There was silence in the van as Dad finished loading the groceries and slammed the back door. He seemed at a loss for words. Outside the gray clouds had finally given in and it started to rain. Eli stared at the drops on the window.
“Well,” Dad said finally, as he backed out of the parking lot and started along the winding road home. “Let’s wait and see what happens. The lighthouse has been here a long time, and survived a lot. I bet it can survive this too.”
But Eli could tell from Dad’s voice that he wasn’t sure. Leaning his face against his arm, he let a few hot tears fall before swallowing the rest. He took a deep breath. It wasn’t over yet. Maybe.
—
All that night Eli tossed and turned, eventually sitting up to stare past Jax’s sleeping form and out the window, to the lighthouse. At least the light still worked, turning on automatically at dusk every day and sweeping its giant beam through the sleeping loft in a steady, reassuring pattern, like it had every year before.
Eli was wide-awake. Without his glasses everything was blurry, but in the on-again, off-again flash of the lighthouse he could see his brothers sleeping around him, and farther out the window, the sweep and hollows of the moors. His mind darted to the idea of the lighthouse being gone, then just as quickly darted away. It could be saved. It would be saved! He took a deep breath, trying not to let the panicky feelings overtake him. His mind wandered…to Captain Jim telling him about the baby seal, to the scary thought of kayaking out to the island, to the blueberry muffins that Dad had broken down and bought for breakfast in the morning, even though they cost a lot of money. Money…man, if they had known about the lighthouse, they could have donated the money to save it instead! Eli’s thoughts paused on that; then he darted out of bed and shook Jax awake.
“Huh? Wazzgoinon? Wazzamatter?” Jax said, bolting upright. He stared around in confusion.
“Shhh!” Eli whispered, but he felt like shouting, he was so excited. “It’s just me. I had an idea. A really good one! What if we can raise enough money to save the lighthouse? Like those fund-raisers for donations…why can’t we do one of those? I bet if we tried we could save it!”
Sam personally believed that vacations were all about sleep, and his right to have as much of it as possible. Of course, a sleeping loft with his three brothers and a window with no curtain meant that he had to work hard to sleep late, but Sam was nothing if not committed. He burrowed his head under his pillow and tried to block out all the noise and light.
“Sam! Get up, already! It’s practically nine o’clock!” Jax was pulling at his blankets, but Sam held firm. He had learned how to hold on to his bedding while still remaining mostly asleep.
“Fine. I’ll just eat the last blueberry muffin. The one Dad said we couldn’t touch because it was yours. Then Eli and I will finish making our plans for the lighthouse fund-raiser without you!”
Sam opened his eyes. “Stay away from my muffin, if you don’t want to suffer head injuries,” he growled.
Jax just shrugged. “Um…okay, tough guy. Sure I will. Dad says that if you’re not—”
But Sam had had enough. With a bound he was out of bed and running across the loft toward Jax, who gave a preemptive shriek before Sam even touched him.
“I WAS KIDDING! Your muffin is right there! Don’t kill me!” Jax bellowed, moving as fast as he could down the ladder.
Sam glared down at him. Jax stared back up, then started to laugh. “You have to admit, ‘stay away from my muffin’ is a pretty hilarious thing to say,” he said, lowering his voice to imitate Sam’s growl.
Sam couldn’t help laughing too. “It would be a good band name,” he said, swinging down the ladder. “And fine, you win. I’m up. Now, with the question of my muffin’s safety put to rest, what else were you babbling about?”
Eli and Frog circled closer as soon as Sam’s feet hit the floor, reminding him of a bunch of seagulls at the beach. Especially after Frog spilled pretzels. He waved them away. “Back off. I need to eat before anything else.”
“We can talk while you eat,” Eli said, handing him a plate with a massive, gorgeous, and mercifully unsullied blueberry muffin on it. “Come on!”
Sam let his brothers lead him out to the back deck, where a perfect summer day was waiting. The air was bright and crisp and dry, the last of the rain blown out to sea by the fast-moving breeze that shook the tall grass and trees. Sam collapsed in a deck chair with a sigh of happiness.
“Now, this,” he said, taking a massive bite of the muffin, “is more like it.”
—
It took the boys all of breakfast—which for Sam consisted of the muffin, two bowls of granola, a frozen bagel, and two containers of yogurt (“They’re tiny!” he protested, when Papa rolled his eyes)—for his brothers to explain their idea.
“Think about it,” Eli said finally. “Remember when we helped raise money for the town skating rink in Shipton? The town said they had no funds but would donate the land, and all in all I think they raised…oh, like thousands of dollars!”
“Three hundred thousand,” Sam said indistinctly, around a bite of yogurt. “We had a bunch of word problems about it in math last year.”
“Three hundred thousand dollars!” Eli was silent for a second. “Well, if Shipton can raise all that for a brand-new ice rink, I bet Rock Island can raise enough for some repairs.”
“Hey, check this out,” Jax said. He held up the Rock Island Inquirer, the weekly newspaper, which Dad had left on the table.
The boys gathered around. The headline read ISLAND LIGHTHOUSE REPAIRS TO BE ASSESSED, and the article talked about an outside construction firm coming in to give an estimate on the work. The article included a quote from the artist, Chase Kark, who had gotten hurt at the lighthouse but still wanted to buy it. Kark said, “It pains me to imagine this beautiful place without the historic and original lighthouse. But public safety must come before art, and while I’m grateful my injuries were minor, I’m deeply afraid of what could happen next time.”
Chewing thoughtfully, Sam looked at the photo of Chase Kark. He supposed it must have been pretty scary to have rocks crashing down all around, but he couldn’t help thinking the guy looked like a loser. He scowled at the photo, then turned away.
“Okay. So some off-island guys are figuring out what it costs, and you want to have a bunch of lemonade stands and other stuff to raise money to help the town buy it and fix it up? Is that the basic idea?” Sam was beginning to feel tired again as the food hit his system. He lay down on the lounge chair and gazed up at the sky, where tiny, puffy white clouds were scudding past in the breeze.
“Yep. I have a list,” Eli said, and thrust a yellow notepad at Sam.
Sam scanned the list. Lemonade stand at the dock. Lobster races near the dock, with lobsters “borrowed” from one of Captain Jim’s friends. Talent show. Yard sale.
Sam looked up. “How are we going to have a yard sale? There’s no one here but us and the Galindos. And what are we going to sell?”
“I thought we’d bring stuff into town. And we could sell old board games—”
“We could sell the old Scrabble,” Jax said. “It’s missing both Us, and Eli brought the one from home this year. Also I could sell my collar shirts. I hate them.”
“I don’t know who’s going to buy a Scrabble game with no U,” Sam said, “and anyway, I’m not sure Dad and Papa are going to be too jazzed about us selling off our clothes. But I guess I’m in for the other stuff. But later, like this afternoon. It’s awesome out. Let’s go to the beach!”
—
It was a flawless beach day. The storm had blown away, leaving only massive curling waves and the odd piece of driftwood washed up on the shore. For hours, Sam flung himself on his boogie board and let the waves pull and smash him into the sand, stopping only long enough to wolf down three pieces of cold barbecue chicken and a couple of peaches. The air smelled of salt and sticky peach juice and the sunscreen that Dad kept reminding them to put on. Over
head, gulls squawked and called, wheeling white against the blue of the sky.
Nearby Jax and Eli were shrieking, playing their favorite game of Tackle the Waves, which mostly involved flinging themselves into the roiling surf over and over. Finally, they all lay exhausted on their towels. Sam’s eyes were stinging from the salt and his skin was pleasantly cold to the touch. Next to him, his brothers buzzed with ideas for the lemonade stand, which they had determined was the easiest place to start.
“We need a big Save the Lighthouse banner,” Eli said. He had sat up and was absently burying Frog in the hot sand as they planned. “Maybe we can use an old sheet or something. It has to be big. Big enough that everyone can see it.”
“Where are we going to hang it?” Jax asked.
Sam, who finally felt awake after a fourth piece of chicken and one more quick dunk in the ocean, sat up. “We can hang it on the side of one of the boats, maybe? Captain Jim would probably let us, if he’s around. Or we can always tack it up on the dock pilings.”
Papa, who had decided to play hooky from work for the morning, looked over at Dad, who nodded his head a little. Papa cleared his throat loudly.
“What?” Eli said, pausing mid-scoop. “Why are you making that ‘ahem’ sound?”
Papa looked at Dad again, then sighed. “Look, boys, we think it’s a great idea to hold fund-raisers for the lighthouse. It will let people know how important this is, and it’s a wonderful gesture. But…”
He trailed off. Sam looked down at his towel. He knew where Papa was going with this.
“It’s unlikely that you guys will be able to raise the full amount needed to do the repairs. It’s going to take a lot of money, more than is reasonable to expect to make in a few weeks,” Dad said, when it became clear Papa wasn’t going to continue.
Eli kept digging. “Of course we know that!” he said. “But you never know. Maybe others will join in, and we’ll get a ton of people involved. It worked for the ice rink in Shipton!”
Dad and Papa both nodded. “It’s true. You never know,” Papa said, smiling. “You just never know, in this world.”
Sam sat up and grabbed another sandwich. “Okay!” he said, shoving half of it into his mouth and swallowing in two big gulps. “Back to work!”
Finally the plan was set, and Dad agreed to bring them into town for the all-important late-afternoon tourist-shopping hours.
Back at the house, they concocted a lemonade from frozen concentrate and fresh-squeezed lemons, complete with slices of lemon and fresh mint from the pot on the patio.
“Looks fancy!” Frog said, sounding impressed.
“Tastes delicious!” Sam answered, downing a cup.
Eli shot him a look. “No more! We need to sell it!”
“I’m quality control,” Sam protested, but he rinsed out the cup and went to get his flip-flops.
When they got to the docks, Eli took charge.
“Okay, set the table up here,” he directed Sam, who was hauling a folding table. “And, Jax, see if you can tack the banner up behind me, on the pilings.”
Within a few minutes Sam had to admit it looked pretty cool. The banner had been overseen by Jax, whose artistic representation of the lighthouse was pretty spot-on. It was tacked to the tall wooden pilings that lined the dock. The giant letters could be seen practically from the street, and the red-striped lighthouse was unmistakable.
As they were admiring it, they heard a familiar voice.
“Oooh, muy impresionante!” Val said, staring. “Very artistic!” She nodded approvingly. “I’ll get a shot of you all standing by the sign. I’ll use it in my summer memories film. Move closer, you guys.”
Jax glanced at Sam, then scooted closer, pulling Eli along. Frog jumped in front.
“Did you come into town to get our lemonade?” Frog asked, as Val moved slowly side to side, presumably getting whatever arty shot she was after. “Your hat is so pretty!”
“Oh, I was at the island’s improv group,” Val said, turning off the phone. “I film them when I have time. You should see them…they’re hilarious.” She grinned, turning to leave. “Good luck, chicos!” she called over her shoulder. “Hope you get lots of money!”
They watched her walk away, her enormous rainbow-striped sun hat trying to escape in the breeze.
“I like her,” Frog said. “She always has exciting outfits.”
Sam shrugged. “She’s okay. A lot better without her weird friend, that’s for sure.” It was true. While at first Janie and Val had seemed to be two of a kind, both girlie girls who giggled and said stupid things, today, with Janie gone, he had to admit that Val seemed normal. Other than her wild outfits, of course.
Eli waved his hands impatiently. “Now remember,” he said, “we aren’t charging for the lemonade. We’re accepting donations.”
“But how will we make any money?” Frog looked worried. “We can’t just give it away!”
“Don’t worry, buddy,” Sam said. “Eli’s right. People give way more than we would charge. Wait and see.”
As though in response, an older woman with three young children came over to the table. Eli immediately straightened up.
“Would you like some lemonade?” he asked politely. “All donations are going to help fix the Rock Island lighthouse!”
“I read about that in the paper,” the woman said, pulling out her wallet. “Well, that’s a good cause, don’t you think?”
Her kids nodded in unison, and Eli started to hand out cups.
“It’s homemade!” Frog piped up. “Well, mostly homemade, with some mix too, because we got a little tired squeezing lemons.”
Jax kicked him under the table and Sam rolled his eyes, but the woman just laughed. “That seems entirely reasonable. Too much squeezing will sour a person, I think. Here you go, and good luck!”
The boys watched in amazement as she dropped a twenty-dollar bill into their clearly marked DONATIONS jar.
“Um…thank you! Wow! Thank you so much! That’s really generous. THANK YOU!” Eli babbled, until Sam kicked him under the table.
When the woman walked away, the boys high-fived each other.
“This is going to be easy!” Jax yelled.
“I told you. Donations are the way to go,” Eli said smugly.
Sam took advantage of the celebration to gulp a quick cup of lemonade. It really was good.
A steady stream of other visitors, not quite as outrageous but still generous, kept them busy. The afternoon had gotten warmer and warmer as the breeze died, and the air was still and hot.
“Ew, a bug fell in,” Frog said, peering into the giant glass dispenser that held the lemonade. He fished it out with his finger but managed to spill a cup of lemonade in the process. The sweet, sticky liquid splashed all over Sam.
“Ugh! Frog! I’m covered in…Hey, is that a bee?” Sam asked. He hated bees. Like, really hated them. He tensed, looking around.
Sure enough, the sweet drink had attracted more than just generous donations. To Sam’s horror, his lemonade-scented legs and T-shirt were drawing the buzzing bugs right toward him.
“Get them away! Get off! GO!” Sam yelled, bobbing and weaving and waving his arms. An angry buzz swooped right by his ear. “ARGH! Go! AWAY!” he shouted again.
“Stop it! You’re just making them mad! Chill out!” Eli yelled, but it was too late.
Two angry buzzing sounds were now circling Sam’s head while others zoomed ominously close to his legs. Sam ran from the table, or tried to, but his foot got caught in the strap of the bag that held their money and the extra cups. Flailing, he tried to regain his balance, and knocked over the glass lemonade jug.
“SAM!” Frog yelled, as a wave of lemonade poured over the table. “Ouch! OWWW! It stung me!”
Sam freaked. He lunged backward, forgetting the strap, forgetting his brothers, forgetting, somehow, that he was on a dock. He fell against the banner, which promptly pulled free from the pilings and dropped into the water. Sam, pinwheeling wildl
y, fell after it.
For a terrifying second he was wrapped up in the sheet, struggling to get free and back to the surface. But then he was out, his head popping up, gasping for breath.
“THE BAG! GET THE BAG!” his brothers screamed from the dock.
Sam treaded water and tried to blink the salt from his eyes. In front of him, sinking slowly and—oh no!—leaking dollar bills that floated briefly before dropping out of sight, was the tote bag. Desperately, Sam dived again and again, trying to grab as much of the money as possible before it sank. A crowd of people had gathered on the dock, including Captain Jim, who lowered a ladder and bellowed at Sam to get out of the water and stop being a fool. But Sam ignored him. Only when every single bill was flung up into the waiting hands of his brothers did Sam clamber out, dripping, exhausted, and deeply embarrassed.
Before him was a scene of carnage. Captain Jim’s first mate had mostly finished picking up the broken glass, while another fisherman rinsed down the sticky bee-magnet dock. But still. The table was tipped over, and the banner, its paint ruined beyond recognition, was wadded up in a dripping pile. His brothers, all in varying degrees of dampness and tears, were staring at him.
Sam swallowed hard and accepted the towel Captain Jim held out. Then, silently, he gathered his brothers and started the long walk back toward the van.
Frog, his voice tiny and barely recognizable, reached for his hand and whispered, “Sam, what happened?”
Sam could only answer, “I really hate bees.”
The drive home was silent.
Eli was mad at Sam, even though he felt bad about the whole scared-of-bees thing. After all, Sam wasn’t really scared of much. Well, except for most bugs. But the fact was, his freak-out had really dampened the enthusiasm for the fund-raising, both literally and figuratively. They’d salvaged most of the money, though of course any coins had been lost to the harbor bottom. And Jax had painted a new banner. But neither his brothers nor his parents seemed ready for the next project, which was supposed to be the lobster races. In fact, even Captain Jim had strongly suggested they take a day off and let the dust—or lemonade—settle, before returning to the docks. Worse, he then offered to bring over his extra kayak so that all the Fletchers could head down to the cove.
The Family Fletcher Takes Rock Island Page 5