Pluff Mud (eBook)

Chapter 2

I awoke the next morning to a whimper and a strange odor. Max was standing at the screen door, wagging his tail and sniffing. The night was cool enough for me to crack the sliding glass door open a few inches, but a bar in the track prevented it from opening farther. If not, it would tempt Max to push it open more and scratch his way through the screen.

“Okay, boy,” I acknowledged. “I know you need to go out.”

I slipped on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt that I laid on the nightstand the night before, knowing this would be the first order of business every morning. I slid my feet into an old pair of sandals, stood, and stretched as I walked to the adjoining bathroom to take care of my own morning needs. As I passed the mirror, I noticed my three-day-old stubble and unkempt brown hair, both showing a little more gray than I wanted. A military career and an attempt to fight aging both led me to keep it short. I could hear Max pacing, so I hurriedly walked to the sliding glass door that separated the master bedroom from the patio. Max sat obediently as I clipped his leash to his collar, and I pulled the screen and glass open farther so we could go outside. The morning sun was just peeking over Mt. Pleasant, an affluent community across the harbor from Charleston and home of Patriot’s Point, the site of the USS Yorktown. I could see the old WWII aircraft carrier directly across the harbor. Famous for being sunk at the Battle of Midway, the Navy rescued the Yorktown, restored it, and it entered history again when it recovered the Apollo 8 crew and capsule, the first mission to orbit the moon.

As we stepped onto the damp grass and walked towards the seawall, I could see the tide was at its lowest, the water lapping gently into the exposed bulrush that was mostly submerged at high tide. That’s when it hit me, the weird smell I couldn’t place. We smelled pluff mud, a pungent byproduct of the decaying sea grasses that grew along the banks of the harbor and waterways in the area. The Ashley River bound the peninsula of Charleston to its south, and the Cooper and Wando Rivers dumped together to form the harbor to its north. The rivers and the harbor then emptied into the Atlantic Ocean. If you moved just a few miles along the coast away from the rivers in either direction, you would find some sandy beaches along the coast. Here though, pluff mud ruled, sometimes with a merciless hand. One step into the dark muck could pull you in like quicksand. However, it was also home to the millions of organisms that started the food chain for the abundant sea life in the area.

“Isn’t he just the cutest thing ever?” I looked back to the condo to see a slender, teenage girl waving from the second-floor unit directly above mine.

I waved back and said, “Hey there. This is Max and I’m Tom. And who might you be?”

“Jenny,” she said. “Can I come down and meet him?”

“Sure,” I replied, “we’ll be down here for a few minutes while Max explores.”

As Max was watering some shrubs that bordered the property, Jenny pummeled over her balcony railing, planted her feet on the ledge, then lowered herself with her hands, dropping the last few feet barefoot onto the wet grass.

“Jenny!” I heard being yelled from inside. “How many times have I told you not to do that?”

“Mom,” Jenny whined back, “that’s nothing compared to what we do in gymnastics.”

“That’s not the point, Jenny,” her mother explained as she walked out onto the balcony and leaned over the rail. “It’s rude and the property owners have a rule against it. They’re afraid someone will get hurt and sue them. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jenny acquiesced, then she turned and bounded towards us.

“Oh, hi,” Jenny’s mother stated as she finally noticed us. “What a lovely dog.”

Max was certainly coming in handy for meeting the neighbors. “Hi, ma’am,” I replied. “Sorry about that. I told her she could come down and meet Max.”

“I’m sure you didn’t tell her to jump over the rail, though.”

“No, ma’am,” I grinned, “but I probably would have done the same thing at her age.”

“Please call me Mary. I think you’re old enough to drop the ma’am.”

“Yes, ma’am… Sorry, Mary. Just a habit of growing up in the South. My mother taught me that all females are ma’am to children and gentlemen. I’m Tom, by the way.”

“Good to meet you, Tom,” she smiled back. “Don’t be long, Jenny. We have to leave soon to get you to school on time,” Mary reminded her as she slid back inside.

Mary and Jenny looked more like sisters than mother and daughter. Both had sandy blond hair cut in bobs and slim builds. From the angle I was looking, I guessed Jenny had already outgrown her mother by an inch or two, though at six feet and an inch, I still towered over them both by half a foot or so.

“Where do you go to school?” I asked Jenny, as she presented her hand to Max’s nose for approval.

“Porter-Gaud,” she answered. “It’s over in West Ashley.”

“Yeah, just across the Ashley River. I’m familiar with it. I used to live here several years back. My ex graduated from there before going to the College of Charleston.”

Jenny was stroking Max’s ears. “Oh yeah? I think that may be where I go to college in a couple of years.”

“10th grade then?”

“Yes, sir, for two more months.”

“You can call me Tom, Jenny, as long as your mom doesn’t mind.”

“Okay, I’ll ask her on the way to school. Oh, school!” she exclaimed. “Better be going, I guess.”

“Probably so,” I agreed. “Have a great day.”

“You too,” Jenny replied as she jogged to the north end of the building to use the stairs this time.

As I watched her go, I noticed an older, African American gentleman sitting in a wheelchair on the patio next to mine. He wore charcoal gray pajamas, and a red plaid blanket covered his lap. I guess I hadn’t seen him when I walked out, because a support wall for the balconies above separated the patios on the first floor.

“Mornin, Pops,” Jenny said, as she rounded the corner. “Tell Gran ‘Hi’ for me.”

“Morning, JenJen,” he greeted back. He looked up at me but said nothing.

I waved at him. “Good morning.”

“Good morning. You new here?”

“Yes, sir, just moved in last night,” I explained. “Name’s Tom Blackstone.”

“Jackson Simmons,” he introduced himself.

Max had finished his business, so we strolled to Mr. Simmons’ patio, and I held out my hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Same,” he agreed as he shook my hand. “Fine dog you got there. Seems to be a people person.” He reached down gently as Max approached him, letting Max smell him as Jenny did before attempting to pet him.

“Yes, he is. He’s friendly, unless he feels threatened. Quiet too. Strange for a beagle, but he’s been that way since he was a pup. Hardly ever barks, again, unless he feels threatened.” Mr. Simmons patted his thighs and Max placed his paws on his lap. “I see you know how to handle a dog.”

“Yep,” he agreed. “I’m the one who taught Jenny how to make friends with a new dog. Wouldn’t want her to get hurt.”

“Good idea. She must really like you. I heard her call you Pops.”

“She’s a special girl. I guess we’ve known her since she moved in, about ten years ago. Her dad was killed in a hunting accident upstate. Shot by a young man during deer season. Partially his own fault, though. Wasn’t wearing anything bright for other folks to see him.”

“Tough thing for a kid to go through. Her mom, too, losing someone like that.”

“Yeah, I hear he was a good man, too.” Mr. Simmons pointed to a table with two chairs next to him. “Why don’t you sit for a minute?”

I sat facing him with my back to the water. Max sat on his haunches next to him, enjoying all the attention he was getting today.

“Want some coffee?”

“I would love some,” I answered. “The place has a coffee pot, but other than dog food, I haven’t been able to stock up yet.”

“Maisy,” Mr. Simmons called out, “Hon, could you bring an extra cup of coffee out?”

“Yes, dear,” I heard from inside the Simmons’ condo.

“Cream or sugar?” Mr. Simmons asked.

“No, sir, black is fine.”

“Why don’t you call me Jack? It’s what my friends call me, and anyone with a dog this good is alright in my book. My grandmother always said that anyone with a mean dog isn’t to be trusted, but a friendly dog means the owner can’t be half bad.”

“Thank you, Jack. I think that’s a fair assessment.”

A distinguished-looking lady in a floral print,...