We stood on the Road 20 bridge gazing down at the brown water, swollen by hard summer rains. Lush trees lined the banks, and a pair of ospreys coasted back and forth searching for mullets.“Mom says we’ve got three days and then she’s calling the cops.”“Ha! Plenty of time,” the governor said.A large fish made a splash by the pilings, and Skink declared it was a sturgeon. “They jump like lunatics during mating season. One of ’em demolished a Jet Ski a few years back. That I’d pay to see.”“You sure this is the right place?”“I am.” He was peering down at something, shielding his good eye from the sun. “Stay here,” he told me.“Where are you going?”“For a dip.”With surprising agility he crossed to the end of the span and descended a steep grassy slope toward the base of the bridge. For a few moments I lost sight of him among the concrete pillars. When he emerged, I noticed that he’d removed his leg splint and kicked off both his boots.Into the river he went, and that’s when I saw what he’d seen—a long whitish shape on the bottom.
