Fiction by Caleb Johnson
Caleb Johnson is the author of the novels, Telegraph Road (Hub City Press, August 2027) and Treeborne (Picador), which received an honorable mention for the Southern Book Prize and was longlisted for The Crook’s Corner Book Prize. He has been featured on the Emmy Award-winning television show TrueSouth. His nonfiction has been cited in The Best American Essays, and appears widely in newspapers and magazines. Caleb grew up in Arley, Alabama, studied journalism at The University of Alabama, and earned an MFA in creative writing from the University of Wyoming. He teaches creative writing at Appalachian State University and lives in Boone, North Carolina with his family.
The Undertaker Wears Neoprene
Presley Martin sat in the back of an ambulance parked near the river, a Mylar blanket gripped around her shoulders. Tina Carter observed the girl at a distance. There were no mistaking certain features that rhymed with her father’s. Pipe-cleaner brows, an aquiline nose. Up to now Tina had only seen pictures of Presley online. Rico’s bachelor pad was spartan. Not that Tina ever lingered there. It wasn’t that kind of affair.
She hurried across the gravel lot to find the sheriff. He stood beyond yellow tape with a frightened-looking, teenage boy. Sighting Tina, he dismissed the boy and flagged her on over. “Thanks for coming out T,” he said.
“How’s Presley?”
“Worried what her daddy’s going to say.”
“Where is Rico?”
“Figured with you,” the sheriff said.
Tina flushed at the acknowledgement. Of course he knew she was seeing his son. Since separating from his wife, Rico had been living in an apartment above the Wildcat Diner, where the sheriff and other men of his generation convened each morning to gossip and drink watered-down coffee and eat runny eggs with burnt toast. A year ago, Tina’s father would’ve joined them. She made a point to come and go outside of the diner’s business hours, but that didn’t guarantee secrecy. Nothing did in a place as small as Sipsey Gap.
“I haven’t seen him tonight,” she said.
Together they walked toward the river. A chill wind raked the water and Tina zipped her fleece. She’d texted Rico earlier—several times. It was unlike him to not respond for hours. Tina had been mid-spiral, trying to keep quiet watching television while her father slept in the other room, when the sheriff called with news of a possible drowning. Despite having downed a few vodka sodas, she agreed to drive out and assist with the search and recovery.
“Most of the kids scattered after he went over the ledge,” the sheriff said, referring to the missing boy. “We’ve about rounded them up.”
“They saying much?”
“Accident of course. Slipped, fell in.”
“Do we have a name?”
“Mum on that,” the sheriff said.
He removed his cap. Steam rose off his wet scalp. Drownings happened with some regularity in Sipsey Gap. The town was located along a sprawling manmade lake fed by many winding tributaries like this one he’d dived in tonight. For two decades Brian Martin attended most all of them with a grim pride, logging more hours underwater than any law-enforcement officer in the county. A newspaper headline about him once read “The Undertaker Wears Neoprene.” The accompanying article hung framed in his office next to a striped bass he’d caught during a charity fishing tournament. Posed alongside the sheriff was Tina’s father, the former head coach of the Sipsey Gap Wildcats football team.
The sheriff had encouraged Tina to get certified to dive when she was a teenager and offered her work back home after her father got sick. Every election cycle going back twenty years, he’d run unopposed. This time he was facing some competition from a former Marine named Joe Watson, who campaigned on his admiration of the President and the Second Amendment. Watson managed a high-fence deer farm on a few hundred acres of wooded land, complete with breeding pens and professionally stocked whitetail. He’d received generous campaign contributions from wealthy clients. Stress from the election showed in the sheriff’s eyes and the way he held his jaw when not speaking.
“How is it in there?” Tina asked.
“Back near the falls there’s a lot of brush. Be careful, it’s a spin cycle.”
She went to fetch her gear from the car, slipping into a growing crowd. Most homes had a police scanner on the kitchen counter, hers included. Listening at night was a perverse form of entertainment for many citizens. She couldn’t blame them. Outside of football season, Sipsey Gap had the feeling of being frozen in amber. Her father was partly responsible, having spent thirty-plus years turning the Wildcats varsity squad into a state powerhouse. He’d coached Rico Martin, Joe Watson, and countless other boys in the art of colliding into each other as violently as possible. While injuries were a part of the game, he could offer some protection off the field. Then, as happens, times changed and he could no longer, not even with assistance from a man like Sheriff Martin.
It started with a girl, a sophomore who’d gone to a football party, blacked out, and woke partially undressed in the truck of a defensive lineman. Her father posted allegations online. A local reporter got in touch. More girls spoke out. A woman who Tina graduated with came forward with accusations against several boys they’d gone to school with back in the nineties. The story became a full-blown scandal. The Sipsey Gap School Board fired Coach Abel Carter and withheld his retirement. Tina didn’t disagree with the decision, which preceded a swift decline in her father’s health. Imbalance, memory issues. It was nearly a full-time job driving him back and forth to various scans and other appointments.
She dragged her dive bag out of the trunk then began changing into a wetsuit. The wind bit at her skin. Once dressed, she inventoried her diving gear. At a distance she saw Rico, his wife Katie, and Presley walking toward his truck. Rico wore a pressed shirt, blue jeans, and what he called his weekend boots, which meant the pair not covered with mud. One Friday night those boots had stepped all over Tina’s toes as he danced her around The River Shack Bar & Grille. Rico opened the passenger door, helped in Presley, then kissed Katie on the head. That night at the bar was as close to a real date as they’d managed.
When Tina started sleeping with him, she had a hard time reckoning with the idea she was attracted to Rico at all. In high school she never dated jocks. After getting certified to dive and trained in search and recovery, she accepted contracts in places like the Keys and the Caymans because it was easy to meet men who were nothing like the ones stuck in this speed-trap town. She thought she had eluded her fate. Then, one day after moving home to take care of her father, she ran into Rico in the produce section at the local supermarket. They exchanged numbers. He was studying to become a state trooper.
Over beers then, later, in bed she quizzed him with flash cards. His memory was no better than her father’s became after the sexual assault investigation. She asked Rico why he didn’t just work for the county. He hated his dad, he said, intuiting he and Tina shared the sentiment. He wasn’t exactly wrong. Tina had spent her adult life on the move, running from her father and the shadow he cast. Seven months at home were approaching the longest she’d remained in one place since she left. More than hate, she resented him for getting sick, for letting the accusations weaken him, for hauling her back.
She returned to the riverbank and sat down to test her breathing apparatus. A calming pre-dive ritual. She buckled on a weighted belt then heaved the oxygen tank onto her back. She walked into the water and fit the respirator in her mouth then turned around, inched backward, fell into the swimming hole and began sinking.
She saw nothing for the darkness and initial rush of bubbles. She dragged her hands along the rocky bottom. Its firmness centered her. She cleared her mask as she approached a brush pile the sheriff had mentioned. The force of the waterfall pushed her down and forward. She kicked, shined her light. The water absorbed its strength.
Tonight her job was visual confirmation. She thought of a set of encyclopedias her father owned. They were a part of his personal mythology, bound to a story about cutting lawns in summer to save enough for them. As a kid Tina also read every volume—A-Z. She could recall, word for word, a passage about phosphorescent algae, and how when it clung to the backs of manatees that sailors mistook them for mermaids. Once, while snorkeling in a freshwater spring, she’d drifted among these sea cows and experienced something profound, if not supernatural, in their presence.
She tapped her light with the heel of her hand. She fought closer to the brush and held on to a sunken log that jutted up at a lethal angle and stared into the brush until she felt mesmerized. A hand was the first thing to appear among the swaying branches. Tina waited, then a face thrust out. She startled, mistaking the boy for still being alive. She didn’t recognize him, but then who would with the busted blood vessels in the bulging eyes and a violet bruise where one cheek had been smashed into the rocks.
She surfaced and sounded her whistle. Lights began moving through the trees. She climbed out of the water, shed her tank and vest and belt, then sat on the bank as the pounding of feet neared. She shielded her face from their lights. The deputies went to work with poles and hooks, prodding the brush where she’d seen the body. Usually, she’d wait for the victim to be recovered from the water. Tonight she was uneasy though. She’d encountered bodies in much more awful states than this one. Washerwoman’s skin, bloating, scavenger damage. It wasn’t how the boy appeared that made her get up to leave the scene. She felt a growing grief, not just for him but for all the others denied a chance to see what else was out there.
At a warming station she changed into dry clothes then accepted a cup filled with coffee. With it steaming in her hand she climbed a hill and stood on the ledge where the boy had fallen. Dawn broke like wet paint running down a wall. She dodged another passing thought about the boy, whoever he was, never having the opportunity to leave home, wondered if that’s something kids even yearned for anymore. That night at the bar, she’d asked Rico if he ever considered going somewhere else. His response made it seem like she’d spoken in a foreign tongue. Down below vehicles started up, onlookers dispersing as word of the discovery trickled out.
“She knows.”
Tina turned to find Rico there.
“Katie. I told her.”
It was as though she’d returned to a conversation interrupted. Last time they were together he’d mentioned feeling a lot of guilt, said Katie had a dream that he was sleeping with another woman. He almost confessed then.
“So, what now?”
“How about a drink?”
She followed Rico to his apartment, parking down the block as was custom. Inside they mixed tequila and soda with lime. They leaned against the counter by a sink filled with unwashed dishes. He and Katie were going to start couple’s counseling, he said. If everything worked out, he’d move back in the house after his lease ended in June.
“It just seems like what’s supposed to happen,” he said. “Maybe if I would’ve been home Pres wouldn’t have been out there tonight.”
“Did my daddy ever stop me from sneaking out when I had my mind set on it?”
Rico chuckled. “I don’t guess he did.”
His laugh turned her on. She took the glass from his hand and placed it on the counter, then led him to the couch. The sex was no different after his admitting that Katie knew what they were doing, that the affair was supposedly over. It was attentive despite the alcohol she’d consumed, intense in the way that’d kept her returning for the escape it offered. Leaving in mind while rooted in body. She sat atop Rico and rolled her hips, closing her eyes so she could’ve been anywhere right then.
A knock interrupted them. Rico scrambled to put on boxers. The door burst open and Sheriff Martin entered the room. Tina pulled a throw blanket over her chest. The sheriff nodded on his way to the counter, where the tequila bottle was still uncapped. He poured a glass, drank, poured another and drank, coughing as he choked it down.
“Daddy, what are—”
“She pushed,” the sheriff said. “Presley pushed him, and he fell.”
“What for?” Tina asked.
“They were smoking dope, fooling around. Says she told him to stop. The boy, he was Joe Watson’s son.”
How had Tina not recognized his face from the campaign ads? There was one plastered on a billboard right across the street. She looked out the window. Her mind tried merging the pale visage she’d encountered underwater with the one illuminated in yellow light.
“Why did you talk to Presley without me?” Rico asked.
“Seems like you were indisposed.”
“What’re we going to do?” Rico asked.
“I’m going home,” the sheriff said, checking a watch on his wrist.
After his father left, Rico poured another drink and replayed the night in his head. He kept using the words accident, trial, ruined, election. “Presley never would’ve just…” Rico looked at Tina in an asking way. “It’s my daughter T.”
“And Joe’s son.”
“Look, you know how these things go. I’m not asking for anything criminal.”
“You’ve seen what secrets can do.”
Rico twisted the cap off the tequila bottle. It was empty now. “You’ve always been this way. Too good for the rest of us.”
She considered telling him about the new job. It was why she’d texted him the evening of the drowning. She was going to let him know she was leaving again.
“We can’t keep doing this,” Rico said.
“I have to go check on Daddy,” Tina said.
Outside it was full daylight. A storm looked to gather at the horizon. Tina had no choice but to walk past the breakfast crowd. The old men watched her through plate glass. Who cared? In two weeks, she’d be onsite as a safety diver for a company scouting a rig location off the coast of Louisiana. She would slip away, become a point of wonder again.
Rounding the block she almost bumped right into Katie Martin. “Rico up there?”
“Yes,” Tina said.
This was the first time the women had spoken since Tina came home. She glanced at the ring Katie wore on her left hand and recalled playing MASH – a fortune-telling game – with her and other girls in their class. No one expected life would turn out the way it did, which was, in hindsight, what made the game fun. Everything was possible until it wasn’t.
“He still loves you,” Tina said.
Katie laughed. “You bitch.”
Tina drove to the station. Paperwork to do, decisions to make. What did she owe Rico Martin? It was a question she hadn’t asked herself until now. The affair had been a matter of her needs. Lonely, bitter toward her father. Rico was convenient. In the past, when she considered what would happen if Katie found out, her first thought was protecting herself. An instinct not so different from what Rico had asked her to do tonight. She thought of his daughter, scared, sitting in the back of the ambulance. At her computer Tina opened the drowning file, began clicking and typing into small boxes. A life reduced to its end, the end reduced to hundreds of individual characters on a screen. After finishing the report, she wrote a two weeks’ notice and left it on the sheriff’s desk.
On the way out she spied Joe Watson seated in a conference room. He came out to shake her hand. First thing he asked about was her father’s health.
“We’re all praying for him.”
“Thank you,” she said.
Joe looked around the office. “They said you were the one who found him.”
Tina nodded.
“Have you seen the report?”
“I was just putting in my notes.”
“You know I’m running for office.”
“I’ve heard,” she said.
“After all this mess with your daddy, it sure would be nice to see his name cleared.”
“What are you getting at Joe?”
“Just that Wildcats are family is all.”
Back home she showered, letting hot water pour over her head for several minutes. She thought she heard her father calling out. She turned off the water. All remained quiet in the house. The house was as busy as a train station the first few weeks after her father lost his job. Former players coming to pay their respect. Then, with time, they stopped coming. Tina grabbed a towel off the hook. She needed to unload and dry out her diving equipment. Instead she looked in on her father, saw his chest was rising and falling, then got in bed and slept.
When she woke, she had texts from Rico. He wanted to know if she’d gone by the station yet. She didn’t respond. All these needy men. She was hungry. There wasn’t much in the fridge except lettuce and sliced cheese, and protein shakes her father was supposed to drink. She didn’t want to go to the diner because she didn’t want to see Rico right now, or perhaps ever again. She took a vanilla shake from the fridge and uncapped it.
In the living room she found her father seated in front of the television. He didn’t avert his gaze from the screen as she sat next to him.
“I’m going to the store,” she said. “You want anything?”
He shook his head.
“Lucy’s coming by later.”
“Who?”
“The woman who’s going to be taking care of you,” she said.
“Bah,” he said, blinking rapidly, as if irritated. Seven months they’d only spoken about what was necessary to exist in the same space. “I heard about that drowned boy on the radio last night. Who’s was he?”
“Joe Watson’s kid,” she said.
Tears bellied on his eyelids. He wiped them with his fingertips. “Watson was a good boy,” he said. “Always did things the right way.”
Tina grabbed her keys off the end table. She got in her car and drove toward the supermarket. Nearing the highway the sheriff’s cruiser appeared behind her. He flicked on the lights, so she’d pull over. Thread-like drops of rain had begun falling from the sky. Tina stopped on the shoulder, got out and walked to his car. “Should I climb in back?” The sheriff glared at her question, and she slid in up front.
“I’m retiring,” he said. “Joe can run against whoever. Or nobody. I don’t care.”
Tina waited to see if there was more to follow.
“I’m guessing there’s no way we can convince you to stick around?
“Not a chance,” she said.
“I saw the report. Rico told me what he asked. I appreciate you not.”
She let his thanks hang there, then got out and ran back to her car. The rain fell harder. Rico had messaged again, asking her to come over and talk about things. Katie must have told him she was done. The sheriff pulled out ahead of her. Tina waited. She adjusted the rearview mirror so she could see her face. She’d lived as though it was possible to shed the past, to exist one moment to the next, as if decisions didn’t accumulate like the rain on her windshield. She hit the wipers. More rain gathered there. She cleared the glass again.