Captiva

'No rules. Not for you, not for me. No rules ever—'

'Then I want to know why!'

She cupped my face in her hands, and leaned forward until our noses were nearly touching. 'I like you. Is that so hard to believe? I like the way you look, the way you move. I like the way your brain works. It's because I saw you, and I knew, that's why. That evening I saw you outside, taking your shower. Took one look and I thought, yep, we'll get our chance one day. You think I go round asking the name of every man I meet? Then up to Tallahassee, I heard you at that meeting. Same thing: It came right into my mind, the picture of you and me. You didn't strike me as the crazy jealous type. The type to yammer at my heels like most of 'em.' She moved her hands on my face; paused to straighten my glasses. 'Ifyou knew how many men I got tailing after me, half sick with tryin' to get me in bed. . . . Well, you wouldn't be standing there talking, 'cause I can change my mind anytime I want.'

I stared into her eyes, and said, 'Nope. No you can't. Time's up.' Pulled her to me, kissed her . . . felt her mouth open and kissed her harder. Found the suspender straps, nudged them from off her shoulders . . . and the rubber rain pants dropped to her ankles. She lifted her knees and kicked them away.

Nothing on beneath but cheap white cotton panties.

I had my hands cupped over her skinny little rump, still kissing her . . . let my hand drift up over the washboard convexity of ribs. . . felt her sharp intake of breath as my fingers found the heavy underside of her breast, then traced that soft curvature to the length and heat of nipple.

Hannah pulled away abruptly, stripped the T-shirt up over her head, and shook her hair free of its red ribbon. Stood there naked but for the drooping panties, and I released a long, slow breath, staring at her: Whew. . .

Which caused Hannah to smile—See what you would have missed?—and then she said in a husky, sleepy voice, 'You can jump out of'em now, or I'll yank 'em off for you.'

Meaning my pants.

Moments later she had her long fingers curled around me, leading me toward my single bed as if steering a cart. 'Big Six,' she was saying. 'Big Six . . .'

Wondered: As in number six?—as I listened to her make her bell note sound; a woman living her vision, enjoying it.

Chapter 13

Hannah insisted on fishing. Said, 'I've got house payments to make, and no money comin' in as ofjuly.' Also insisted that I go with her. 'When you're feeling up to it again, I want somethin' between us besides distance.' Bawdy, hungry tone to her voice.

So I went mullet fishing with Hannah. The logistics were tricky. I didn't want to get on her boat and have to spend the night in Gumbo Limbo. I didn't know if Tomlinson could be counted among Hannah's six lovers or not— she was so damn touchy about her independence I was afraid to ask. Whether he was or whether he wasn't, it would have been too weird, all three of us in the same house together, because Hannah was not a subdued and noiseless bed partner. She had whooped and moaned and made my small bed crash like a tambourine. Later, on the floor, she had thumped the walls with her heels. Same thing, later still, out on the deck.

Those are not sounds to be shared through thin walls with a friend.

Also ... I wasn't entirely sure that I had the energy to help her produce those sounds again. Hannah made love without a hint of self-consciousness. She had one of the most spectacular bodies I had ever seen. But we all have our limits. Hannah had pushed me to mine—then helped baby me along until I had exceeded them.

So, what we decided was, Hannah had access to a little fish house off the southern point of Sulphur Wells, not far from the village of Curlew. Arlis Futch owned the house, though he had all but given it to her. By boat, Curlew was about halfway to Gumbo Limbo, only thirty minutes. I would lash Tomlinson's Zodiac onto my Hewes, then follow her to the fish house and tie my boat there. When we were done fishing, she would take the Zodiac in tow, and I would return to Dinkin's Bay.

She kept saying, 'I don't know why you don't just come up and stay with me for a few days. Tommy, he wouldn't mind a bit.'

I said, 'Tommy will understand,' wondering if he would—hoping he wouldn't.

Now it was after ten p.m., and we were in Hannah's boat. She stood forward of the engine well, using the PVC pipe to steer. I stood just behind her, right leg braced against the well for balance. When Hannah was at the controls, balance was required because of the way she veered in and out of islands. When we were behind a lee shore, out of the wind, she would twist the throttle open, and the little skiff would seem to gather buoyancy as it flew us across the mud banks. No moon, no running lights, no spotlight. She ran everything from memory. Said she loved speed, the force of the wind on her face.

'You get scared, just grab my shoulder!'

She had to holler above the engine noise to make herself heard.

I put my chin next to her ear. 'If I grab your shoulder, it won't be because I'm scared.'

Every now and then, she'd lean against my chest so that I could support the weight of her. Let her hair flap in my face, then reach back and squeeze my thigh. Mostly, though, she concentrated on finding fish.

When we were off Pine Island, just southeast on Mondongo Island, she slowed the boat abruptly. We were in slightly more than two feet of water, and I could see the green bioluminescent tracer-streaks of mullet flushing ahead of us. I had already squatted to grab the gunwale when she yelled, 'Hang on!' then gunned the engine while, at the same instant, tossing out an anchor that was connected to the gill net.

The net began to peel out behind us as Hannah made a high-speed circle around the fish. She circled them a second time, then a third, using the bailing can to bang on the deck. The noise would spook the fish into the mesh. Finally, she killed the engine, and switched on a bare twelve-volt light bulb that was suspended from a wooden arm above the icebox. Felt our own wake catch us, rolling the boat, as Hannah said, 'That's the fun part. Now I'll put you to work.'

Hannah called it picking mullet. It wasn't too bad with both of us aboard. But one person alone? No wonder the woman's body was stripped bare of fat, corded with muscle. The hardest part was wrestling the net over the transom. We stood on opposite sides of the stern, pulling the net hand over hand, piling it in the well. When a mullet came thrashing into the boat, she would twist the fish free of the net and lob it into the icebox. I did the same, trying to mimic her smooth motion. It took a while to get the hang of it.

'You still pooped out, Ford?'

'Me? Fresh as a daisy.'

With Hannah, facial expressions were a second language. Clearly, she was dubious. 'I'll tell you somethin' I've never told nobody. Running this boat by myself at night makes me horny as hell. The way the engine vibrates? It runs through the wood right up my legs. When we get going again, I wouldn't mind you bending me right over the engine well. While I'm still steering, I mean. Never done that in my life, and I would purely love to. In my mind— when I had the vision of you and me being lovers?— that's what I saw you doing to me.'

'Jesus, Hannah, I thought you were talking about fishing. Was I too tired to fish—that's what I thought you meant.'

Wild whoop of laughter. 'I embarrass you? Well. . . get used to it. I'll never say nothing in front of anybody else, but you—you, I'll tell just how I feel.' She was untangling a gaffsail catfish that had spun itself in the net. I watched her rotate the fish's lateral barb, remove the fish cleanly, and toss it overboard. 'When I was a little girl,' she said, 'I used to love to ride on a train, only I almost never got the chance. Now that I'm grown, turns out it's the same with men. If a woman's fussy, if she waits till her body and her mind both tell her it's okay, then not very many trains come along. But when one does . . .' More bawdy laughter.

'A train, huh? I guess I'm flattered.'