Landlocked (A water witch novel) by C.S. Moore Page A

imagination. I hoped my imagination would be kinder than to invent the perfect guy and then have him be uninterested. The only thing that kept me one hundred percent sure Jaron wasn’t a dream was Clarissa’s constant anger at him for not showing up for her tongue-lashing. He was real all right. I was beginning to wonder if he was okay though. The night at the movies was creepy, and with his continued absence, I couldn’t stop myself from wondering if something might have happened to him.
     
    ***
     
    The Prius quietly hummed along highway one sixty-seven on our way to Catahoula Lake. We were driving though the Kisatchie National Forest, which was the reason we took this route over the others although it was a bit longer of a drive. I looked out my window and watched as the longleaf pine trees passed so quickly they formed an impenetrable wall of bark.
    “Did you want to stop at the end of the forest and go to the reptile museum?” Dylan asked.
    “I don’t know if museum is the right word for a pit stop with a three fingered man sticking his hand into an alligator every hour,” I said. Dylan was joking anyway, we all hated the place.
    “What would you like to do, honey? Are there any stops you want to make before we nestle into the house for a long weekend?” Sylvia asked.
    I thought for a minute. The only thing I could think of that was worth taking any time away from relaxing in the lake house was eating at our favorite restaurant. “Well it will be early for dinner, so it won’t be too packed, can we stop at Bayou Baby?”
    Sylvia squealed. “Oh I was hoping you’d be up for it. I know you’re still feeling down and didn’t want to go out unless you wanted to. Bayou Baby, here we come.”
    “I’ll admit their chef is amazing. She even cooks better than me,” Dylan grumbled. He was an amazing chef and hated that he couldn’t find one thing at Bayou Baby that he didn’t like. After all, it looked anything but gourmet, built on a dock hovering over the bayou on the outskirts of town. The inside wasn’t any better, and the only thing that could be called decor were the many fish tanks that littered the place. When I had first gone there as a child, I loved the colorful tanks and begged my aunt and uncle to get one for my bedroom. But they'd said fish weren’t happy in a tank. I guessed that might be true since I wouldn’t have liked living in there either.
    We pulled into the dirt plot that doubled as a parking lot and Dylan cut the engine. “Okay now we are all going to order something new, right? I have to find one thing that I could have improved upon,” he said.
    “Well I’ll order something new, as long as I get to have the usual as well. There is nothing like their fried catfish and crawfish platter.” Sylvia’s words were making my mouth water.
    I walked out onto the dock behind my aunt and uncle and watched the still water as I went. It seemed more moss than water, so murky and green. Trees sprung up here and there, knotty towering things that created a mystical backdrop for the large round hut. The circular restaurant had few windows, and fishing nets clung to the façade like tinsel on a Christmas tree. No plastic marine shapes hung anywhere; there was nothing synthetic about the place. It was a real Bayou eatery. The middle of a swamp was a strange place for a restaurant, and I wasn’t sure what had made Sylvia and Dylan decide to stop the first time all of those years ago, but I was glad they took a chance. Dylan cleared his throat, and I noticed he was holding the door open for me. I grinned and stepped inside.
    The place hadn’t changed a bit since my first memory of it over a decade ago. We got in at four but still didn’t beat the dinner rush. The lobby was packed. Sylvia and I sat at a red bench perched in front of one of the massive fish tanks while Dylan gave the hostess our name. The tank made my back cold and I shrugged on my cardigan. A giggle made me look up. On the other