Chapter 10 – The Snake
The Magnolia Street porch ladies, now increased by a factor of one, carried on the tradition of coffee sipped in front-porch rocking chairs in the misty, gray-green dawn. What got their hearts started each day was not the caffeine in the coffee, however. It was the whhp-whhp-whhp of sneakers on asphalt and the cheery greeting for each lady in turn from a passing Adonis.
Miranda sometimes felt that bibs would make perfect gifts for her fellow Shep-worshipers, so that their drool wouldn’t damage their clothing. She made a mental note to Google some patterns and construct the bibs herself, maybe even embroidering them with each lady’s name for a personal touch.
In Florida there are two seasons: wet season and dry season. June 1 through December 1 was the wet season. July steamed in the mornings and poured in the afternoons. Hanging laundry outside to dry became a calculated risk, and more than one set of bed linens got an unscheduled rinse in rainwater when its owner lost the race with a fast-moving cloudburst. Miranda was saving up for an electric clothes dryer.
On this particular July morning, Miranda had taken a break from completing the daily crossword puzzle—in ink, a secret source of pride for her—and she was perusing the classified ads for used appliances. Beside her on a fern stand was her mug of coffee.
At any moment, Martha would raise the alarm and all the ladies would sit forward for the best possible view of the Shep and Dave Parade. After her morning fix of beefcake, Miranda would shower, dress, and drive into Live Oak for a quiet day in the library.
“Here they come!” Martha announced, looking through her binoculars. Then with new alarm in her voice she cried, “Holy mother of pearl! Rattler! Rattler in the road!”
“Shoot it, Martha!” Bernice shrieked.
“Bernice, ya idjit! This pea shooter is fine for rabbits in the front yard, but it won’t make a dent in a monster that size from this distance!”
“Can’t they just go around it?” called Wyneen.
“Don’t seem like they see it!” Charlotte said. “Looks like they’ll run right up on it before they even know it’s there!”
In the distance Shep and Dave loped toward them at an easy, regular pace. They didn’t appear to angle left or right to avoid the dangerous reptile lying full-length across their path.
The snake was aware of them, however, no doubt sensing the vibration of the asphalt as they drew closer. Six feet of diamond-backed reptile began coiling in on itself in the road, head raised and tongue flicking toward the unwary man and his dog.
Miranda realized that she was standing at her gate, unaware that she had even risen from the rocking chair on the porch. She stared in horror at the snake. Two sounds assaulted her simultaneously: the whhp-whhp-whhp of running shoes and the warning rattle of the serpent’s tail.
A hand touched Miranda’s shoulder, and she screamed. She hadn’t seen Martha cross the street to stand beside her.
“Phyllis kept a twelve-gauge in the hall closet. Is it still there?” said Martha.
Miranda gasped and mentally raced through the house recalling what Phyllis had left and where. “Yes!” she cried, and sprinted into the house.
Miranda threw open the hall closet, fumbled in the dark for the heavy shotgun and hauled it toward the light.
Outside, a dog began barking. The Magnolia Street ladies screeched in alarm. Miranda knocked shoe boxes and photo albums off the closet shelf and found a box of twelve-gauge shotgun shells.
She was already running through the front door and across the porch as she wrested two shells from the box, dropping the rest behind her without a second look.
In the street, Dave and the snake were only a few yards apart. Dave had blocked Shep’s forward motion with his own shaggy flank.
Miranda broke open the shotgun over her forearm as she hurried through the low iron gate held open by Martha.
Shep pulled at Dave’s bandanna and shouted “Leave it!” and “Back! Dave, back!” But Dave and the snake were battle-crazed and poised to attack.
Slamming shells into the two barrels, Miranda snapped the gun closed at the same time she was raising it to her shoulder.
“Get back, Shepard!” Miranda shrieked, then BAH-BOOM both barrels of the twelve-gauge spat fire and metal. The rattler’s head bloomed into a cloud of red mist as big as a car tire. Its headless body writhed and then was still.
Miranda was catapulted backward two steps by the recoil of the gun, which seemed far too heavy to her in the aftermath. She let it droop at her side and leaned against her stone fence.
Shep was on his knees in the road, running his hands over Dave’s forelegs and chest, head and belly.
“Did it get him?” Martha asked pragmatically, walking up to Shepard while looking intently at the dog.
“No, but it sure could have. Could’ve got us both,” exhaled Shep. “I didn’t even know it was there until Dave jumped in front of me. Nearly knocked me down, but he stopped me.” He ruffled the dog’s neck fur. “You stopped me, didn’t ya, buddy. Good dog! Good dog.”
Then Shep stood and turned in the direction of Miranda’s house. Putting one hand on the dog’s back, he said, “Let’s go say thanks to Annie Oakley for saving our lives, eh?”
Martha sent a knowing smile and a wink in Miranda’s direction then moved off to return home. “I’m gonna collect that skin afore some stupid car runs over it and ruins it,” she called over her shoulder.
“Yewchh!” Miranda said, shuddering. She stared at the headless corpse for a second, then was distracted by the man coming at her. The closer he came, the higher she had to raise her chin to look up into his face. She saw herself twice-reflected in his sunglasses.
She was still waiting for him to speak when he grasped her arms just above her elbows and simply lifted her off the ground and planted a quick, hard kiss on her lips. He followed it with a longer, softer kiss, then lowered her until her toes touched the ground. He still trapped her close, his arms circling her waist. “Thank you, Castor Bean,” he whispered.
“Uh-huh.” She thought she might faint, but then she might miss something,
“Tell me, where did you get an elephant gun at this hour of the day?” he said, chuckling.
“Closet,” she sighed, trying to determine the color of his eyes behind the opaque glasses.
He rested his forehead against hers and nuzzled her nose with his own. He dislodged her black-rimmed spectacles, then gently re-settled them on her upraised face.
“You’re wearing glasses,” he said.
“I’m blind as a bat.”
“Are you really?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Y’know, I have a lot of blind friends. Maybe we know some of the same people.”
What would be the odds of that? she thought. He's larger than life, and I'm not sure I even exist! “ Aloud, she told him, "Pretty sure we don't have the same circle of friends. I know I don’t have any 'blind friends.' ”
“You have me,” he said, and kissed her forehead.
Miranda watched her dual reflection become smaller in the mirrored lenses of his glasses as he stepped back from her.
She leaned, limp and wide-eyed, against her stone fence. Her eyes focused straight ahead, scarcely even blinking. Her arms hung slack at her sides—the right hand still holding the empty shotgun, its muzzle dangling toward the ground.
Miranda licked her lips and tried again to see his eyes. All she could see was his smile as he backed away then turned and jogged on his way, Dave padding close alongside.
Miranda was amazed that she remained standing when every cell in her body had melted like hot wax. Some monumental knowledge was tapping at the edge of her brain, but it slipped off the molten wax every time she tried to reach it. What did he say?
Miranda didn’t see or hear Martha approach, and when Martha took the shotgun, Miranda screamed.
“Good to know you’re still in there,” Martha said and chuckled. Miranda turned to look at her friend wit
h more confusion than recognition. “I’ll stick this back in the closet fer ya,” Martha said, taking Miranda’s elbow and turning her around to return to the house. “You need to get showered and dressed and off to work, now. I suggest cold water. Help ya git some a’ yer wits a-workin’ agin.”
“Uh-huh,” breathed Miranda, moving like a sleepwalker toward the house. Martha followed her, carrying Phyllis’ old weapon.