Code of the Forest by Jon Buchan

Author:Jon Buchan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: courtroom drama, south carolina, political thriller
Publisher: Jon Buchan

17

Arch and Mary Stewart

They were back at the beach house by 3 o’clock. Mary put three large pots of water on the stove and brought them to a rolling boil. Using a pair of long-handled tongs, she plunged the crabs one after the other, claws waving an angry good-bye, into the water, cooking them until they turned sunset red. She drained them and iced them down in two coolers, with plans to clean and pick out the chunks of succulent white flesh once they had cooled. Her favorite part was the sweet meat from the claws.

After lugging the crabs to the kitchen, David had quickly changed into his red bathing suit. He made himself a pineapple sandwich - a touch of mayonnaise on the bread, crushed pineapple chilled in the refrigerator and drained, eaten quickly before the bread could get soggy, a cool meal for a hot day. Kate munched on Ritz crackers and pimento cheese and ate a bowl of sliced fresh peaches.

The tide at the beach in front of the house was just about at full-high. A brisk wind blew in from the ocean, pushing in breakers bigger than usual. Rough water for kids, but just right for body-surfing. That was one of the things David had learned from observing his father. David loved the thrill of catching a wave right at its peak, just before it broke, matching its momentum exactly and letting it hurtle him forward and down, his arms stretched straight, his feet together, his body stiff, his face down, his hands clasped in a sharp point, like an arrow headed to shore. On a perfect ride, he’d glide forward until he ran out of water, his chest and knees scraping the sand.

He had also devised another way to body surf. When he caught a breaking wave just right, he would clasp his hands behind him, arch his back and push out his chest, riding it with his head up and out of the wave, his eyes wide open, carving down the wave’s shoulder like a seal. He had tried to teach his father that technique, but the old man couldn’t quite master it. “Mom, I’m going for a swim,” David shouted to Mary Stewart as she was icing down the last of the crabs. “The waves look great.”

“Honey, why don’t you wait until I’m finished? I might sit out on the porch and watch.”

“You don’t have to watch me, Mom,” David snapped with a clear note of irritation. “I’m fifteen years old.”

“I know I don’t have to watch you; I just thought I would put my feet up for a few minutes. Or I might walk down and see if the high tide has washed up any good shells.”

David didn’t buy that for a moment. He rolled his eyes and stomped around the living room. He was tired of her babying him all the time.

“Suit yourself,” he said. “But you don’t have to hover over me like some helicopter. Anyway, I’m heading out.”

Before his mother could respond, David hustled out the screen door, letting it slam shut behind him.

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