Mirna made it through the next two days and the assisted living facility called with an opening so arrangements were made to transfer her via ambulance to Sarasota, which was an hour drive away. When Preppy told me we had to go somewhere, I though it had something to do with Mirna’s paperwork or the documents I’d started on but hadn’t finished for King’s file.
“What exactly are we doing here?” I asked, as Preppy pulled up to a small store with a neon sign in the window that flashed EVERYTHING IS ONE DOLLAR over and over again in different colors. I could still feel the effects of my orgasm pulsing inside of my body, like my core was searching for more. I crossed and uncrossed my legs, the unease I felt growing greater the closer our proximity.
“You’ll see,” Preppy said. “Stay here.” He tossed me a wink and jumped out of the car before I could respond. He was only in the store for a minute or two before coming back out with a large black bucket which he placed in the trunk. When he got back in the car he tossed me a bag, something cold chilled my legs through the thin plastic.
“Hot dogs?” I asked, pulling out a generic package of hot dogs marked ‘miscellaneous meat product’. A star shaped gold sticker over the label advertised its $1 price tag, like the flashing sign wasn’t enough.
“Yep, hot dogs,” Preppy said, turning onto a side road between the trees covering the road sign.
“What exactly is miscellaneous meat product?” I asked, turning the package over and finding another curious label warning that the hot dogs MAY CONTAIN PEANUTS. “Is this our lunch? Because I have to say I don’t even think that you can eat these,” I said, feeling my stomach turn at the thought.
“They’re actually not bad. When I was a kid I survived on those things,” Preppy said with a smile, surprisingly not like it was a bad memory to recall, but one he looked back on fondly. My stomach flipped again but not because of the hot dogs, but because I realized how awful my remark had sounded.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” I started. “I just…I can’t wait to try one.”
“No!” Preppy said, laughing so hard he had to hold his stomach. “First of all, don’t pity my past. My past made me who I am and I love my life. Second, I should have been more clear, these aren’t for US to eat, although they do have something to do with lunch.”
I stared at him waiting for him to give me more, but all he did was smile. “I have no idea what that means,” I admitted.
“Well,” he said, parking the car where the small road was cut off by a wall of trees. “You’re about to find out. Bring the hot dogs,” Preppy said, opening the trunk and pulling out his bucket and another bag I hadn’t noticed before.
I followed him through a maze of brush, glad that I’d changed my clothes as he suggested. Preppy turned and grabbed my hand and tugged me through a small opening onto a huge dock and seawall that had seen better days. It looked as if it had been abandoned for years, left to rot under the Florida sun.
“It’s beautiful,” I said, and I truly meant it. Even with parts of it heavily coated with layers of barnacles and other parts falling back down into the salty water, it had an eerie sense of beauty about it. Almost like I could imagine how it used to look with a long pier stretching out into the water. The pillars where the boats would dock were far apart so I could only imagine what kind of large boats were parked there at one time. “This must have been some place,” I said.
Preppy set down the bucket and rope. He let go of my hand but only to spin me in the opposite direction of the water, up to where a large yellow three-story house was peeking above a fence overgrown with grass and weeds. It was in the same shape as the dock. Windows boarded with rotting wood. Siding streaked in dirt, run off from the constant afternoon summer rains. “Wow,” was all I could manage to say.
“Yeah, it’s pretty fucking great, right? It was built in the 1920’s,” Preppy said. “It was abandoned ever since I could remember. Kids used to dare each other to spend the night inside because rumor was that it was haunted or a witch lives there or some shit. It was always changing. Anyways, a few years back, when anyone and their Aunt Tilly thought they could make money in the Florida Real Estate market, a developer bought it to demolish it and turn it into canal front condo’s but the market went belly up and it’s just sat here rotting ever since.”
“It would be a shame to tear it down. She just needs some work,” I said, shielding my eyes from the sun. I could only see from the second story and up behind the brush, but if I squinted hard enough I could almost see what the home looked like at one time. Wrap-around balconies where families could sit and have lunch overlooking the water or entertain guests. A sitting area or reading room making up the entire third story loft area, lit only with natural sunlight in the evenings.
“That it is. There isn’t anything like this around here anymore.”
“Who do you think lived here?”
“I’m not sure, but Thomas Edison and Henry Ford had winter places not too far from here, so maybe someone who brushed shoulders with that crowd. It’s definitely possible.”
“Wow. There is a lot of history in this town.” I never knew that. Slowly, I felt myself falling back in love with Logan’s Beach.
“This town is not exactly historical, although hysterical might fit just fine.”
I was still staring up at the house, imagining the boats that must have docked there and the parties the original owners must have had. It was a true piece of southern perfection. Like a southern bell with a dirty dress.
“One thing is for sure,” Preppy said. I turned around to find him tying off small hooks to the end of each of the nylon ropes. “Whoever lived here, they probably weren’t the type to do this.”
“What exactly is this?” I asked.
“I’m taking you for lunch. Sort of,” he said, opening the pack of hot dogs and breaking off pieces to set on the end of each of the hooks. “But we have to catch it first.” Preppy dropped the hook in the water slowly. “Gotta make sure it’s on the bottom,” he explained, tying off the line at the top of one of the pilings, then repeating the process with the other three ropes.
“What are we catching?” I asked, whispering, like whatever was on the menu could hear us and be spooked by our voices. I stepped up to the end of the dock and glanced down into the murky water where I couldn’t see anything but brown.