Read Online (2005) Wrapped in Rain by Charles Martin - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Charles Martin
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smeared on his right cheek, big, curious eyes. He was all boy. Good-looking too. "I made him smile."
Miss Ella was quiet for a moment. I could see her rocking back and forth in front of the fireplace, nodding, with a blanket spread across her knees and feet. And it was a good smile too.
I turned at the junction toward home, still an hour away, and crested a hill. Some ten miles north of Bessie's, I looked in the rearview mirror and noticed that the Volvo was sitting behind me in the fast lane.
Chapter 3
FREE-FLOATING ON BARNACLED PILINGS DRIVEN INTO the muck on the north side of Julington Creek, Clark's Fish Camp sat cedar-planked, tin-roofed, and cat-crawling. Framed between a cracked concrete boat ramp, a potholed and alignment-altering parking lot, and a cypress swamp teeming with snapper turtles and ten million fiddler crabs, Clark's was a Jacksonville staple that smelled of yesterday's grease and last week's fish scales, and served the hands-down best food south of heaven. Like the Maxwell House plant that brewed farther north along the river, the smell from the kitchen wafted downwind, delighting and drawing noses for miles.
Locals agreed that if there was one eating establishment in Jacksonville to which people were truly addicted, it was Clark's. The menu offered a plethora of items, but most folks didn't get caught up in the fine print. Clark's was best known for its shrimp and catfish, and despite what the menu said, preparation options were fried or fried. Although, if you wanted to hack off the cook or be written off as a Northerner, you could order it otherwise. The default beverage was beer, or if you were nursing, driving, or Baptist, iced tea-either sweet or sweet. Clark's believed that both the food and tea preparations were true to God's intentions.
Three hundred yards through the waves, lily pads, jet Ski wake, and the foam of a Ski Nautique, Mutt climbed out of the water looking little different than the rest of the local dock populace milling around their boats and Jet Skis. Except for the small fanny pack about his waist, he blended rather well with the fifteen other soaking wet and sunburned strangers. He walked down the dock and past the turtle food dispenser that looked a lot like a converted gumball machine stuffed with rabbit pellets.
Clark's had two seating areas-inside and out. The inside of Clark's looked like a museum. Apparently, the owner collected two things: china plates from all over the world and stuffed animals-deer, raccoons, alligators, and lions. They really had quite a collection, and they were proud of it too, because every square inch of wall space was covered with one or the other. It actually served a dual purpose. The wait time at Clark's rarely dipped under an hour, so the decorations kept both parents and children occupied while the minutes ticked by and names on the list above them got crossed off.
The outdoor patio was essentially a wooden deck built a foot or two over the water depending on the tide. At high tide, if a ski boat ignored the "No Wake" zone, its waves would actually ripple up through the deck, splashing the diners' feet. Everyone kept their eyes out for the kids with boats who were waiting for the tables to fill. The wooden tables were faded, dirty, and carved with all manner of promised love. Some initials were carved deeper than others, some had been crossed out completely, and some had one half crossed out with the new love notched in.
With the majority of the crowd dining inside, several outside tables were empty. Mutt shuffled through the maze, found a shaded table in the corner of the outdoor deck, and sat facing west looking down the creek onto Spiraling Oaks, State Road 13, and the river. When needed, Mutt could play sane; he had done it for years. He just couldn't play it for very long.
Mutt folded his hands while his eyes jumped shoulder to shoulder across the tables. Like an inmate released after seven years on death row, his mind soaked
Miss Ella was quiet for a moment. I could see her rocking back and forth in front of the fireplace, nodding, with a blanket spread across her knees and feet. And it was a good smile too.
I turned at the junction toward home, still an hour away, and crested a hill. Some ten miles north of Bessie's, I looked in the rearview mirror and noticed that the Volvo was sitting behind me in the fast lane.
Chapter 3
FREE-FLOATING ON BARNACLED PILINGS DRIVEN INTO the muck on the north side of Julington Creek, Clark's Fish Camp sat cedar-planked, tin-roofed, and cat-crawling. Framed between a cracked concrete boat ramp, a potholed and alignment-altering parking lot, and a cypress swamp teeming with snapper turtles and ten million fiddler crabs, Clark's was a Jacksonville staple that smelled of yesterday's grease and last week's fish scales, and served the hands-down best food south of heaven. Like the Maxwell House plant that brewed farther north along the river, the smell from the kitchen wafted downwind, delighting and drawing noses for miles.
Locals agreed that if there was one eating establishment in Jacksonville to which people were truly addicted, it was Clark's. The menu offered a plethora of items, but most folks didn't get caught up in the fine print. Clark's was best known for its shrimp and catfish, and despite what the menu said, preparation options were fried or fried. Although, if you wanted to hack off the cook or be written off as a Northerner, you could order it otherwise. The default beverage was beer, or if you were nursing, driving, or Baptist, iced tea-either sweet or sweet. Clark's believed that both the food and tea preparations were true to God's intentions.
Three hundred yards through the waves, lily pads, jet Ski wake, and the foam of a Ski Nautique, Mutt climbed out of the water looking little different than the rest of the local dock populace milling around their boats and Jet Skis. Except for the small fanny pack about his waist, he blended rather well with the fifteen other soaking wet and sunburned strangers. He walked down the dock and past the turtle food dispenser that looked a lot like a converted gumball machine stuffed with rabbit pellets.
Clark's had two seating areas-inside and out. The inside of Clark's looked like a museum. Apparently, the owner collected two things: china plates from all over the world and stuffed animals-deer, raccoons, alligators, and lions. They really had quite a collection, and they were proud of it too, because every square inch of wall space was covered with one or the other. It actually served a dual purpose. The wait time at Clark's rarely dipped under an hour, so the decorations kept both parents and children occupied while the minutes ticked by and names on the list above them got crossed off.
The outdoor patio was essentially a wooden deck built a foot or two over the water depending on the tide. At high tide, if a ski boat ignored the "No Wake" zone, its waves would actually ripple up through the deck, splashing the diners' feet. Everyone kept their eyes out for the kids with boats who were waiting for the tables to fill. The wooden tables were faded, dirty, and carved with all manner of promised love. Some initials were carved deeper than others, some had been crossed out completely, and some had one half crossed out with the new love notched in.
With the majority of the crowd dining inside, several outside tables were empty. Mutt shuffled through the maze, found a shaded table in the corner of the outdoor deck, and sat facing west looking down the creek onto Spiraling Oaks, State Road 13, and the river. When needed, Mutt could play sane; he had done it for years. He just couldn't play it for very long.
Mutt folded his hands while his eyes jumped shoulder to shoulder across the tables. Like an inmate released after seven years on death row, his mind soaked
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