Lindy
Beth’s mouth hung open. She huffed and sniffed and burped
and swallowed until more tears came. She shook her head from side
to side and gnashed her teeth at him until the mixture of spittle,
snot, and tears dripped from her shiny, freckled chin.
“You’ll never leave me, Gator!” She slapped
the paddle blade on the water again and again. Smack...Smack...Smack!
Gator laughed out loud. She reminded him of an enraged beaver,
slapping its brown tail to warn all the other stupid little beavers
about the big, bad alligator coming down the river.
“I hate you!” she screamed. “And you can’t
leave me. If you do, I’ll tell. I know it was you that burnt
the house. I know because I watched from the bushes. And I’m
gonna tell the police. My baby will have a daddy. I don’t
care if the baby has to visit his daddy on Death Row. You won’t
leave me, Gator!”
Gator gasped and took a step back. She knew? She’d been
right there at the house that night and she didn’t stop
him? She had let him burn them alive?
He balled his hands into fists. “You fucking bitch!”
Lindy Beth scowled at him and slipped the oar back through its
iron ring. She grabbed the other oar and started rowing toward
the middle of the bayou. “Death Row, Gator! Think about
that on your long walk home.”
Gator picked up the anchor rope attached to the boat. He pulled
up the slack and cursed her again. The wet rope felt cool against
his injured palm. He looped it around his hand once, looped it
around twice. He roared and gave the rope the hardest yank he
could muster. The rotten plank on the rowboat stern popped off.
Water rushed in.
“Gator, no!” Lindy Beth screamed.
The boat listed hard to the left. Water gushed around her in a
brown soup. It climbed up her white legs and washed over her knees.
“Gator, please!” She stood and grabbed the oar ring
to her right, trying to steady the sinking boat. Her yellow sundress
spread out like a lily pad when the water reached her waistline.
The rear of the boat quickly submerged, and the bow angled vertically
until it pointed at the cypress branches high above. She let out
a frustrated grunt as she struggled to look over her shoulder.
“Gator! Gator!” Her shrill screams echoed over the
swamp. A frightened blue heron sprinted across the shallows on
the other side of the river. Spreading its wings, it lifted off
in languid strokes that left its frail legs dangling.
The bow went under. Lindy Beth had to let go of the oar ring to
keep from going down with it. Dark water crept up her neck. Her
arms flailed in the filthy river. Choking, gurgling, bobbing up
and down--she was either too stupid or too panicked to dog paddle.
It didn’t matter to Gator either way. As long as she went
down...
When her fingers slipped beneath the black water, most of the
thrashing stopped. Bayou Lafourche swallowed her with a dark swirl
and a sprinkle of bubbles.
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