Sally looked at him in surprise. “There is.”
“Where? I wish I had a moonshiner's sharp eyes.”
“Over there.” She pointed to the southeast. “It was there" — she indicated the west—”and it went all the way across.”
“From New Orleans or Mobile, most likely,” Oliver guessed. “Steering for some point down the peninsula.”
Gary couldn't see it and said nothing, dropping his eyes instead to watch the sea swirling about Sally's legs. The water rushed in with little waves to dash against her skin and form eddies about the parted legs, kicking up foam. He continued to watch with a quiet contemplation, letting the motion of the water and foam stir dream images in his mind.
“Oh, well,” Oliver said after a while, “let's eat.”
Gary glanced up, startled from his reverie, to find Sally watching him with a patient knowledge.
* * *
They observed what they believed to be Christmas Day by going swimming in moderately cold water, and then spending the remainder of the afternoon on the warm beach sand. Sally lay between them, entranced as usual by the sound of the sea and the fantasy cloud-castles floating overhead. The routine was nothing out of the ordinary but there was no new thing to do, no new way to celebrate a holiday. Gary gave the girl a wooden link chain he had carved and saved for weeks, saved for the day, while Oliver contented himself by stretching out on the sands and resting his eyes on her body. He suspected Sally was gaining weight.
And at what they believed to be midnight of New Year's Eve, Gary pushed open the cabin door and stepped into the darkness inside, to raise a pointed finger and shout, “Bang!”