Here, read this while I drive,” Jackie instructed, and I was only too happy to oblige since her
driving style, which never seemed to include both hands on the wheel, often made me wish I’d stayed
at home in the company of my turtles. Judd had drawn his map on the back of a piece of paper he
must’ve torn from a school notebook. On one side was a to-do list that included “Mow Miss
Turnipseed’s lawn,” “Ask Dad: bike tire,” “Fishing worms,” and “iron uniform.” The latter, I
supposed, referring to the Civil Air Patrol outfit that made teenagers look like miniature grown-ups.
“Not that side,” Jackie said, glancing my way. “Flip it over.” Why was it that I so often felt stupid
around Jackie? Sure enough, the reverse side was Judd’s rendering of where he thought the new road
had been carved into the swamp, based on what he’d seen from the air. Jackie had already gotten us to
the Tamiami Trail and from there she headed north. Our first turn from the main road was supposed to
be about a half mile past a combination bait shop and liquor store called Gin and Bare It. Judd had told
Jackie it was easy to spot from the air on account of a gigantic painting of a naked lady on the tin roof,
a revelation which, Jackie recalled, had left her momentarily speechless. Jackie wrinkled her nose
when we passed by, then slowed down so we could find the side road. “Hasn’t anyone in this county
ever heard of a street sign?” Jackie complained. “Wait,” she added. “That must be it.” Sam Cooke was
singing “Another Saturday Night” on the radio, but the signal was already fading and Jackie turned it
off. The side road was a lot like the one I took to Dolores Simpson’s fishing shack, only more remote.
“Oh, rats, why did I get the car washed. Remind me next time I buy a car to get one of those surplus
Je eps from the war.”
The road showed signs of being heavily used, and recently. This was unusual. Even Jackie, city
girl that she was, noticed the broken tree branches on either side, and she remarked about ruts in the
road, which she maneuvered around rather expertly. I started looking for the next road, where we were
supposed to make a right turn. “If we get stuck out here, we’re in trouble,” Jackie announced, as if it
wasn’t obvious. Just as I was about to suggest we turn back, we came upon the right turn, or what we
hoped was our right turn. “Maybe we should have told someone we were heading out here,” I said.
“Judd knows,” Jackie said. Of course he did. He’d made the map. And, knowing Judd, he was looking
at his watch right now, trying to estimate our location. “Jackie, you look to the front and I’ll look
back,” I said. “Of course I’m looking to the front, I’m driving the car!” I paused. “Jackie, I guess no
one ever told you this,” I said, choosing my words carefully, “but when you’re driving on a dirt road
this far back in the swamp, it’s pretty easy to run over a snake. If you see one and you think you hit it,
it’s important to say, ‘I think I just ran over a snake.’ And your passenger—that would be me—will
need to be pr epared to look back and see if it’s behind the car after you ran it over.” “Well, where
would it be if it isn’t behind the car?” Jackie asked. “Could be it’s climbed in the car. But more likely
underneath and wrapped around the axle.” “Oh my God, that is disgusting! Ew! Ugh! I hate this place
. . .” I was sorry I’d said anything. Jackie continued driving with her hands clutching the wheel. “How
come nobody told me this before?” she whined. “I have no idea,” I said. “I guess I should have told
you. I mean, all the times you’ve driven to Priscilla’s grandma’s house, someone should have
mentioned it. I guess we all thought you knew.” Jackie made a sound like harrumph. “Whenever I
learn something like this, it makes me wonder what else I don’t know,” she said. I was afraid she
might turn around but she didn’t. Another ten minutes, however, and she hit the brakes hard. A
brandnew gravel road, twice as wide as the little unpaved side roads, appeared in front of us. Was it a
mirage? I couldn’t have been more shocked if a UFO
plopped down in front of us. Unlike the twisty, haphazard roads we were used to, this one was
straight as a crow flies. It wasn’t paved like the Tamiami Trail but it still counted as bona fide by
Collier County standards since an actual engineer, rather than Billy Joe down at the so-called highway
d epartment, seemed to have designed it. For example, it appeared to be properly graded. And gravel?
That took planning. And money. Jackie took a long drag on a cigarette. “How far do you think we are
from home?” Her mood was serious, and I was grateful for it. “A couple of miles,” I said. “Four or
five, maybe. What does the odometer say?” Jackie, for once, looked she epish. “I didn’t check the
odometer before we left.” “Well then the only way to tell would be to climb a real tall tree.” Jackie
gave me one of those “you’ve got to be kidding” looks. “I’m not climbing a tree, and neither are you,”
she said. “There are things in those trees. Horrible bugs! Snakes!” She shuddered, and I turned my
head to the side so she wouldn’t see me hiding a smile. Poor Jackie. She was so far out of her element
here that it was hard not to be amused. And yet, fear was not a bad companion to have, back in the
swamps. Distances were so hard to figure. At times, the marsh acted like a giant sponge that
swallowed noise. Visually, it was even more confusing. You might come across a place that was wide
open and meadow-like, with rabbits running around, or a stretch of open water with little islands
where gators dozed on the banks and spoonbills perched in low-slung trees. In many parts of the
’Glades, though, you couldn’t see farther than the nose on your face, as my mama used to say. “Let
me see that map,” Jackie said. “If Judd is right, this new road is not more than a mile long, and the
construction trailer should be right at the end of it.” She hit the gas a little too hard, causing the rear
wheels to dig into the gravel and sending a thousand tiny pebbles flying. A hundred yards later, we
saw something in the roadway: A gator not much bigger than a hound dog had parked its lazy self in
the middle of the road. “Look at that disgusting thing!” Jackie said, slowly bringing the Buick to a
stop. She pounded her fist on the horn, a loud blast that was completely ignored by the gator, which
didn’t so much as twitch at the sound.
Jackie hadn’t yet acc epted the fact that gator encounters were inevitable. Why, in Collier County,
if you weren’t careful you could st ep on one dozing on your front st eps. In fact, that’s how Mama’s
friend Miss Fern Tootin died. Not that Miss Tootin got chomped by a gator. She tripped over it and
fell. But it wasn’t the fall that killed her, either. It was on account of her being so annoyed at the gator
that she fired a shot from a .22 caliber pistol, only the bullet ricocheted off her wrought-iron fence post
and struck her dead. Jackie honked again. “What the heck is wrong with it? Do you think it’s dead?”
she shouted. “Aw, come on, Jackie, it’s just a baby.” “I should run over it,” she said. “Jackie! How
could you say that?!” “Well, it’s not as if there aren’t a million of them around here. I don’t think
anyone would miss one.” “Jackie Hart, that little gator has more right to be here than you do! They’ve
been here since time began, and you just got here in 1962.” Jackie sighed and lit another cigarette, the
fourth or fifth one since we started on this little journey. I noticed she was using a lighter I hadn’t seen
before. “That’s nice,” I said quietly. “What’s nice?” “The lighter. Is it new?” “Ted got it for me as a
birthday present.” She handed it to me to look over. “It’s just like the one that Elizabeth Taylor owns.
Well, not exactly, because hers is probably solid gold and mine is gold plate.” This was getting to be a
little peculiar. It was the second time in three days that Elizabeth Taylor, bless her heart, had
unknowingly intervened and saved the day for me. Dang, that woman must have some mighty powers.
She was clear across the country, in Beverly Hills, and just bringing up her name could change the
course of a conversation all the way over here in the Everglades. “It’s gorgeous,” I said. I didn’t
smoke but even if I did I knew that a lighter like that would be out of my league. Jackie was one of
those women who always looked good; my mama would have said it was on account of her having
good cheekbones, though to be honest I never really understood what that meant.
“Look, Dora,” she said, “I’m sorry. Of course you know I would never have run over the, um,
creature.” “I’ll get out of the car and chase it to the side of the road,” I offered. “Oh my God, Dora,
don’t!” “Jackie, it can’t be more than four feet long.” “I’ll drive around it.” “Well, then drive around
the tail end of it, not the front end.” “Huh?” “Always drive behind an alligator’s tail end,” I explained
patiently. “If you drive in front of it, it’s more likely to panic and run right in front of the car.” “Oh for
Pete’s sake!” She ground out her cigarette in the ashtray. “I’m not going around him! He’s going to
have to get out of my way.” Jackie leaned on the horn again but the critter didn’t budge. She lowered
the power window and stuck her head out. “Get out of the road!” she shouted. The poor beast,
unmoved by the threat of a Buick weighing two tons or even the Yankee-style horn honking, was
startled into action by Jackie’s hollerin’. “Look at that,” Jackie said proudly. “It’s moving.” Sure
enough, the gator, now wide-eyed and apparently sensing a true predator, started to cre ep forward,
then move swiftly to the edge of the gravel road, where it vanished. “Must have been the Boston
accent,” I said. “He never heard one of those before.” Jackie laughed. “What do you say we find that
stupid trailer, and with any luck, your stupid former husband, and get this over with?” Before I could
answer she pounced on the accelerator, fishtailing that Buick and giggling like a half-mad schoolgirl.
“Jackie, stop that! You must be damaging the road!” “Oh, so what?” Jackie said. “Why can’t we have
a little fun. Besides, you hate the road! It shouldn’t be here, right?” I hung on for dear life, hoping
Jackie wouldn’t lose control of the car and land us in the swamp. I had never known a married woman
who acted like Jackie. I knew a few girls in high school with a similar wild streak but they’d
changed overnight once they’d said their “I dos” and “I will obeys” at the altar. There’s a saying
that if marriage don’t change a woman, motherhood will. Well, that was not the case with Jackie,
either. Many times the thought had gone through my head that her twin daughters and especially her
son, Judd, were more mature than she was. When they’d arrived in Naples, the kids were wise, taking
their time to adjust, but with Jackie, it was like she’d been shot out of a cannon. The womenfolk in
town were appalled; the men were scandalized. Her fashion taste was more Ava Gardner than Florida
matron, her intelligence was intimidating, and her tendency to speak her mind was shocking. She not
only had opinions, she shared them. The fact that her husband Ted was old Mr. Toomb’s newly hired
business manager had given her some leeway. She and Mr. Toomb had their differences but they had
buried the hatchet, for the time being at least. Of course, that’s what I hoped, but I also knew that
Jackie was the kind of person who burned up goodwill in a hurry. Jackie finally calmed down and
began driving like a normal person. I tried to focus on the possibility that I might be seeing Darryl. I
was grateful that Jackie was with me; even though I never knew what she was going to do next, I
could count on her friendship. The road began to curve gently and suddenly there it was: a brand-new
construction trailer. One vehicle, a pickup, was parked nearby. A man was hunched over slightly,
studying something—maps maybe, or construction plans—that had been spread out on the hood.
Darryl. My heart switched places with my stomach. I wanted to beg Jackie to turn around but
somehow I summoned the courage to stifle the urge. I had to get this over with. But as we drove
closer, I soon forgot all my troubles. Jackie slammed on the brakes, and the car lurched to a stop. We
were close enough to read the lettering on a sign that read Welcome to Dreamsville!