The Devil You Know (8 page)

“So, Cadie, is there a place we can eat alligator around here?” Matt asks. “It's one of those things I've always wanted to try.”

“I heard it tastes like chicken,” Noah adds.

“It kind of does,” I say. “And Lindsey's dad and brothers are alligator hunting guides, so I bet they have some in their freezer right now.” Without waiting for Noah to open the door for me, I climb out over the side of the car. “I'll go ask.”

The Bucks never answer their front door so I go around to the back, pausing when I hear Mrs. Buck's voice through the screen. “I'm not sure I like the idea of you going off to Orlando with a couple of boys you only just met.”

“They're really nice.” I can barely hear Lindsey's voice, and I wonder how she's ever been heard in a house full of loud boys. She's got four brothers—three older and one younger—and all of them wilder than hogs. Ray, the one just older than us, was my first boyfriend when I was in sixth grade. I was too nervous to even kiss him so he moved on to someone who wasn't.

“I don't know, Linds.”

“Cadie Wells is going, too. It'll be fine, Mama. We'll stick together.”

I knock on the door to announce my presence, then go inside. They're standing in the kitchen, and Mrs. Buck catches me up in a hug like I haven't had in a long time. Her blue-and-orange UF sweatshirt smells like flour and vanilla, as if she's been baking. “Cadie, honey, how are you?”

“Real good, thanks,” I say. “Busy as always.”

“I bet your daddy is awful proud of you.” She fusses with my hair, tucking a strand behind my ear the way my mom always did. I know it's just a motherly thing but I feel a little catch in my chest all the same. “Please tell me you won't let my girl get into any trouble.”

“I won't.” And the thing is, Mrs. Buck trusts me. I'm a good girl. A responsible girl. She won't even check with Dad to make sure it's okay with him—which it surely won't be. He won't be as easily fooled as she is. “I promise.”

With a happy squeak, Lindsey runs off to get ready, and I ask her mother if she has any alligator to spare, which makes Mrs. Buck laugh as if I've told the funniest joke in the world. “Oh, honey, when do we ever not have gator? We've got it fresh, frozen, and dried into jerky. Pick your poison.”

I go back to the car with a plastic storage bag filled with stew-size chunks of alligator meat swimming in a marinade that Mrs. Buck calls secret, but is really just soy sauce and orange juice with a shaving of ginger floating in it. A few minutes later Lindsey comes flying out of the house with an overstuffed duffel that looks as if she's packed for a week and the biggest smile I've ever seen on her face.

Rhea Chung is running the store when we show up for provisions: wood skewers, soy sauce, green bell peppers, sweet Vidalia onions, and cherry tomatoes for alligator kebabs, along with eggs, bacon, and beans for breakfast. Bags of ice. Beer. It's weird when Noah just opens his wallet and flashes his legal ID at Rhea since I've gotten so used to sweet-talking her into looking the other way for my friends. Instead, I ask if Dad is coming in.

“Not today.” Her dark ponytail swings as she shakes her head. Her real name is Youngmi, but she told me on her first day of work that when her family immigrated to the United States, her Korean parents chose the name Rhea because they wanted to give her a real American name. I didn't tell her that it's not the most
stars-and-stripes name you could have, but … well, my name's Arcadia so I don't have much room to talk. And in Greek mythology, Rhea was the Titan wife of Kronos, queen of heaven. It's a pretty badass name, really. “He is babysitting today so I'm working overtime.”

A tiny lick of anger flares up inside me because caring for your own child is
not
babysitting and because now I feel guilty that my day off means a double shift for Rhea when it's not really my fault at all. “I'm so sorry. If you want, I can—”

“No, no, no.” The ponytail swings even faster. “You work too hard, Cadie, and I can use the money. Enjoy your day off and don't worry so much.”

With Rhea's blessing insulating my conscience, I follow Noah out into the sunshine. He packs the perishables with the alligator meat in a cooler in the trunk and we head up 441 to launch at the river outpost.

Noah takes the rear seat in our canoe with Molly lying in the middle, her head propped on a yellow life jacket. Along the shore, Suwannee cooter turtles are stacked like pancakes, soaking up the sunshine on rotting logs and on slivers of sandy beach, and scrub jays squawk in the oaks on both sides of the river. We paddle past the ruins of a bridge where the old road used to cross on the way to Lake City, and only about five hundred yards from the outpost we come to Columbia Spring. Decaying leaves
stain the river a well-steeped-tea brown, but the spring bubbles up blue green and so clear you think you can just reach down all twenty-five feet and touch the bottom.

We don't say much as we make our way down the river, except to point out some wild turkeys, a couple of gray herons, and a six-foot alligator half-submerged near the bank. Besides, it's almost too pretty to talk. We pass the spring near the boat ramp where the water seems as if it's boiling, and the sun gets warmer as the morning reaches for midday. By Poe Spring we've cracked open bottles of water and cans of Coke.

Justin and I had only been dating about a month when we kayaked to Poe for a picnic on the dock. He wasn't old enough to drive, so his mom drove us to the outpost and signed for the rentals. And the sandwiches she packed in a little foam cooler were made of bologna salad on white bread, which I hate. I ate one anyway because we were still new and I was too polite to tell Justin's mom the truth.

I look over my shoulder at Noah, whose eyes are hidden behind black-rimmed sunglasses. “I hate bologna salad sandwiches.”

“That was random.” He laughs a little. “But, okay … I hate clam chowder.”

“Seriously?” I swing all the way around to face him, letting him paddle on his own. And, I admit, I like watching the way his shoulders move as the blade cuts cleanly
through the water. “How do they even let you live in Maine? I mean, you could be deported back to California for that, right?”

He puts a finger to his lips, then points to the trees. “The forest has ears.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I hate okra.” I reach down and tickle Molly under her chin. She's such a good canoe passenger, sitting there smiling in the sun. “It's slimy and nasty and I think my status as a southerner could be revoked for saying that, but it's gross.”

“Your secret's safe with me,” Noah says. “I hate peanut butter and jelly.”

“Shut up. Who hates PB and J?”

“I do. And tuna fish.”

“God, it's like you're not even human. Stop it. Next you're going to say you like liver or red beets.”

“Both, actually,” he says. “But not as much as I love bologna salad.”

“I want to trade canoes. Matt can't possibly be as weird as you.” A wing of water from his paddle hits cold and sharp against my skin, stealing my breath. I grab for my own paddle and splash back. Then Matt joins in. And Lindsey. Before long all four of us are locked in an epic water fight—with Molly barking circles in the canoe—until we're all drenched and our shouts echo through the trees.

When we're finally settled down and I'm facing
forward again with my paddle in my hands, Noah says my name and his voice tickles up my spine, all soft and sweet, and I turn to look at him.

The corner of his mouth tilts in a bone-melting grin. “I hate bologna salad, too.”

About fifteen minutes later we turn off the main river into the narrow run that leads to Lily Spring. Tacked to the trees are hand-painted signs with sayings like
IF MAN WAS HALF AS SMART AS HE THINKS HE IS, HE WOULD BE TWICE AS SMART AS HE ACTUALLY IS and I WAS BORN WITH THE MOST COMFORTABLE, LEAST EXPENSIVE SWIMSUIT I'VE FOUND
. Warnings that say
UNATTENDED CHILDREN WILL BE USED AS ALLIGATOR BAIT. WELCOME TO LILY SPRING
. And a yellow diamond-shaped caution sign that reads
NAKED ED AHEAD
.

“Oh my God,” Matt says from the other canoe. “This is really happening.”

Rounding the bend we first see a thatched palm hut that looks like it belongs on a deserted tropical island instead of in the middle of the Florida woods. Beside the spring run is a multilevel dock, and Naked Ed is standing on the highest level, wearing only a loincloth that resembles a furry brown string bikini and a tribal-looking necklace. Even his head is naked, although his chin is covered in gray fur that matches the hair on his chest and protruding belly.

When my friends and I were little, we all thought
Naked Ed was some sort of ancient hermit. We'd scare each other with stories about how if you stuck a single toe in Lily Spring he'd get you and you'd never see your family again. Now that I see him with his grandpa glasses and smiling face, I realize he's not so old. Sixty-something maybe.

“Howdy.” Naked Ed waves as we beach the canoes and Noah clips a leash on Molly. “If it'll make the ladies more comfortable, I can keep the loincloth on.”

Even though it should go without saying that I've seen naked guys before—most recently this very morning—I'm not too keen on seeing old Ed's dangly bits. “That would be great, thanks,” I say.

He invites us to swim in the spring—nude, if we like—but after yesterday's fiasco I'm not too keen on skinny-dipping, either. Noah and Lindsey strip down to their bathing suits and wade into the spring, but Matt climbs up on the dock and I follow him. Ed gestures toward a pair of white plastic chairs in an unspoken offer to sit.

“I like your hair,” he says, holding my hand an extralong moment as we shake. His fingers are warm and not at all papery and dry like old-people fingers. “With those blue eyes you look like an upside-down sunrise.”

“Wouldn't that be a sunset?” Matt says over my shoulder.

“Nope.” Naked Ed doesn't elaborate, and he winks
at me as he releases my hand to greet Matt. “But it sure is pretty.” Ed says “sure” like “shore” and “pretty” like “purdy,” which puts me at ease because he's one of my people. To a stranger like Matt he might be a novelty, but I feel a kinship and a protectiveness I didn't expect.

“So, if you don't mind my asking … how did you end up out here?” I'm tuned in to Matt's voice for hints of sarcasm or meanness, but he's just being friendly. I relax into my chair and Matt takes the other.

“Well, like the sign says—” Ed aims his hand at a large sign posted on a nearby tree. It's lettered in uneven text and bears facts about the spring and himself. “I suffer from brittle bones, and after breakin' so many of 'em it got too dangerous for me to work. Back in '85 I was canoein' out there on the river and found this spring. I figured since I liked the water and I liked skinny-dipping, I'd offer to clean up the place in exchange for letting me swim. The powers 'at be said yes, so here I am.”

I hitch my knees up to my chin, propping my feet on the edge of my chair. “You know, when I was little I'd go over to my friend's house for sleepovers, and if we got too giggly late at night, her mama would tell us that if we didn't settle down Naked Ed would come get us.”

This makes him hoot with laughter, and then he smiles. “Local gal, huh?”

I tell him my dad owns the market in High Springs,
and he admits that he usually prefers the prices at the Winn-Dixie.

“I collect disability pay,” he says by way of explanation, and I understand this. Fixed income and not a lot of it. “But I like supporting local folks so I shop at your store, too. Next time I come to town, I'll keep an eye out for that firecracker hair.”

“I can't guarantee I'll recognize you with your clothes on,” I say, which busts him up all over again.

“She's a pistol, this one,” Naked Ed says to Matt. “You should hang on to her.”

“Oh, we're not—” I begin.

“That's the plan,” Matt interrupts. His eyes meet mine, and I hope I'm not blushing, because my face is warmer than from just the Florida sun. I look down at his tanned hands and strong wrists, and I feel guilty for being attracted to him. Like I'm some greedy, boy-crazy creature when in reality I've been a girl in drought and this sudden influx of attention feels like a flash flood.

I turn my face toward the water, toward Noah, who beckons me with a sly grin and the crook of a single finger. And right there is the difference. Matt is a flutter in the belly. A harmless flirtation. But Noah is the magnetic pull that unfolds me from my chair and propels me off the dock into the spring. When I surface, he's there.

“You just charm the pants off everyone, don't you?”
His voice is low so only I can hear. I can't tell if he's teasing, but I don't think he is.

“Who, Ed?” I push my wet hair back from my face. “He's not wearing pants.”

“I'm not talking about Ed.”

He's not teasing.

I glance over at Lindsey—I'd kind of forgotten about her—but she's floating on her back with her eyes closed, smiling. Not listening to us about to get complicated over something that doesn't need to be. Especially because after Noah and Matt bring us back from Disney World, they will drive off toward Flamingo in the Cougar and I will go back to being Drought Girl.

“Don't be like that.” I link my fingers through his as we sink down in the shallows, our knees touching underwater. My own words give me a strange déjà vu feeling that spins me back to a night when I was about eight or nine. The babysitter had already tucked me into bed, but I was still awake when Mom and Dad came home late from a night out. Through my bedroom door I heard my mother say the same words, “Come on, Danny, don't be like that.”