“Mom,” Connor said mournfully.
“And don’t give him sugar.” Robin had recently discovered its effects after leaving a bag of Oreos on her grandfather’s night table. He had devoured all the cookies, then told Robin he’d report her to the police if she didn’t go out and get him more. “It only makes him worse.”
Robin got into her truck and headed for the north beach. The road was covered with fallen leaves; clumps of brilliant goldenrod lined the ditches. That her brother had come to live here, for however brief a time he might stay, still seemed to Robin some sort of joke. A long time back, during their first summer on the island, Robin had persuaded Stuart to come with her to the meadow beyond this beach, to search for earth stars, small puffball mushrooms that curled up in the palm of your hand. He had followed her dolefully, not noticing much, not the chipmunks or the moccasin flowers, not the stretch of poison ivy he meandered through. That night he had had a terrible reaction, in spite of the strong brown soap Ginny made him wash with. He couldn’t sleep at all; just the touch of the sheet against his skin was agonizing. Robin had been torn up with guilt for leading Stuart through the woods, and when she heard him crying she went down the hall in her nightgown. To her, so used to the brilliant, harsh colors of Florida, their grandfather’s house was particularly dark, especially at night, when she was supposed to be in bed.
Robin walked barefoot along the parquet floor in the hallway, even though Ginny had taken her out and bought her a pair of bunny slippers, along with new school clothes, and a winter coat and warm pajamas. Robin continued to wear the white nightgown she’d brought along from Miami, though she shivered beneath the thin cotton. The door to her brother’s room was open and Robin planned to go in and apologize. In an act of pure courage and solidarity, she intended to touch the raised red rash on his skin and infect herself.
But she never did get to pledge her allegiance to Stuart, or to discover whether poison ivy could be spread by human touch. When she reached his bedroom door she saw that her grandfather had gotten to Stuart’s room first. He had spread calamine lotion on the worst of the rash and already Stuart had stopped crying. Stuart was exhausted; he fell asleep as soon as the itching was relieved, but Old Dick pulled up a chair anyway, and he slept beside Stuart’s bed the whole night through.
Now, if the gossip Robin had heard was correct, Stuart was acting as though he’d been a naturalist at heart all his life, instead of a boy who despised mosquitoes and slugs. Robin had been down to his shack a few times and had been amazed by how comfortable he seemed; the last time she’d seen him a wasp had been trapped inside the shack, bumping into windows and walls, and Stuart had calmly slipped a coffee mug over it, then, with a saucer keeping the wasp in place, tossed it out his front door. When Robin had asked how long Stuart planned to stay on the island, he had hedged, insisting he was only taking a break from real life. But now when she reached the beach she saw that he’d made further improvements: a laundry line had been strung between two pitch pines, the roof had been freshly tarred. Robin walked up the path edged with seashells, knocked just to be polite, then went in to discover Stuart and Kay having tea and brownies, the kind with walnuts that Stuart had always liked.
“This is not what you think,” Kay said.
“Not at all,” Stuart agreed. He pulled up one of the milk crates he used as chairs and poured some tea for Robin.
“Because, you know, that’s the way it seems,” Robin said. “You two together. Not that there’s anything wrong with it.”
“Oh, no.” Kay smiled.
“Not what you think,” Stuart said warmly.
Robin sat down and eyed the plate of small brown snails in the center of the plank of wood that served as a table. They were moving, slithering along the edge of the china.
“Aren’t they fascinating to watch?” Kay said.
“Coffee beans, we used to call them,” Stuart reminded Robin.
“That was me,” Robin said, indignant. “You didn’t call them anything at all. You used to step on them so they wouldn’t crawl anywhere near you.”
“Well, we call them coffee beans now,” Kay said in soothing tones. “That’s what matters.”
“Here’s the problem that we have since Ginny’s gone,” Robin began.
“I talked to her yesterday,” Stuart said. “Phoned her from Kay’s house.” He neatly cut a brownie into quarters. “She’s not quite used to having people do things for her, but it turns out that she’s crazy for bingo. Seems she was something of a champ in her youth.”
“Did you hear what I said?” Robin cut in. “We have a problem. Old Dick.”
“Just because I’m on sabbatical doesn’t mean I don’t have some cash flow,” Stuart said. “I’ll pay for another housekeeper or a nurse.”
“There’s not enough money,” Robin said. “It has to be us. We can take turns staying with him.”
“That’s impossible for Stuart,” Kay said. “He can’t leave the shack overnight.”
“Is this some religious belief,” Robin asked her brother, “or just pure selfishness?”
“I’m having a dispute with the county clerk and the town council,” Stuart said. “If I leave the premises for more than twenty-four hours I forfeit my rights as a squatter and they’ll bulldoze the place.” He clapped his hands together. “Boom.”
“Never mind that there’s a huge colony of coffee beans right under the shack,” Kay said hotly. “They don’t give a damn about that.”
“You won’t help.” Robin looked at her brother. “That’s what you’re saying.”
“Old Dick and I wouldn’t last under the same roof for more than an hour,” Stuart said. “You know that.”
That it was true made very little difference to Robin. She was now the old man’s sole caretaker, and all the way back to the estate she had to concentrate on the road to make certain she wouldn’t suddenly turn and head in the opposite direction from Poorman’s Point. By the time she got back, it had begun to grow dark, and she worried that she’d left Connor in charge for too long. She’d forgotten to mention that Old Dick liked his supper early, by four-thirty, and that whenever anyone put a plate of noodles in front of him, he’d go berserk and call whoever served him his least favorite food a horse’s ass. Since boiled noodles were the one thing Connor knew how to cook for dinner, Robin parked in a hurry and ran up the stairs. Right away she saw that some sort of dinner had been made—the tray was on the hall table—and possibly even enjoyed, since no plates had been broken. The door to the old man’s room was ajar and no one was shouting; there wasn’t a sound, except for the pages of a book being turned as Stephen read in the chair by the window.
Connor had panicked after less than half an hour; when Stephen came by on his run, he’d found Connor pacing the floor. Old Dick had spilled a glass of orange juice, which he wasn’t even supposed to have because of the high fructose, and now he was demanding a bath. Connor was terrified that he’d drop the old man, or that he’d turn for an instant and Old Dick would drown.
“I’m not ready for this,” Connor confided in Stephen. “It’s like having a baby. But one who curses like you wouldn’t believe when you don’t do things fast enough.”
Connor had been so relieved when Stephen suggested he go home that he’d thrown his fist in the air.
“Yes!” he said. “I owe you,” he added as he grabbed for his jacket. “Big.”
When Stephen went into the bedroom, Old Dick was pounding on the wall. He stopped when he saw Stephen, and slipped his glasses on.
“Finally,” Old Dick said with a sigh, “they’ve sent someone reasonable.”
Stephen bathed him, then fixed a can of soup for supper, which they ate together in silence as they watched the leaves of the wisteria fall from the arbor to the ground. That was when Stephen decided he would move into Ginny’s old room.
“You don’t have to do this,” Robin said when Stephen came into the hall, closing the door behind him, but not all the way, just
in case Old Dick should call out.
Instead of answering, Stephen kissed her, then pulled her toward Ginny’s old bedroom.
“I can’t,” Robin said. “Not here.”
Stephen looked at her, confused.
“My grandfather,” Robin explained. “He’d be in the next
room.”
Stephen grinned.
“What?” Robin was flustered.
“He won’t know,” Stephen said.
“I’d know,” Robin insisted.
“All right,” Stephen said. “Then we won’t.”
He would have gone into the kitchen, to make them some coffee, if he hadn’t wanted her so much.
“Don’t look at me,” Robin said. She took a single step backward.
“I have to,” Stephen said.
He could look at her for the rest of his life and still not understand her, though he certainly wasn’t about to ask why when she suddenly changed her mind. He followed her into Ginny’s bedroom, where the wallpaper was so faded it was nearly impossible to tell there were roses climbing up the wall. He didn’t dare ask if she was sure this was what she wanted to do. But as Robin turned down the bed, which Ginny’s daughter had made up with fresh sheets before she left, she didn’t have a single doubt. As far as she was concerned, her logic was perfect. In order to have him, she could get used to almost anything.
There were only ninety-three days left before Jenny Altero’s thirteenth birthday, and that was why she knew exactly how a caterpillar felt trapped inside its chrysalis. She knew just how hard it was to wait for that last transformation, the beating wings, the endless arc of the sky. As she sat in front of a mirror she could see that her face had begun to change: the cheekbones becoming more prominent, the mouth wider, the eyebrows raised, as if in surprise. She slept longer and longer, and often her mother had to shake her awake in the morning. She spent entire afternoons suspended in time, counting off the seconds until her birthday with exquisite precision.
And all the while Jenny waited for that mysterious instant when she would become a teenager, she was carefully studying her sister for clues. Secretly she cultivated the haughty toss of the head Lydia used so effectively when confronted by their mother. She longed to acquire Lydia’s self-assured manner and often sat perched on the bathroom counter watching Lydia apply eye pencil with bold strokes.
“Aren’t you afraid you’ll poke yourself in the eye?” Jenny asked.
“It takes practice,” Lydia said. She looked at her sister, something she hadn’t bothered to do for quite a while, and was surprised to see that in no time at all Jenny would actually be pretty. “Here,” Lydia said. “Let me do you.”
Jenny obediently closed her eyes and tilted her head back. She could smell her sister’s shampoo as Lydia leaned over her, and she thought Lydia would never notice if she started to use it, too.
“What a difference,” Lydia said, when she was done. “Wow.”
Jenny looked in the mirror and blinked. Her eyes looked twice as big.
“Let’s really do you,” Lydia said, and Jenny was so thrilled by her sister’s attention that she sat motionless for nearly twenty minutes as Lydia applied lip liner and blush, then French-braided Jenny’s hair in the style that Lydia herself often favored. When she had finished, Lydia made Jenny keep her back to the mirror, then slowly turned her to face her reflection.
“I’m beautiful,” Jenny said, completely surprised.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Lydia said. She checked her own reflection to make certain it was still superior in every way. “But you really do look fantastic,” she graciously admitted, and seeing the gratitude on her little sister’s face, Lydia gave her a hug.
“Better not let Mom catch you,” Lydia advised. “She’ll ground you for the rest of your life.”
Still, Jenny decided not to wash the makeup off, not yet. It was late enough that she could sneak into her room, and before her mother came to say good night, she made certain all the lights were off. As soon as her mother had gone out of the room, Jenny got out of bed and grabbed a flashlight. She rummaged through her dresser drawer until she found a pair of dangling earrings she had swiped from Lydia’s jewelry box. She pulled on Lydia’s white sweater. At a quarter to eleven she heard the front door open, then close. She went to the window and watched Lydia run to meet Connor; it was a clear night and Jenny could see them perfectly. As soon as they headed down Mansfield Terrace, their arms around each other’s waist, Jenny opened her window; she climbed out and dropped to the ground. She followed them all along Cemetery Road, far enough behind to ensure that Lydia and Connor weren’t the least bit suspicious, but close enough to hear bits of their conversation. She wanted to know how a girl talked to a boy when they were in love. Did she reach for a boy’s hand first, or wait till he came to her? When he kissed her, should she back away or throw her arms around him and hold him tight? Did she ever admit how she really felt, or was it best simply to act scornful when he swore that his heart was breaking in two?
There was a full moon that night, and the fallen leaves along the road looked as if they were made of gold. The air was cool, but Lydia’s white sweater kept Jenny warm. She almost felt that she was the one who was in love; her heart raced and the stars in the sky seemed unusually bright. Before she knew it, they had reached Poorman’s Point. Jenny hid behind a pine tree as Connor tried to jimmy open the lock of an abandoned storage shed. Lydia laughed when he had trouble with the lock, and Connor pretended to be angry; he chased her until she threw back her head and said she gave up, although it was clear from the look on Connor’s face that he was the one who had given up. And suddenly they were all over each other; some force had pulled them together. They were kissing each other in a way Jenny had never seen before, and that was when she realized how cold she was, wearing only her sister’s thin sweater. Connor turned and Lydia kept her arms around him; she pressed up against him as he fought with the lock and finally opened the door to the shed. By then Lydia had slipped her hand into his jeans, and Connor bowed his head, as if he were in pain, as if he couldn’t wait.
Jenny wasn’t ready to see this. She wouldn’t even be thirteen for three more months. She turned right then and ran, tripping over bushes and stones, frightened by her own shadow. All at once, Poorman’s Point seemed a very long way from home. There were clouds in the sky she hadn’t noticed before. She hadn’t paid attention to the path when she’d followed Lydia and Connor, and now it seemed to loop around in a confusing way; she kept passing the same spot, getting nowhere at all. At last she found the road. Somewhere a dog kept in its kennel was howling and a night heron answered the call. Jenny crossed her fingers on both hands. If she made it back home, she wouldn’t be such a sneak anymore. When she reached Cemetery Road she should have been relieved; she always took this route in the summer on her way home from the town recreation program, where she taught kids how to weave belts and key chains out of plastic rope. But now the idea of walking past the graveyard this late at night made her stomach lurch. She held her breath and kept going; she didn’t have a choice.
When some headlights came up behind her, Jenny felt herself panic completely. If she hadn’t turned and recognized Robin’s truck pulling up alongside her, she would have run right into the cemetery to hide. Robin swung the door of the pickup open and Jenny quickly climbed inside.
“Does your mother know you’re out here?” Robin asked. She was on her way home from being with Stephen, and she felt somehow exposed, as though she were the one who’d been caught breaking curfew. Most nights she went out before supper, taking charge of her grandfather while Stephen went running, and often she didn’t go home until after midnight.
Jenny shrugged and looked straight ahead; she was still shivering.
“I take it that means no,” Robin said. “You know it’s dangerous and stupid. I don’t have to tell you that. Right?”
“Right,” Jenny agreed. “Incredibly stupid.”
“I thought you were
Lydia,” Robin said as they turned onto Mansfield Terrace.
“Really?” Jenny looked over at Robin, pleased, then saw the concern on Robin’s face. She wasn’t out of trouble yet. “Don’t tell my mother,” Jenny begged. “Please.”
They’d pulled into Robin’s driveway and they both looked over at the Altero house; all the windows were dark, as if everyone were safely asleep in bed.
“Since your mother’s not talking to me, I can’t tell her anything, can I?” Robin said. “Just don’t let me catch you doing this again.”
“I won’t,” Jenny said.
She hugged Robin, then opened the door and jumped out. She ran all the way home, and by the time she climbed in her window she was giddy with her own success. Already, Jenny couldn’t remember how afraid she had been to pass by the cemetery, or why she had begun to run home in the first place. She looked at herself in the mirror and felt very grown-up; her cheeks were pink with excitement. The moon was just outside her window, as though it had followed her home. She lay down on her bed and tried her best to stay awake until Lydia came home, but by midnight she was fast asleep, still wearing her sister’s white sweater, which, she had already decided, she wouldn’t be returning anytime soon.
Where he came from, October was the time of frost. Twilight arrived earlier and was a deeper blue; ice crystals formed on the surface of the shallow ponds in the morning, owls called at odd hours. It was a bad time to be a wolf: men came into the woods, and they weren’t there to see the sky change color or to watch the ice form. They weren’t there to listen to the owls in the trees.
Trappers moved quietly and they knew what they were looking for, but in October the hunters came, ready to shoot at almost anything. They would take down deer or moose, beavers or wood ducks; occasionally, they would shoot each other. Once, Stephen found a man before anyone else could get to him. The man’s friends, the ones who had shot him accidentally, were convinced they had gotten a bear, which they intended to let bleed to death before they followed its trail. So the hunter died by himself in a clearing, and Stephen watched, shivering, as he did. After the hunter had stopped breathing, Stephen slowly approached; he crouched down beside him, even though he knew he should run. He had never seen anything like this close up before, not since he’d come here, and he had a knotted feeling inside his stomach. The face seemed too much like the one he saw when he had knelt down to drink from the clear pool. He backed away from the man; he refused to be like this thing. He didn’t care what he saw. He didn’t care if he needed to run on two legs, because when he went flat-out and felt the wind against him he might just as well have been running on all fours.
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