Just Past Oysterville: Shoalwater Book One (11 page)

"See? No problem,” he said. “That's what you
get for being raised on Twinkies and Wonder Bread.”

Cassie gave him another dirty look as the
fire finally began to fade from her mouth. He had been right; the
tortillas had done more than the whole bottle of water. Slowly she
reached into the bag and took out another taco.

"I swear, Jack," she warned, "If this is
hot…"

"No,” Jack snorted, still laughing. “That
one should be fine, two of each.” The food still seemed a little
spicy to Cassie’s smoldering palette, but it was edible and, what
little she could still taste of it, was very, very good.

Wiping tears from his eyes, Jack dug into
the remains of his own lunch. Cassie took a last, dainty sip from
her bottle and smiled sweetly at him.

"Just remember, Jack," she
said, "payback
sucks
."

This sent Jack into another gale of
laughter, as he steered the van through the rocky parking lot and
back onto the highway.

It was another five and a half hours up the
coast to Pismo Beach. Jack tried to coax more information from
Cassie about her home and family, but it was no use. Finally, he
conceded, at least for the moment.

“
Ah,” he murmured, smiling,
“
secret and self-contained and solitary
as an oyster
.” He paused for a
reaction, and got none.

“
That’s Dickens,” he
said.

“
Yes,” Cassie replied, “A
Christmas Carol, page one.”

Jack laughed.

The interstate scenery of Southern
California grew monotonous and both Jack and Cassie soon lapsed
into silence, lulled into a semi-conscious state by the hum of the
tires and the sound of the wind rushing past the windows.

By the time they saw the exit for Pismo,
Jack was stiff and sore from a long day in the driver’s seat. After
a brief conference, the two weary travelers decided to stop for the
day.

*

Parking along the boardwalk, they clambered
out of the van and stood, stretching and rubbing their eyes for a
moment as they took in the vastness of the Pacific Ocean.

Cassie had been to the beach several times
while growing up in Bowie. Twice on school outings and once in a
while with the Williams family; impromptu road trips in Guy's old
VW Bus.

The enormity of the sea never failed to
fascinate her, and she stood at the rail of the boardwalk for
several minutes, breathing in the briny tang of the air and letting
the cool coastal breeze flow over her. A tourist sign was posted to
the rail a little way from where she stood and Cassie walked down
to read it. Jack joined her a moment later.

"So," he said, "who killed whom here, and when?"

Cassie chose to ignore that, reading the
sign aloud.

"This area originally
gained fame as home for the Pismo Clam, a mollusk that used to
thrive in the hundreds of thousands along the beaches here.
However, over-harvesting has seriously
depleted supply and now there's a limit of only 10 clams
per day."

She finished and turned to Jack.

"And there is no greater
disaster than greed,
" he
quoted.

Cassie raised an eyebrow.

"Lao-tzu," Jack said. They stood a moment in
silence, looking out over the water.

“
They did the same thing
back home,” he went on, “the Chinooks harvested Olympia Oysters for
thousands of years, maybe tens of thousands, out of Willapa bay and
all up and down the coast. Once the gold rush hit in California, it
took the white man about thirty years to wipe ‘em out. We had to
import a whole new breed from Japan, Pacific Oysters, and that’s
still what we grow.” He sighed, “Now we’re doing the same thing to
the salmon.”

Cassie’s gaze returned to the ocean, and she
remained silent, unsure what to say.

"Well," Jack said at last, slapping his
stomach with both hands, "on that note, let's go eat some
seafood!"

Cassie rolled her eyes and
followed Jack across the busy street and down the block to
The Oceanside
, a
restaurant proclaiming
Gourmet
Seafood
in glowing blue
neon.

A polite waiter found them a seat near the
window, pulling out a heavy, leather-cushioned captain's chair from
the oak table for Cassie, and setting a menu and glass of water in
front of each of them. The dining area was dim, a dark, low
ceiling, the walls covered with fishing nets, glass floats, and
starfish.

“
I wouldn’t drink that if I
were you,” Jack said, as she raised the glass to her lips, “I don’t
know how your water in Arizona is, but the stuff down here can have
a mean streak.”

Cassie set her glass back down, sliding it
across the table and out of accidental reach, then browsed the menu
long enough to find the hamburger section. Sipping at a bottle of
water that Jack had requested from a passing waitress, Cassie
waited to see what he would choose. The older man considered the
menu for a several minutes and finally, with a nod of his head,
closed his up as well.

"So, what’cha having?” Cassie asked
immediately.

"I'm leaning towards the oyster kabobs,"
Jack said.

Cassie made a face, setting down her water,
"Oysters?" she asked with ill-concealed disgust.

"God's most perfect food!”
Jack replied, smacking his lips, "Ah,
Crassostrea gigas
,
the Pacific Oyster. ‘
A beatific smile over his face! Man has tasted
the oyster!
’ so sayeth Don
Marquis.”

Cassie groaned.

"And what," asked Jack," did you decide
on?"

"A cheeseburger and fries." Cassie answered
defiantly.

Jack put one hand over his eyes and wearily
shook his head, "I weep for the future," he muttered.

"But oysters are
so…
slimy
,"
Cassie replied, grimacing again, "ick!"

Jack harrumphed, sitting up straighter in
his seat as the waiter returned to take their dinner order,
bringing a diet cola for Cassie and a glass of root beer for Jack.
As soon as the man had turned to hurry back to the kitchen, Jack
pointed a long finger at Cassie.

"And just how many oysters have you eaten in
your eighteen years?" he asked.

"Well" Cassie said, faltering as she
realized she was being trapped, "none."

Slap! Jack's hand returned to his forehead,
as he issued another groan.

"Well," Cassie said, feeling
the battle being lost, "They
look
slimy…”

Jack didn't respond to this, but stared
blankly across the table at her until Cassie felt herself beginning
to squirm in her seat.

"Well…" Cassie began once more.

"Not," Jack said, "a very nonpartisan way to
approach the subject, especially for a would-be journalist.” That
stung and, her shoulders drooping in defeat, Cassie nodded.

Okay, I can't argue with that,” she said
with a disconsolate sigh. “The next place that has Oysters, I'll
order some."

"No need to wait that long,” Jack replied.
“You'll try some of mine right here!” He slapped his hand down in
triumph.

"Greeeat!" said Cassie, thinking of how good
her burger had sounded only moments before.

“
Oh,” Jack exclaimed, “that reminds me!” He suddenly began
digging furiously through the pockets of his leather jacket, until
he finally produced a battered paperback book. Cassie saw the
words
Willapa Bay
on the cover as he handed it to her.

“
That’s a definitive history
of Oysterville and Willapa Bay,” he said, “and I’m not just saying
that because I helped with it either! Now you can get started on
your research; and you
will
be quizzed.”

“
Oh boy!” Cassie said with a
groan, flipping through the pages of the narrow booklet as their
dinner was served.

Jack's oysters, wrapped in strips of bacon
and impaled on two long bamboo skewers, lay resting on a bed of
fresh, green spinach. Each skewer held five or six of the fat
bi-valves, pan fried to a golden-brown, interspersed with sautéed
mushrooms, and chunks of toasted French bread dripping with garlic
butter. The steam that rose from his plate was tangy with brine. As
Jack removed the first oyster from the skewer with his fork, he
offered it to Cassie without flair.

"I believe," he said, straight-faced, "that
you were seeking to expand your horizons?” Cassie took the fork,
trying to look anywhere except at the bacon-wrapped lump that she
was about to eat.

Bad medicine is best
taken quickly
, Kathy Belanger had oft
said and, with this thought in mind, Cassie popped the whole oyster
in her mouth and chewed quickly. To her surprise, the taste wasn't
bad, just unusual. In fact, she thought that maybe, just maybe, she
liked it. As Cassie kept chewing, she found that she really did
like it! The flavor was sharp, briny and pleasant, rich with butter
and garlic, and the consistency was not at all what she expected.
The oyster wasn't like anything she had ever tasted before, and she
looked somewhat dubiously at the halves of the cheeseburger resting
on her plate, a pile of French fries lying limply
beside.

Much to her chagrin, the look on Jack's face
showed plainly enough that he had seen her reaction. Wordlessly, he
picked up the first of the two skewers and set it on Cassie's
plate, taking half of her burger in trade.

"Thanks," Cassie said, a bit sheepishly.

"No worries," Jack replied, "I wouldn't have
expected anything less from you. I take it as a sign of excellent
breeding that you know good food when you taste it!"

Cassie studied him a moment, trying to
decide if he was putting her on.

Then she laughed and dug into her dinner,
following Jack's suggestion and eating the burger first, "Lest she
spoil the memory of the oysters.” The burger was great as well,
grilled thick and juicy, and served with slabs of beefsteak
tomatoes, sweet Vidalia onions, and crisp lettuce.

Finally, Jack leaned back and sighed and, as
he tossed his napkin onto his now empty plate, and drained the last
of his soda, his eyes twinkled merrily.

"O Oysters, said the Carpenter, You've had a
pleasant run! Shall we be trotting home again? But answer came
there none. And this was scarcely odd, because they'd eaten every
one!"

"Lewis Carroll!” Cassie exclaimed, "Finally,
someone I recognize.” Jack laughed.

"Not true,” he said, “you knew Dickens.
Tomorrow, we try out oyster shooters before dinner!"

"Oyster shooters?” Cassie looked at him
quizzically.

"A raw oyster, in a shot glass with a
spoonful of cocktail sauce!” Jack rolled his eyes and licked his
lips euphorically.

"
Raw
?” Cassie asked, swallowing
hard. Jack gave her a long look, and she raised her hands in
surrender.

“
Okay...okay, I'll try it!
But you had better take me someplace you don't intend to eat at
again, just in case I hurl!"

"Delightful," Jack grimaced, "The
colloquialisms of youth."

Chapter
Seven

Cassie insisted on paying for their dinner
that night, having removed the cash from her boots that morning.
She felt safer with Jack, even though she barely knew him. He still
seemed a little strange though.

A couple of times on the long drive from
Phoenix, she had noticed Jack watching her out of the corner of his
eye with an odd look on his face. It was a sad look, almost
haunted, and he would jerk his eyes quickly back to the road if she
caught his gaze.

Jack had told Cassie that he’d never married
and had no children.

She wondered if he regretted this when he
looked at her and she felt bad, thinking that she might be causing
him pain. He seemed like a nice enough guy, even though he tended
to lapse into long, quiet, moody spells.

In just their day and a half together, Cassie had learned to
recognize this look as it came, periodically, to Jack's face. His
jaw would become tight and his perpetual scowl would deepen, in a
subconscious reaction to his thoughts.

She had never met anyone like Jack Leland,
and found he was an enigma. For someone who could laugh so easily,
his moments of humor came like far-flung oasis in a desert of
gloom.

It was as though the moment he finished
laughing, a door slammed shut in his heart. Cassie thought about
this as they walked back down the boardwalk.

Just before they reached the van, a flashing
neon sign caught Jack's eye.

"You ever do any bowling?" he asked.

"The first and last time I went bowling,"
Cassie answered, grinning, "was at Megan Wilkinson's eighth
birthday party. I broke a bone in my ankle with a bowling ball, and
had to go to the hospital before they cut the cake!"

Jack stared at her for a moment, shaking his
head.

"Surely," he said, his voice dripping
incredulity, "you're not going to give in to that kind of defeat,
are you?"

"You want to go bowling?" she asked.

"Did you have a previous commitment?"

"Well no," she replied, "I just...okay,
let's go bowling!"

The bright-lit sign for Pismo Bowl led them
just past the pier to the bowling alley. Walking through the double
glass doors, Cassie felt her skin prickle in the cool,
air-conditioned room. They passed the pro-shop, which was closed,
and walked up to the counter. Behind her, Cassie could hear the low
rumble of balls rolling along the polished lanes, the crash of
pins, and the murmur of the players.