“Yah,” Big Tee replied, in his normal monosyllable, as he reached into the icebox to pluck out a bottle of beer. In one clean motion, he sent it sliding to the end of the bar, where I intercepted it without breaking stride and kept on walking.

There were a half dozen customers scattered around the deck but with very little conversation to be heard out there. Mostly, people were quietly nursing their drinks and gazing out across the water, soaking up the peaceful ambience as though saving it for a rainy day. Over in a sunny corner I spied my friend Bob Martin. Bob waved me over.

“Hey, young hero,” he said as he pushed out a chair with his foot. “Grab a seat and tell me what’s the good word.”

I sat and looked around. It was unnaturally quiet, and then I realized why.

“Where’s Fran?” I asked.

My friends Bob and Fran Martin are a single item. I’ve never seen one without the other one somewhere nearby. And Fran is such an exuberant personality that to be on the same map sheet with her is to know where she is. It’s not that she’s loud, it’s just that she’s a one-woman festive occasion, all by herself.

Bob gave me a grin in reply. “The silence is deafening, isn’t it?”

I nodded. “Yeah, thunderous.”

“She and one of her sisters are visiting an old maid aunt up in Statesboro. The old gal is the last living connection to their parents, so they keep an eye on her,” Bob explained.

I looked closely at Bob. He had led a rough life and it was catching up with him. The Korean War had punched some holes in his hide, and Vietnam and Agent Orange had cost him a lung. As thin as a pool cue, Bob walked with a cane, and now that the remaining lung was beginning to decline, he carried an oxygen bottle that fed the clear plastic tube looped across his face and beneath his nostrils. But his voice, with its rich Low Country accent, was strong and vibrant, and his sky blue eyes still sparkled beneath the brim of an old jungle hat.

Bob lifted his glass and, before taking a drink, looked at me slyly over the rim.

“Rumor out on Tybee is that you and a certain po-leece woman are practically engaged,” he said with a grin. “Some say it’s well beyond that, and that y’all are about to tie the knot.”

“Fran, huh?” I replied.