Checking Off

Tess hated the Atchafalaya Basin Bridge, and she could tell you why in numbers.

18 miles of it. Two ways off, Whiskey Bay and Butte La Rose. Black swamp under every foot. Twice the road crossed open river, and there the shoulder ran out and the rail came in close enough to tap with her mirror.

"Tess, westbound, checking on," she said into the CB, the truckers' radio.

"Copy, baby," said Dot. "Tess on at ten past one. That's 3 on. Two reefers ahead of you, the cold trucks, and then your blue box."

"Did you key up just now, Dot? I heard water."

"Not me. I'm busy with the last cigarette of my life." Dot blew smoke past her mic. "Lapping or dripping?"

"Lapping."

"Huh," said Dot.

Dot ran the night desk at the truck stop on the east end. For 26 years she had kept the count on channel 19, each truck on and each truck off. Help took so long out here, she always said, that somebody had to know who was on the bridge.

"Cody, westbound, checking on!"

"Copy, Cody baby. 4 on. Your sister's three minutes up the road."

"Copy, copy. Hey, Boss."

"How's your clock?" Tess said.

"9 minutes left on my 11."

"Say the rule, Cody."

"11 hours of driving, then 10 hours off. And the box on the dash logs every minute the wheels turn, so don't lie to the box." He sighed. "Can I drive now?"

"It's 18 miles. At 55 that's 20 minutes."

"So I'll do 60."

"Trucks do 55 on this bridge. Right lane only."

"Copy, copy. Let me drive my own truck, Boss. Mama said you'd do this. She said, let him have the bridge, Tess."

"Mama doesn't drive the bridge. I'll wait on the shoulder past the river crossing. I want to see your lights come over the narrow part."

"I'm not 12."

"You're 19. It's worse."

"Your mama know you two are running together?" Dot said.

"She's got the porch light on in Breaux Bridge," said Tess. "Three o'clock, she said, and not a minute after. She made gumbo."

"For him or for you?"

"For him. She says he's thin. You hear that, Cody? Gumbo."

Nothing came back.

"He's sulking," Tess said. "First run on his own, and I won't give him one mile of it."

"He is thin," said Dot. "Now who's that, parked crooked in my back lot with his lights on?"

"Some fool."

"Some fool in a hurry to sleep. There. Lights off."

"Dot, I've got nothing in my mirror. Not one light, all the way back to the trees."

"He's further back than he said. They always are, baby."

"What does huh mean?"

"What?"

"I said water, and you said huh."

The lighter clicked twice.

"Lou used to hear water on 19," Dot said. "1998. Lou checked on at ten past one, same as you. I've got the book right here. Book says he checked off at half past. I heard him. Lou, off."

"So he got off."

"They found his truck on the river crossing at six. Door open. Engine running."

"Dot."

"That's why I count. It's a line in a book, Tess. I didn't write it, and I can't fix it."

"That's a ghost story."

"It's my handwriting."

"So who checked off, Dot?"

"I've had 26 years to ask that, baby. Nobody's answered on 19 yet."

"Mike, off at the west end," said a deep voice. "Cold load, warm heart. Night, Dot."

"Copy, Mike. Go home and kiss somebody."

"Joe, off. Same as him, minus the heart."

"Copy, Joe. That's 2 on. Just my two babies. And at six I quit smoking, and I'm driving to Houston to hold a granddaughter I have not met."

"You said that last year."

"Last year she wasn't born."

"Crossing coming up," Tess said. "Shoulder's going. Rail's a foot off my mirror."

"Then hush and drive."

Under the wheels the joints went thump, thump, thump, slow and even, like somebody counting her across.

"I'm over, Dot. I'm on the shoulder. Flashers on."

"Copy. Now you sit there and wait for your brother like a good bossy sister."

"Come on, Cody. Come on."

"Staring at the mirror won't make him drive faster, baby."

"It made Daddy drive faster."

"Your daddy drove faster because your mama was in the other seat."

"Cody. Where are you?"

Hiss. Then, under the hiss, water. Lapping.

"Tess." Cody's voice, low and fast. "I'm on the crossing. Truck quit. Everything's dead, no lights."

"Stay in the cab."

"I'm out. I'm at the rail. I should have done 55."

"Get back in the cab, Cody!"

"I hit something. There's somebody down in the water. Come look, Tess."

"Cody, baby," said Dot. "Which side of the crossing?"

"By the water," he said. "Copy."

Tess called his phone. It rang and rang.

"He's not picking up, Dot."

"Then you stay in that seat. I'm calling the parish. It's 40 minutes for them, out here."

"40 minutes. He's 19."

"Lou was 30."

"I'm calling your desk," Tess said. "Pick up. I'm putting you in my pocket on speaker. Talk the whole way, and don't stop."

"I'll talk," said Dot. "You won't like it. Get back in your seat."

"I've got the flashlight. I'm out. It stinks, Dot. Mud and something sweet gone off." She stopped. "The frogs just quit."

"Frogs quit when something big moves in the water. Turn around."

"I'm on the crossing. There's a strip of concrete by the rail about as wide as my boots."

A car came up behind her at 70. Its wind shoved her into the rail.

"What was that?" Dot shouted.

"A car. Missed me by a foot. Cody! Cody, where are you?"

"Talk to me, Tess."

"Both lanes, empty. All the way back. There's no truck here, Dot. No flashers. No Cody."

"Then he's not there. Come back."

"No truck, no Cody." She laughed, and it shook. "He's parked back at Whiskey Bay, laughing at me on 19. I'm going to kill him."

"Good. Kill him from your seat."

"Hang on. I'm putting the light over the rail."

"Tess, don't."

"Black water. A plastic bottle, going round. Cypress knees, those woody stumps the trees push up out of the mud." She let her breath go. "See? Nothing."

A wet hand closed over hers on the rail.

It was cold, and it was the size of Cody's hand, and there was weed between the fingers.

"Boss," said Cody's voice, from just under the rail.

She tore free. The flashlight went over the side. She never heard it hit the water.

"Tess? Tess, what was that?"

"It's Cody. Dot, it's Cody, he's down there!"

Behind her, bare feet slapped the concrete, one step for each of hers.

"Wait for me, Boss," said Cody's voice, at her back. "Tess. Wait."

"That is not your brother! Run, baby! Don't you look back!"

"I'm at the truck. I'm at the step."

Something took her ankle.

It went all the way round, cold, tight as a cuff. She kicked back hard, and her boot came off in its grip. She fell in across the seats, dragged the door shut and hit the lock.

"Tess! Talk to me!"

"I'm in. Door's locked." She was crying now. "It's got Cody. Dot, it's got my brother."

"Where are you, Tess?"

"In the cab. It's got my boot. The step's wet, and there's nothing on it. Just water running off."

"You stay put. Engine on, lights on," said Dot. "I'm going out back to look at my crooked fool."

The line went quiet.

Her phone buzzed against her ribs. A second call. CODY.

"Boss?" He sounded thick, like a kid at a sleepover. "Dot's banging on my window with a broom. What's going on?"

"Where are you?"

"Dot's back lot."

"You're on the crossing."

"I never went on. 9 minutes, you said 20. I didn't want to bust my clock on my first run, so I came back down the ramp and parked." A pause. "And I turned the radio off. So you couldn't yell at me."

"You checked on."

"I checked on, and then I chickened out. I was going to check off when I woke up."

Behind him, Dot said, "Tell her I'm crossing him off in pen."

"You did it right," Tess said.

"Are you mad?"

"You did all of it right, Cody. And I got out of the truck."

"You got out? On the crossing? Boss, you said never. You said it like 50 times."

"I know what I said. Cody, listen to me. Don't you ever do what I tell you again."

"Boss, you're scaring me. Say something."

"Lock your doors. Tell Dot to lock hers."

"She says she's got every light in the store on and a broom." He swallowed. "Who were you talking to?"

"You," she said. "I was talking to you."

The CB hissed. Under the hiss, water lapped.

"Tess, westbound," said her own voice, tired and warm. "Off at the west end. Tell Mama I'm on my way."