blame, just like you did two years ago.”

“Jucinda, I know you’re still upset over Nina’s death. I’m upset, too . . . and I will be for the rest of my life. But what is shooting me going to prove? How is that going to help anything?”

“It’s my justice . . . it’s my only justice. I had dreams for my beautiful Nina. She was so smart—she was ten times smarter than you—and she had such a future to live for.”

“I know that, Jucinda. I—”

“Liar! You shut up and let me talk!” She waved the gun around in her still trembling hands. “You just let
me
do all the talking now. You see, I knew you were no good for Nina . . . I used to have bad dreams about you, but I couldn’t do anything about them because Nina blocked me out of that part of her life.”

“That’s because . . .” Chance began, before quickly closing his mouth as Jucinda raised the gun and took a step toward him. It was then that he became aware of movement to his right, in the shrubbery. The glare of the sun off the boat’s hull partially blinded his view, but he could make out what looked like a moving . . . paw?

Jucinda began talking again, verbally attacking his character once more, but Chance’s attention was now diverted by the movement to his right. The paw moved again, and this time Chance could see that it was not a real animal paw. It was an orange paw plastered on the white background canvas of a . . . baseball cap. But what kind of cap had an orange paw on a—

And then he remembered. He’d been at that train station in Columbia and seen a similar type cap, worn by a teenage boy. The boy had been wearing a matching T-shirt that read, “Clemson Tigers.” So the person in the bushes was wearing a Clemson Tigers cap. Which meant he or she was probably from South Carolina. But who else from there besides Lynn knew about—

It’s the reporter
, he thought, in a sudden burst of realization. But why wasn’t this guy doing anything to help him? Couldn’t he tell that this woman was crazy? Couldn’t he see that she was bound to hurt somebody?

“. . . gonna make sure you get what’s coming to you,” Jucinda was now saying. From the way she was handling the gun, Chance was fairly confident she wasn’t steady with her aim. And knowing that, he would’ve tried ducking underneath the steering wheel or diving into the water, if not for Lynn standing in harm’s way beside him.

Stay calm . . . keep your cool . . .
“Jucinda, if you shoot me, what’s going to happen to
you
? Have you thought about that? You can’t plead self-defense or temporary insanity. If you kill me, you’re looking at a premeditated murder rap. And this isn’t Ruston, where you think you have so much influence. We’re in Shreveport. The police here don’t—”

“I said, shut up!” Jucinda screamed. “You are not in control, here! Do you understand? I—am—in—control!”

The next few surreal seconds unfolded in slow motion for Chance, as if in a dream. A tree branch snapped loudly, diverting Jucinda’s attention away from him. In that split second, he knew what he had to do.

Spinning on his heel, he pushed Lynn hard to the deck. She cried out in surprise, causing Jucinda to turn back toward Chance, who was now clambering atop the boat’s railing and preparing to jump overboard.

The 9 mm pistol fired once, twice.

Still perceiving everything in slow motion, Chance could almost see the first bullet flying toward him.

I must be dreaming . . .

He did not feel that first slug pierce his shoulder, twisting his body further sideways. Neither did he feel the next bullet slam into his lower back, sending him toppling over the boat’s railing. He did, however, feel the warm Louisiana water as it enveloped him, slowly swallowing him within its murky depths. The last thought in his mind made no sense to him whatsoever.

Why is the water . . . so . . . red?

Chapter Forty-two

T
HE SENSATION OF WEIGHTLESSNESS
was horrifying, and yet wonderful at the same time. Floating in a bluish darkness where everything was so serene, Chance tried to move his head and body, but it felt like he was not in a body at all.

This is it . . . I’m dying . . .

He wasn’t sure if he was still underwater, because the darkness clouded his visibility. In the distance, he could see faint lights, or at least he imagined that he could.

There’s supposed to be bright lights, right? Because I’m dying, right?

It was more of a thought to convince himself of this reality than a prayer to God. Of course he was dying. He’d been shot by Jucinda, he had fallen overboard, and he’d hit his head against a rock. These kinds of tragic incidents usually preceded the termination of life. But if there was any comfort, it was that he knew Jesus Christ as his Savior, and therefore had the peace to know he would forever spend eternity with Him.

And Nina, too! I’ll soon see Nina again!

Death, then, was a comforting thought, and he welcomed it as one embraces a long-lost friend. Still, something nagged at him.

This is my life? Twenty-eight years of living, blessed with a wonderful wife but a disappointingly short marriage? To be given an incredible gift of healing but always be unable to help the people I loved most? That’s all the life I’m ever going to know?

He half expected God to answer him, being so close to death and all. But amidst the silence, there was no answer. Chance wasn’t sure how much time had elapsed since he’d hit his head against that rock and now, but . . . shouldn’t something be happening? Shouldn’t there be angels escorting him to Jesus, who would then welcome him into the joy of the Father?

Maybe this isn’t it . . . maybe I’m not dying . . .

Chapter Forty-three

T
RAVIS HAD NOT WANTED
to stand, but his legs had been severely cramping. He’d thought he could stand and quickly stretch them without Chance and the gun-toting woman noticing him, but he’d grossly underestimated the pressure of his 250-pound frame easing off the tree branch. When the branch had snapped, he’d quickly ducked back down again, but not before he’d been spotted by both Chance and Jucinda. Five seconds later, as he was scrambling back through the bushes, as far away from the
Jacqueline
as his large feet could take him, he heard two loud gunshots.