Skinny Dipping Season (17 page)

J. D. and the men accelerated toward the scene of the crash. Other boats in the parade rushed to the wreck as well. From the shore, we watched helplessly as rescuers threw out life vests and pulled kids from the water. Boaters jumped into the lake to help the battered teens and pull them to safety.

How many passengers had been on the boat? Were they all accounted for? I struggled to remember and searched the shore for Sandy Miller.

Sandy stood on the beach with her arms around Ellie. A circle of ladies gathered around, trying to comfort them. Ellie's face was white and confused.

Time seemed to pass in slow motion as we waited. There was no more music. The parade had been completely abandoned for a search-and-rescue operation. Sirens grew closer and several ambulances pulled into the parking lot by the public dock.

The first couple of boats returned from the waters around the wreckage with teenagers huddled in beach towels. They were met at the dock by EMS workers. I recognized Connor and Kaitlyn in the arms of adults, their faces tearstained. Fortunately, they seemed able to walk. But the paramedics were placing another teen on a stretcher. A paramedic held an oxygen mask over his face. The crowd watched silently as they carried the stretcher to the waiting ambulance.

There was still no sign of Luke or Cherry.

Leaving Sandy and Ellie in the capable hands of Marva and the other ladies, I made my way back to Nestor. He had moved out of the way of the returning boats and medical personnel and stood on land.

He gave me a hug. “That was one of your little friends on that boat, wasn't it, honey?”

I could only nod my head. The worry was shredding my insides.

“We're saying a prayer,” said a woman with short, spiky hair. Several people closed their eyes and a group formed around them as they bowed their heads. Lori and Bootie stood off to the side and bowed their heads too.

Saying my own prayer, but not able to stay still, I turned back to the dock. The Coast Guard vessel and the boat J. D. had commandeered were on their way back. Cherry had to be on board one of them. A cluster of women escorted Sandy and Ellie down the dock. The Coast Guard and J. D.'s boat cut through the lingering remains of the parade. Two figures huddled under blankets on each boat.

The crowd was silent as several men stepped forward to help secure the lines. Someone was folded into J. D.'s shoulder. J. D. leaped from the boat and reached back for the shrouded figure. He enfolded the bedraggled passenger in his arms and gently ushered the small form off the boat. The blanket lowered from the wet, dark head to reveal Cherry. All the blood had drained from her face and her lower lip quivered. But she was alive and, thankfully, it seemed she was unhurt.

A cry of relief escaped Sandy. She pulled Cherry from J. D.'s arms and clasped her in a relieved embrace.

“Thank God!” Marva sobbed.

It hurt to inhale. I don't know when I stopped breathing, but I felt like it had been hours. I caught J. D.'s eye and tried to reassure him even as a lump formed in my throat. He nodded, still grim, and glanced back at the Coast Guard vessel.

Luke Schraeder sat between two uniformed men: a soggy pirate. A Breathalyzer lay on the seat beside him. The men escorted Luke off the boat and J. D. stood waiting for him, pulling handcuffs from his back belt loop.

“Get your filthy paws off my son, Hardy!”

A tall, blond man in patchwork shorts, a pink polo shirt, and expensive leather sandals charged up the dock. His red face was beaded by sweat and two streams ran down his forehead and temples.

Spittle flew from his mouth. “I said, get your sleazy hands off my son!”

J. D. ignored him and calmly continued to shackle Luke with the handcuffs. Then he began to read him his Miranda rights.

“Cut the bullshit law crap, you bastard! I'm talkin' to you!”

J. D. coolly finished reading Luke his rights while Luke's father fumed and kicked the stanchions on the dock. The group of women with Sandy, Cherry, and Ellie stared wide-eyed and backed away.

“Keep your comments PG, Dylan, there are kids around,” said J. D. when he finished.

“I can say whatever I goddamn want to. And what I want to say, shithead, is what the hell do you think you're doing putting those handcuffs on my son?”

“At the very least, your son was operating a vehicle in a reckless manner. He also blew a .17 on the Breathalyzer, which—in case you didn't realize—means he was drinking alcohol, twice the legal limit, if he were an adult. But there is nothing legal about drinking when you are a minor. And by the way, he isn't hurt, in case you were wondering. You can meet us at the sheriff's office.”

“This operation is a complete sham this summer with you running things like a fuckin' moron.”

J. D. handed a bleary-eyed Luke Schraeder over to the Coast Guard officer next to him.

“This ain't no comedy, Hardy. My son had a little accident, but there's no way he should be in handcuffs right now.”

J. D. stepped closer to Dylan Schraeder. I watched the muscles contracting in his cheek and recognized the fury below the surface.

“Your son endangered not only his life, but the life of all nine teenagers on that boat, not to mention the passengers on the other vessels. You tell the parents of each and every one of those kids we just pulled out of the water that your son did nothing wrong.”

I knew J. D. was struggling to keep his voice steady. He stepped closer until he was almost toe to toe with Dylan. “Do you seriously think those parents who thought their kids weren't going to come out of the water alive are going to look you in the eye and say, ‘That's okay, Dylan, your son was just having fun?' ”

J. D. pointed to the crowd. “A few dozen people videotaped those kids. Perhaps the judge will be interested in the evidence.”

The other man shrank away from J. D. For a moment, his face lost expression and he turned ashen. Then he blinked and closed his gaping mouth. Like a python ready to strike, he recoiled, choking on a bitter laugh.

“Well, well . . . look who's calling the kettle black? What's the matter, J. D.? Did you think the good people of Truhart forgot what kind of background you came from? Do you think you can fool us with that uniform? You were probably in handcuffs plenty by the time you were twenty and for a lot worse, I'll bet.”

J. D. turned away and secured the boat lines. But Dylan kept talking for the crowd's sake. “We remember you. Wasn't it Juvenile Delinquent Hardy that we called you? You were nothing but a dropout and would still be rotting if Sheriff Howe hadn't fished you out of the trash.”

I shoved my way to the front and stood near J. D. for support. Dylan looked me up and down and spat at the ground in front of us, barely missing J. D.'s shoes. “You fraud. You can pretend all you want. But we call a piece of crap, like you, what you are. Nothing but shit!”

One of the Coast Guard officers stepped around us to put his hand on Dylan's belligerent shoulder, but he was shaken off. “Fine! I'm done. Our lawyer will be contacting you people. None of this would have happened if you hadn't decided to play cops and robbers with a bunch of kids.”

Several people in the crowd murmured. Finding strength, he continued: “You should never have been put in charge, Hardy. You're nothing but trouble wherever you go!” He stomped down the dock and disappeared in the crowd.

J. D. and the stone-faced officers escorted Luke down the dock. People stepped back to make room for them. They placed Luke in the back of J. D.'s SUV and headed into town. The remaining bystanders milled about, shaking their heads and speaking in hushed tones about what had happened.

Nestor's high-pitched voice cut through the quiet with intentional volume. “Well, I guess we can all rest in peace knowing that fathers like that are around to support their children's fun-loving behavior. I don't know why we even need to worry about the next generation.”

M
y wipers flapped frenetically across the windshield as I drove toward town late that evening. The clouds that had hovered over the horizon all afternoon during the boat parade had finally made good on their promise. Now a drenching rain, interrupted by rumbles of thunder and flashes of lightning, showed no signs of letting up.

Fourth of July outdoor plans were canceled. The Chamber of Commerce fireworks were postponed until the next night, provided the rain stopped. As the sheets of water cascaded across the paved main street, it didn't seem like that would ever happen.

Earlier in the evening I had driven to the Tall Pines trailer park to reassure myself that Cherry was all right.

Sandy met me at the door with a wobbly smile.

“Except for being shaken up, she seems fine. I think she was lucky she was on the bow of the boat. She said some of the kids in the cockpit took the brunt of the accident. One has a broken arm and another a possible concussion. Cherry, on the other hand, was out in the open already. She just sailed right off that boat and into the water . . . thank God she didn't hit the dock or worse.”

Sandy's chatter was edged with such relief she was almost giddy. She knelt on the floor next to Cherry, who was lying on the couch with her arm curled beneath her head, and prattled on about everyone who had called them. Ellie was curled at her feet, holding her ragged bunny rabbit. Cherry's face was still pale, but she sent me a rueful smile, amused by her mother and Ellie.

When I left, Sandy grabbed an old umbrella and walked me out. She paused at the door to my car. “Our local judges have been known to throw the book at underage drinkers. I'm not sure what will happen to Luke.”

I looked down at the pools of water forming in the dirt at our feet. “What do you want to happen?”

“I guess it depends on how fast Dylan lawyers up,” she said. “No one wants to see a young man ruin his entire future over a mistake, but I certainly don't agree with his father. It was in no way J. D.'s or the Coast Guard's fault that the accident happened. Luke was driving the boat dangerously before the Coast Guard began to chase him.”

I remained silent. Luke wasn't on my list of concerns. I was thinking of the way people looked at J. D. as he walked off the dock.

Sandy must have read my mind. “J. D. had a tough time when he was younger, but he didn't deserve that kind of treatment from Dylan.”

I wanted to ask her more. But she tilted her head and said, “I understand you two have been seeing each other. I only know because of something I heard from Cherry.”

I didn't deny it. She patted my arm. “So if you see J. D., tell him that most people don't feel the same way Dylan Schraeder does. Tell him.”

The words echoed in my mind on the drive toward town. It had been hours since he had arrested Luke, and J. D. wasn't responding to my texts. There was talk that they had to take Luke to the county offices in Harrisburg. But where was he now? I turned the wipers up to full power when another sheet of rain attacked my windshield. I passed the sheriff's office for the second time. Only the dispatcher's car was in the parking lot.

I pulled around the corner and made my way through town, searching for the familiar SUV. I was ready to give up when I spotted J. D.'s truck. It was angled near the Dumpster in the back parking lot of Cookee's diner.

I parked near the front door and jumped out, trying to dodge the raindrops on my way to the entrance. Once inside, I stood on the black mat and searched for some sign of J. D. while I shook off the rivulets of water that streamed down my legs and the back of my neck.

The diner was empty. Corinne sat on a stool on the other side of the counter with her chin in her hands and a magazine in front of her. She nodded her head imperceptibly toward the back, where several booths abutted the long windows. I followed her gesture with my eyes.

He was wedged in the corner of the booth with his back to me. His leg was propped up on the long seat and his arm curved around a cup of coffee in front of him. His hat sat so low across his face that I couldn't see his expression. He didn't acknowledge me or even glance up, though he must have heard the sound of the bell on the door and my footsteps approaching.

From where I stood, he looked like the loneliest man on the planet.

“I have some work in the back to do before closing, Elizabeth. Do you mind letting me know if anyone comes in?”

Taking my eyes off J. D., I nodded at Corinne. She put a hand on her chest and sent me a tiny smile before she left. They were old friends. If he wouldn't talk to Corinne, I wasn't sure J. D. would talk to me. But I had to try.

“Do you mind if I sit with you?”

He gestured with his hand at the empty seat across from him. It wasn't an overly enthusiastic invitation.

I pointed to his full mug. “You want me to heat that cup of coffee up?”

He shook his head. I sighed and sat down. The rain beating against the window was the only noise in the diner. Main Street was eerily empty and the evening had arrived prematurely.

“I saw Sandy Miller earlier.”

He took a long breath. “How's Cherry?”

“Completely spoiled. Ellie pulled out all the Easter candy she'd been hiding under her bed and let Cherry have whatever she wanted. Sandy keeps asking if she needs anything. Neither will let her move off the couch.”

He nodded, letting me see his eyes for the first time since I entered the diner. They were so bleak I wanted to cry. I knew he didn't want my sympathy, but I couldn't help reaching across and touching his hand. “Sandy asked me to tell you that most people on the dock today thought you were doing the right thing.”

J. D. grunted and moved his hand away. “Yeah . . . right.”

“Really, J. D. Dylan was completely out of line. Actually, he was more than out of line: He was a belligerent ass.”

J. D.'s mouth tilted at the corner. “Keep it PG, Teach. I heard enough R-rated language on the dock.”

“Well, he was. I don't know where he got off talking to you that way, but he must have a screw loose to think his kid was innocent and you were some kind of bad guy.”

A moment of silence filled the air. An unspoken question hung between us.

“He was simply stating the truth.”

“What? That his son's accident was your fault? C'mon, J. D. You don't think for a second this was in some way your doing?”

He took a deep breath and brought his leg off the seat, turning to face me. “I know we did the right thing today, but all the other stuff was correct.”

“You mean you aren't sweet and innocent Barney Fife after all?” I grinned at him, lowering my head to see under the brim of his hat. I tried to catch his eyes with my smile, as if he were a frowning child. He pushed his coffee cup away.

“Aw, Sheriff, I thought I was sleeping with the straitlaced nerd of Truhart. You mean to tell me I've actually found myself a
bad boy
?” I put my hand up and pumped the air with my fist, trying to lighten his mood. “Awesome! You couldn't have made me happier. Let's go. Your place or mine? I'm—”

J. D. reached out and grasped both of my hands. “I was picked up by the police twice by the time I was sixteen.” He leaned forward and stared me in the eye. “You were probably an honors student, right? Well, I finished my GED online from a juvenile-detention center. Did you hear me?

“I lived in Detroit until I was thirteen, then my mother hooked up with a truck driver and moved me to a trailer in the woods off M-33. I hated it. I knew more about how to hot-wire a car and pick a lock than how to ride a bike or hunt deer! In high school I was wasted every day before the sun set. I fought with Dylan and his friends all the time. When I was living in Truhart I
was
the local juvenile delinquent.”

I started to protest, but he squeezed my hand tighter. “That's why they renamed me Juvenile Delinquent Hardy—my own mother wouldn't bail me out of trouble half the time. My father? Some would call him the accidental sperm donor. She called him lucky! He never had to deal with me.”

My hands hurt from his iron grip, but I didn't let him know. I stared straight back at him and forced myself not to flinch.

He slowly released my hand and looked away. “After I was picked up for lifting a six-pack at a convenience store, my mother moved down to Florida with a new guy and I never heard from her again.

“Sheriff Howe took me under his wing before I ended up in prison and showed me that I could be better. He told me I was young enough to turn my life around. He was the father I never had.” He swallowed and struggled to keep his voice even. “It was hard, but I
did
change. When I finished my diploma I took college courses in law enforcement. The chance he gave me was one in a million. He trusted me—encouraged me to become a police officer. After a few years in Detroit, he even invited me back here, to the town that knows me as a criminal deviant. No wonder everyone has a hard time with the fact that he made me his deputy sheriff.”

He shrugged. “Today just proves I can't do this. These people don't want me around. They won't forget.”

I knew all about being around people who wouldn't let the past go. I still felt the shame of being the troublemaking congressman's daughter from Toledo. But there was one huge difference between J. D. and me.

“You came back to face your demons, J. D. Nobody does that. I certainly didn't. I couldn't take the pressure of dealing with what everyone at home thought of me. So I ran away. But you didn't.”

“It's different.”

“Not really.” I pulled my journal out of my purse and waved it in front of him. “You've already won your battle. I have to do homework to keep from slipping. And even then, I still fail.”

I shoved the leather-bound book in his hands and he flipped through the pages. “What's this toward the back?”

“The homework I made for myself.”

“You're missing something.”

“No, I'm not. I wrote it down a few weeks ago.
Take a big risk
.”

“That's not what you ne—”

“The
point
is that I still need work. But you—you did it all on your own. Without expensive therapy.”

“Well, I had Sheriff Howe and his family.”

“You did the hard work, J. D. You were successful.”

He handed me the journal and a flicker of doubt wavered in his eyes. “You're just trying to make me feel better.”

“What? I'd never do that. I take way too much pleasure in teasing you and making you miserable.”

He grunted.

I put both hands on the table and leaned forward. “You know what coming back here makes you, J. D.?”

I leaned in and pushed his hat back until my face was inches from his. “You're going to have to excuse my R-rated words, but my bad-girl side is coming out. It makes you my damn hero!”

Speechless, he stared at me for a moment. Then the corner of his mouth slowly curled and much of the tension left his face. “I might have to arrest you if you keep swearing like that.”

“Well, you know, all day I've been daydreaming about you, me, and those handcuffs.”

God, I loved making him smile! It was perhaps the best thing I had done all year. The shadows were still there. But I had cracked his mood. A warmth spread over me and warded off the chill from the rain.

J. D. wiped his hand across his face and straightened his hat, trying to disguise his boyish smile. It made me light-headed. “You are really something, you know that?” J. D. said. “I don't think I've ever been called that before.
Stupid
.
Crazy
. Certainly
trouble
. But never a hero.”

“It has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? J. D. Hero. What the heck is your real name?” His smile disappeared for a moment.

I quickly changed the subject. “Well, we need another way to translate J. D. How about Just Divine Hardy?” He tilted his head and rolled his eyes.

“Just Delicious Hardy?” The smile returned.

“How about Just Dumb?” he said caustically.

I sat back and swatted the air. “Stop that, J. D. I'm going to have to have Nestor help with this project of reinventing your name. You are way too caught up in this Juvenile Delinquent thing.”

A flash of lightning made the lights overhead flicker. A grumble of thunder followed.

“I think we're in for more rain.”

“Yep.”

“I feel bad for all those kids who don't get to see any fireworks tonight.”

His mouth twisted down at the corner. “Not me. After you see a few hands blown apart in the city, you learn to hate the Fourth of July.”

“Thanks for the sobering mental image, Sheriff. We really need to get you out of this funk.”

Mischief twinkled in his eyes. “Just a suggestion, but I'm off duty. We could start our own fireworks.”

“We could?” I put my foot in his lap and wiggled my toes.

He caught my foot and tickled, making me cry out. “Yeah, I know how to start great fireworks without even using a match.”

“No match? What do you use?” I asked.

“My tongue.” He still had my foot, but he ran a hand up the inside of my leg.

“Let's go, hero.”