Summer at Forsaken Lake

by Michael D. Beil

  “What do you think about that, Uncle Nick?”

  “I think you can do anything you set your mind to, Nicholas.”

  * * *

  Nicholas stood at the tower-room window a few minutes after midnight, staring at the moon through the brass telescope, trying to absorb as much of his surroundings as possible, and hoping for one last glimpse of the mystery sailboat. A chilly wind blew through the room—yet another reminder that summer really was over. It had been three days since the party—and his dad’s arrival—and the day he and the twins had been dreading for weeks had finally come. The Mettlesons were leaving for New York in the morning: back to the city, back to school, back to reality.

  As he spun the telescope in Goblin’s direction, something flew in through the open window beside him, hitting him squarely on the side of his head.

  “Oww! Hey!” he shouted, turning and looking for a bat, or perhaps a confused seagull. Then he saw the tennis ball that had come to rest on the bed. Charlie!

  One floor below, Pistol barked, and Nick called up to him, “Nicholas? You all right up there?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a dream.”

  “All right—see you in the morning.”

  “ ’Night, Uncle Nick.”

  He looked down at the yard, and Charlie waved up at him. “Sorry! Where’d I hit you?”

  “In the head,” Nicholas hissed.

  Charlie pumped her fist. “Yesss! I’ve still got it.”

  “What are you doing out there?”

  “Come on down. I couldn’t sleep. Let’s go sit on Goblin.”

  “Okay, I’ll be down in a minute.” Nicholas reached his hand under his mattress, feeling around until he was able to wrap his fingers around the object he was searching for. He dropped it in his pocket and slipped quietly down the stairs and out the front door.

  “You know, next time, instead of nailing me in the head with a tennis ball, you could try calling my name.”

  “I know, but the tennis ball is more fun.”

  Nicholas pointed at the plastic grocery bag that Charlie carried. “What’s in the bag?”

  “Couple of pops—sorry, sodas—and some surprises. C’mon!” She pulled him by the arm down to the beach, where they set the dinghy in the water and rowed out to the waiting Goblin.

  They opened cans of icy root beer and leaned back against the wooden coamings, gazing up at the stars and shivering.

  “Blimey, it’s cold,” said Nicholas, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “What did you just say?”

  “I said it’s cold.”

  “No, you said, ‘Blimey, it’s cold,’ ” Charlie corrected.

  “No I didn’t. I’ve never said ‘blimey’ in my life.”

  “Well, you just said it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “Oh man. Do you see what the twins are doing to me? I’m going to have to go away to boarding school; I’m starting to talk like them.”

  Charlie’s laugh seemed to linger in the still air before slowly drifting away, leaving the two friends in silence for a few moments.

  “This is the last time I’ll see anything like this for a while,” said Nicholas. “Not many stars to see in the city.”

  “You can always call me. I’ll describe them to you.”

  “Not exactly the same.”

  “Hey, remember the first time we took Goblin by ourselves and we got stuck on that sandbar?”

  Nicholas laughed. “The look on our faces when she started sailing away without us.”

  “Almost as funny as the look on Pistol’s face! And Nick saw the whole thing,” said Charlie. “He really is a good guy.”

  Another few moments passed silently between them.

  “So … you really think you’ll come back next summer?”

  “Yeah, especially now that Dad and Uncle Nick have reconnected. I wouldn’t be surprised if Dad decided to skip Africa next summer and come out here for a while. He loves the whole Doctors Without Borders thing, but I overheard him talking to Nick about how hard it is on him. He said that next year he needs to take some time off.”

  “Well, I got you a little going-away present, but I’m only going to give it to you if you promise to come back.”

  “I promise, I promise.”

  “Are you just saying that to get the present?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Nicholas!”

  “I’m kidding. And how do I know that you’ll be here next summer? You might decide that you want to be an ostrich farmer.”

  “That’s not going to happen. Here, take it before I change my mind.” She handed him a paperback-sized package, wrapped in the Sunday comics.

  “I like the paper,” said Nicholas as he tore it away, revealing a stack of postcards with pictures of the lake and the town of Deming. “Wow. Where did you get all these? Is every one different?”

  “Yep. There’s eighty of them. I’ve been collecting them for a while. Every year, they come out with new ones. Notice anything else about them?”

  “They already have stamps on them. That must have cost a fortune.”

  “And my address.”

  “Hmmm. You know, I’m not sure, but I’m starting to get the idea that you want me to write to you.”

  “Two postcards a week. And you’re already in the habit, thanks to your dad. It’s forty weeks, maybe a little less, until you come back. If you come back.”

  “Can’t I just call? Wouldn’t that be better?”

  “Not the same. We can talk on the phone, too, but the postcards are … real. I’m going to do the same for you. So, when you get back to New York, you have to send me a bunch with pictures of different parts of the city. I’ve never been there, so it’ll be almost like I’m visiting.”

  “You’re crazy, you know.”

  “Yep.”

  Nicholas reached into his pocket. “Um, I have something for you, too. It’s really your mom’s, but she wants you to have it. I found it up in the tower room a few weeks ago. I didn’t tell anybody, especially the twins, but there is another secret compartment in the tower room. If you push on this one piece of the floor, it slides under the wall, and there’s a little hiding place underneath. And this was in it. Hold out your hand and close your eyes.”

  She did as he said, and he placed a silver ID bracelet in her palm, with the engraved letters—FRANNY—facing her.

  Her face brightened when she opened her eyes. “Mom’s bracelet! How did—”

  “Remember, she told us that she lost it that day at the marina? It must have fallen off her arm when she got hit in the head. I guess Dad picked it up, figuring he’d give it back to her later.”

  “But there was no later,” said Charlie.

  “I gave it to Dad the other day, and then last night, when they were sitting out on the porch swing, he gave it back to her. But she …”

  Charlie laughed. “It all makes sense now.” She held her closed fist out to Nicholas. She slowly turned her hand over, uncovering a gold pocket watch on a short chain.

  “What’s that?”

  Charlie handed it to him. “Believe it or not, it’s your dad’s watch. Which was originally his grandfather’s watch. A few days ago, before your dad got here, Mom showed it to me, and told me that she took it from your dad’s hiding place the same day she left him that letter. She said she wanted to have something of his to hold on to, until he came back. She’s kept it hidden away in her jewelry chest all this time.”

  “Wait a minute. And she … they, on the porch swing … decided—”

  “Exactly. To give them to us.”

  Nicholas turned the watch over and over in his hand. “What do you think will happen next? I mean, to my dad and your mom—do you think they’ll ever …”

  Charlie looked up at the moon and shrugged. “Stranger things have happened.”

  * * *

  A blast of cold air rattled the tower-room windows and ruffled the pages of the bo
ok Nicholas had left on the sill, waking him. He sat up halfway in bed, groping for the blanket that had fallen to the floor. As he reached down to pick it up, the red numbers of his alarm clock read:

  2:53

  He made it to the window just in time to see a sailboat—sleek and fast—glide past the cove and out of sight.

  “Someday, somehow, I’m going to find you, whoever you are,” he said.

  Suddenly wide-awake, he sat on the edge of the bed, his mind brimming with ideas. He smiled as he reached for his notebook and a pen.

  * * *

  Sheets of rain pelted the windows of Nick’s house as Will loaded the last duffel bags into the family station wagon. Drenched, he stepped into the kitchen, where Nicholas, the twins, Pistol, and Nick waited.

  Nick cleared off the kitchen table and unrolled a faded blueprint, weighing down the ends with salt and pepper shakers. “Hayley, Hetty, come here a second. You’re not leaving here with those frowns on your faces. That’s not how I want to remember you. I have one more little surprise. These are the plans that your dad used to build Imp. On your way back to New York, you two need to start thinking about a name for your boat.”

  “Our boat?” Hayley asked.

  “That’s right. I’m starting work on a sister ship to Imp this afternoon. She’ll be ready for you in June.”

  They ran to Nick, screaming and hugging him for dear life.

  “You really mean it?” asked Hetty.

  “I really do,” said Nick. “I ordered the lumber yesterday.”

  Will started to squeeze Nick’s hand, and then reconsidered, pulling him into a quick hug. “Thanks, Nick. For everything.”

  “My pleasure. You’re always welcome, you know. Now let’s get you on the road. You’ve got a long drive ahead of you.” He tapped his finger on the blueprint. “And I have work to do.”

  Will went out the door, followed by the twins. Squealing, they ran through the rain and into the backseat of the car, where they would spend most of the next seven hours asleep, dreaming about the voyages on which they would embark the next summer—in their very own boat.

  Nicholas and Nick stood face to face in the kitchen, each determined to maintain his composure. They moved toward each other without a word, and Nicholas buried his head in Nick’s shoulder.

  “See you in a few months,” said Nick, holding him at arm’s length.

  Nicholas, forcing himself to smile, nodded and stepped out into the cold, rainy morning.

  “Hey, Nicholas,” said Charlie, startling him. She stood in the gravel driveway, straddling her bicycle. “I know we said goodbye last night and all, but Mom wanted me to bring these for you guys.” As she held out a plastic bag full of chocolate chip cookies, he noticed that she was wearing the ID bracelet.

  “Thanks. Look at you—you’re getting soaked.”

  “No, I am soaked.”

  “Well, your lips are turning blue. You should go inside.”

  “I’ll be all right. I just wanted to see …”

  Nicholas nodded, blinking away the rain and smiling through the bleak, damp air at the best friend he’d ever had. “I started working on something last night.” He held up a small notebook so she could see what he’d written on the cover.

  Charlie’s face broke into a jubilant smile as she read the words aloud: “The Return of the Seaweed Strangler.”

  Sailing Terms

  backstay: a cable stretching from the masthead to the stern on most larger sailboats

  beam reach: the point of sail where the boat is sailing at a right angle to the wind direction

  boom: a wood or metal pole attached at a right angle to the mast

  bow: the front part of a boat

  cat’s paws: small ripples on the water that resemble cat footprints

  centerboard: a movable board that can be lowered through the bottom of a sailboat to reduce sideways movement

  cleat: a piece of hardware used to tie off the end of a line (rope) or sheet

  coaming: a raised rim around the cockpit, designed to keep water out

  cockpit: the area near the stern of the boat where the tiller is located

  dinghy: a small rowboat, often used to reach a moored sailboat

  forestay: a cable stretching from the masthead to the bow

  gunwale (pronounced “gunn’l”): the upper edge of a boat, where the deck meets the hull

  halyard: a line used to raise or lower a sail

  heel: to lean over because of the force of the wind on the sails

  jib: a triangular sail that attaches to the forestay

  knot: a nautical mile

  mainsail: a sail attached to both mast and boom; it is usually the largest sail

  mainsheet: the line used to control the mainsail

  mast: a tall wood or metal post on a sailboat to which sails are attached

  masthead: the top part of a mast

  mooring: a place for keeping a boat secure; it includes a heavy anchor and a float of some kind to which the boat is attached

  port: the left-hand side of a boat

  reef: to reduce the size of a sail by tucking in a part of it and tying it off

  rudder: a hinged plate below the waterline used to steer a boat

  sandbar: a shallow, sandy spot in a lake or ocean, also known as a shoal

  sheet: a line used to control sails

  shroud: a cable that stretches from the top of the mast to the sides of a boat, supporting the mast

  starboard: the right-hand side of a boat

  staysail: a triangular sail similar to a jib but attached to a stay between the mast and the forestay.

  stern: the rear part of a boat

  tack: to follow a zigzag course (because sailboats cannot sail directly into the wind)

  tiller: a wooden handle attached to the rudder used to steer a sailboat

  topsides: the surface of a boat’s hull that is above the waterline

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to thank the following people:

  First and foremost, my parents, who went to the 1962 Cleveland Boat Show and, despite having no real knowledge of sailing, bought a Wayfarer 608 because it was “the prettiest boat there”—a decision that changed all our lives.

  My aunt Dot and uncle Jim, for the amazing memories and inspiration that you provided.

  And, in no particular order:

  Rosemary Stimola, superstar agent and BFF of the RBGs.

  Nancy Hinkel, editor extraordinaire, sounding board, critic, and tireless advocate of middle-grade fiction.

  Everyone at Knopf Books for Young Readers, Random House Children’s Books, and Listening Library, for their continued support and efforts on my behalf.

  My brother Steve, for starring in the original 8 mm version of The Seaweed Strangler, and for buying a worn copy of We Didn’t Mean to Go to Sea at a school-library sale for a quarter.

  Sister Gail Morgan, OP (a fellow Buckeye!), and everyone at SVF, for the continued support and friendship.

  Friends and family may recognize certain similarities as well as some striking differences between Forsaken Lake and Pymatuning Lake, on the Ohio-Pennsylvania border. Pymatuning Lake is a wonderful and most certainly not forsaken place, nor is it home to a creature with a penchant for strangling his victims with a length of seaweed. As far as I know, that is.

  And Laura, for everything.