Kyle's Island

by Sally Derby

  I was beginning to guess. That open glove compartment … “Did he have a map with him?” I asked Clyde.

  “Sure did, Michigan, Indiana, Ohio. He wanted me to show him where the lake is, and Cass, and—” but Tom had wheeled around as fast as a man his size could wheel, and we left Clyde in mid-sentence, staring after us.

  “Josh get into a row with your mother?” Tom asked as we drove along toward the turnoff to Cassopolis.

  “I don’t think it was Mom,” I said. “I think it was me.”

  “I ran away once when I was his age. Got as far as the next block. Saw some kids I knew, put down my suitcase, and joined a game of King of the Mountain. Forgot all about running away.”

  “I don’t think Josh is running away,” I said slowly. “I think he’s running to.”

  In my mind’s eye I could see him leaping up on Dad the way he always did. I saw him wrap himself around Dad’s middle, rub his face against Dad’s beard. That’s where he was going—to Dad.

  We found him a mile or so farther on, trudging along. When he heard the car motor, he glanced over his shoulder, and for a minute, I thought he was going to run off into the trees and I’d have to chase him. But he didn’t.

  Tom drew up alongside. Josh opened the door and climbed in back. When he was settled, Tom turned around and asked him, “Which way?”

  “Back to the cottage, I guess,” Josh said, looking at Tom, looking out the window, looking anywhere but at me. “Is my mom mad?” he asked Tom.

  Tom let me answer. “Not now. Now she’s just worried. But she will be, after she sees you’re back safe and sound.”

  No one said anything for a while. As we hit the stretch between Clyde’s and the cottage, though, Josh said, “Cincinnati’s a lot farther than I thought.”

  Tom offered to drive us all the way, but when we got to his house, I told him we’d walk from there. “You sure?” he asked.

  “I’m sure,” I said. “And Tom—thanks a lot.”

  He just grunted, but he kind of clapped me on the shoulder. I put the backpack on my own back. Clyde was right—it was super heavy. “See you,” I told him.

  “What were you going to do when you got to Cincinnati?” I asked Josh as we walked along.

  “Call Dad.”

  “I thought so.” He looked awfully little walking beside me. He looked—I searched my mind for the word I wanted—he looked defeated. Not cocky anymore, not like himself. I couldn’t take it. “Josh? You still want to spend the night on the island with me?”

  I’ve heard about faces lighting up. This was the first time I’d ever seen it. “Can I?”

  “If Mom’s not too mad to let you.”

  He perked right up. He didn’t start talking, but he straightened his shoulders and walked a little faster. I felt a surge of self-satisfaction. Being a good big brother was just a matter of knowing when to be firm and when to be soft, I thought. I was congratulating myself when Josh looked up at me.

  “Kyle?”

  “Yeah?”

  “The ball that went in the water? I didn’t kick it, Kyle. Zach did. He tried to kick it to me, and it went sideways.”

  “Zach kicked it? Why didn’t you say?”

  “I tried. You wouldn’t let me talk.”

  His voice was matter-of-fact. He wasn’t reproaching me, wasn’t feeling sorry for himself, just telling it like he saw it. “I’m going to put the rest of my money back before we go. I’ll wait in the cottage.” He ran ahead, and his smart-ass brother, who thought he knew everything, followed along.

  * * *

  It wasn’t easy to get Mom to say yes. First she grabbed Josh and hugged him, then it was all, “Where were you?” “What were you thinking?” “Haven’t I told you …?” “Didn’t you realize …?” But even when Mom is shooting questions at you, she’s watching and listening and trying to understand. So in the end she gave in.

  It was almost six before we left. Vicki and Andrea and Mom stood on the pier and waved as we rowed away. They stood there for a long time. I took my hand off the oar long enough to wave back. Josh didn’t turn around to wave. He was looking toward the island. He looked tired. And peaceful. And happy.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  IT’S HARD TO ADMIT, BUT if Josh hadn’t come along, I might not have stuck it out that night. I’d thought it was dark up at the cottage at night, but in the cabin, surrounded by trees, I began to get an idea of what it must be like to be blind. And one thing’s for sure—noises are a lot louder, a lot scarier, when you can’t see what’s causing them.

  It had been fun taking Josh to the cabin. With him to help, we managed to carry all our stuff in only one trip. He followed me through the bushes, and at one point he said, “We aren’t lost, are we, Kyle?” I didn’t let him see me smile—the island wasn’t that big. But maybe it was to a seven-year-old.

  When I could see the cabin ahead I called back, “There it is—through the trees—see it?” Josh was so excited at that point he pushed past me. “Let me go first now, okay?” and he plowed ahead without waiting for an answer.

  I watched him go. Weighed down by our backpack, his shoulders looked narrow and kind of stooped, but he hadn’t once complained about the weight. I was carrying my sleeping bag, Tom’s radio, and a laundry bag I’d stuffed with everything that hadn’t fit in the backpack. I’d be glad to drop my load, too.

  “Cool!” Josh said when we got to the clearing and he had his first whole view.

  “Wait till you see inside.”

  “Maybe we can stay all week!”

  I’d thought something like that myself. “Another time, maybe,” I answered.

  We crossed the clearing, and I unhooked the door. “It’s kind of dark in here,” Josh said when he stepped in.

  “There’s only one window. But if we leave the door open, it helps.”

  “Just leave it open? What if a bear walked in?”

  “There aren’t any bears.”

  But Josh was still Josh. “There could be,” he said. “They could have been hiding before.” I never could argue with Josh’s “could’s,” so I let it go.

  “You hungry yet?” I asked. That was a dumb question: if he’d nodded any harder, his head would’ve fallen off. “We’ll see what Mom sent,” I told him. Tom had told me to eat any of the food I wanted from the cans, but Mom was worried it might not still be good, so she and Andrea had packed us salami sandwiches. There was a bag of cookies, too. Vicki had made them that morning, and they were a little burned. Mom told her not to feel bad, that the oven wasn’t very dependable. Of course, if Vick hadn’t been reading, she might have noticed the burning smell, but it was like Mom not to point that out. Mom had put in carrots and celery sticks, too, but she should have known that was a waste of effort. “Maybe we should each eat one, so she won’t feel bad,” I said, handing Josh a carrot. (Carrots aren’t so bad, but celery isn’t worth the chewing.)

  “Or we could feed them to the fishes on the way home,” he suggested with that big smile that shows where his teeth are missing. I laughed and put them back in the lunch bag.

  After dinner we had a couple of hours to get things set the way we wanted them and explore the woods around the cabin. But when it started getting dark, we were both glad to go inside and light the candles. I would have loved to build a little campfire and toast marshmallows, but I had promised Mom no fires.

  We listened to Tom’s radio for a while, and Josh brought out a deck of cards he’d stuck in his jeans pocket. “Good idea,” I told him when he showed me, and he beamed.

  “You want to play Go Fish?” he asked.

  “How about if I teach you poker instead?” Dad had taught me how to play poker when I was about Josh’s age, and once in a while he and Mom and us older kids had sat up playing until almost eleven. We would use the red, white, and blue chips Dad’d had since college. He never would bet for money, though. I used to try to get him to bet money on something, anything. I’d set up a situation where he couldn’t lose and offer
him tremendous odds, but he wouldn’t even bet a quarter. “Bad habit to get into,” he’d say.

  I’d answered, “But it’s just for fun. Just this once.”

  And he’d look at me all serious and answer, “Lots of people have been talked into things they regret by someone who said ‘Just this once’ to them, Kyle.” And he wouldn’t budge.

  So now I only taught Josh the playing part—I figured I could teach him the betting part later. We didn’t have any chips anyway. He caught on pretty well, and we played until he started to yawn. I was tired, too, I realized, and I caught myself yawning along with him. I gave him the cot and the blanket and spread my sleeping bag on the floor. Then I went over and barred the door. “Can we turn the radio off now?” Josh asked. That wasn’t what I’d planned, but there wasn’t anything good on, so I said, “Sure,” and clicked it off.

  It was very quiet then.

  “Are we going to leave the candles lit?”

  “Mom made me promise not to. She didn’t want us sleeping with what she called ‘an untended fire.’ But we’ll be okay.”

  I blew out the candles and crawled over to my sleeping bag. “‘Night, Josh,” I said.

  “Good night. Thanks for bringing me, Kyle.”

  I smiled even though he couldn’t see me in the dark. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  I lay there then, listening to the night sounds outside the cabin. Just as I was beginning to get drowsy, I heard Josh ask sleepily, “How many days are there in May?”

  “Thirty-one. Why?”

  “I’m counting the days Dad’s been gone. I miss him, don’t you?” I started to say no automatically, but the word stuck in my throat. “Kyle?”

  “Yeah, I miss him.”

  It was quiet again, and I was almost asleep when I heard, “One hundred fifty-two.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  I WONDER HOW OLD YOU ARE when you quit getting excited about birthdays. A lot older than me, I guess. It was fun to wake up July 19 and know that now I was (un)officially a teenager. Three years and five months and I’d be able to drive!

  The early part of the day was like any other. Tom Butler had offered to let me have the morning off if I wanted, but I told him I’d really just as soon fish with him in the morning as do anything else. Fishing with Tom had come to be a really—what’s the best word?—companionable way to start the day. I still didn’t like the way he ate so much, but it didn’t disgust me the way it used to. I was trying to understand it, like I was trying to understand Mom’s smoking, but it wasn’t easy.

  In the afternoon we all went swimming. Even Mom went. For the first time, Josh swam all the way from our pier to Marshalls’ float. I swam right alongside him, naturally. When he got to the float and pulled himself up, even Jeff and Brad applauded him. Good thing he didn’t have on a shirt; he would have “bust his buttons”—another Gram expression. I used to love when she said it. I’d see a mind-movie of a fat man in a plaid suit puffing out his chest, and all his buttons would come flying off and bounce around on the floor.

  It was a fun afternoon. Vicki and Andrea and I splashed around and raced each other just like old times. Brad and Jeff weren’t as bad as they’d been before. Around four, though, I was ready to go fishing again. To my surprise, Andrea said she wanted to go along this time, so the two of us swam lazily back to the pier. Then she went up to the cottage to get her sketchbook while I loaded up the boat.

  “Want me to row?” she asked when she came down.

  “Think we’ll get there today if you do?” I teased.

  She made a face at me and hopped into the boat. “Just watch,” she said. As soon as I got settled, she grabbed the oars. There was no way I was going to get them back.

  I kind of lay back on my elbows, curious to see where she would head. Like I expected, she rowed us down where the water lilies grow. “We should have flowers on the table for your birthday dinner,” she told me.

  When we were anchored, I threw out my line, and she settled back to sketch. Andrea’s great to have along when you’re fishing. If you bring one in, she’ll help you net, but mostly she just sits still and looks at things. Funny, I can look at something and think I’ve seen it, but then Andrea will say, “Did you notice…” and she’ll have seen something about it that I completely missed.

  After a while, I glanced over at her drawing. She’d sketched a single water lily with a dragonfly poised above. Her drawings were so good!

  “Did you just start that sketchbook today?” I asked.

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “You mean you’ve filled a whole sketchbook, and I haven’t seen anything in it?” I decided not to mention that one page I’d seen before, when she got all mad.

  “I guess so. I’ll show you later.”

  After that, neither of us said much for a while. I fished till Mom rang the bell. As I pulled in my line, I said, “This has been a great birthday, in spite of the cottage.”

  She knew what I meant and nodded. Then she smiled and said, “But it’s not over yet. Presents still to come, you know.”

  I knew, but somehow the thought of them wasn’t as important as usual. It would take a fairy godmother to give me what I really wanted, I thought.

  For supper we had chicken and dumplings. Mom said having chicken and dumplings in the middle of the summer was the dumbest thing she ever heard of, but on our birthdays she’ll cook anything we ask for, and chicken and dumplings is my favorite.

  All during the meal Andrea and Vicki were giggling and whispering, but this time I didn’t mind. I knew they were trying to get me curious about something, so I just pretended not to notice.

  When we’d finished the chicken and dumplings, which were great, Andrea and Vicki cleared the table, and Mom brought out the cake. It was from the bakery in Cassopolis, because Mom said she didn’t trust the oven after Vicki’s cookies got burned. I didn’t care. It was chocolate, and that was enough.

  Everyone was singing “Happy Birthday” and I was blowing out the candles when Tom Butler knocked at the door and walked in.

  “Sit down, Tom. I’m glad you could make it,” Mom said.

  “Never turn down a chance to eat birthday cake,” he answered.

  For the next half hour, we laughed and talked and talked and laughed until Mom said, “Well, if everyone’s finished, I guess it’s present time.”

  She was about to move the leftover cake to the countertop when I happened to look at Tom. He was watching her pick up the platter, and the look on his face was more than I could take. “Cut Tom another piece first,” I told Mom. So what if he’d already eaten more than anyone else—he could have worse faults, I guess.

  Now Josh said, “Open my present first, Kyle, please!”

  He handed me a large wrapped package. It was thin and light, with an odd shape.

  “Thanks, Josh,” I told him.

  “You haven’t seen it yet! You’re going to like it, I bet.”

  I pulled off the paper and there was a plywood poster in the shape of a fish. It had a picture of a fisherman with his arms stretched out, and underneath was a poem called “Fisherman’s Prayer”:

  Lord, give me grace to catch a fish

  So big that even I

  When telling of it afterwards

  May never need to lie.

  I laughed. “It’s a great present, Josh. Thanks.”

  “Mom next,” said Vicki.

  Mom handed me two packages. One was a book, I knew, because we always get a book from her for our birthdays. I opened it first. A thick, grown-up-looking volume was in my hands. “The Compleat Angler, or The Contemplative Man’s Recreation, by Izaak Walton,” I read. “Hey, that’s not how you spell complete.”

  “That’s the way they spelled it in the 1600s,” Mom said. “That’s when it was written. It’s a classic. I hope you’ll enjoy it.” She looked anxious, the way she always does when she gives us a book.

  “I’ll probably never even read it,” I told her with a grin. I love to te
ase Mom. My second present from her was my own tackle box.

  I stared at it with a lump in my throat. I didn’t say anything.

  “Don’t you like it?” she asked.

  “It’s great,” I said. “Just the kind I wanted. Only, where will I use it?”

  I didn’t mean to be ungrateful. It just hit me, and the words came out of my mouth before I knew they were going to.

  There was an awkward silence, and then Andrea jumped up. “Now, ours!” she said—in such a hurry to smooth things over that she practically shoved a package under my nose. “This is from Vicki and me.”

  I wasn’t having fun anymore. What I wanted to do was leave the kitchen and go sit out on the pier in the dark all by myself on my last birthday here. But I tried to look eager as I unwrapped the package. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Vicki grab Andrea’s hand—whatever it was, the two of them were sure excited about it.

  Inside was a sketchbook. I stared at it, puzzled. Why would I want a sketchbook? I opened it slowly, and there on the first page was a drawing of the cottage. It was beautiful. It looked just right, down to the shadows on the steps. Underneath, in Vicki’s calligraphy, it said, “For Kyle, who loved it best.”

  “Turn the page,” Josh urged.

  I turned page after page. Each one had a sketch of something I knew and loved. The pump, the roll-away with Vicki lying on it, reading. Mom sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee in front of her, the glass with the wildflowers Vicki had picked. And underneath each sketch Vicki had penned a caption or comment.

  “You guys …” I said. I couldn’t say anything more.

  “Now you know why I wouldn’t let you see my sketchbook,” Andrea said.

  “And why we were always whispering,” Vicki added.

  Even though I was thirteen, I gave everyone a hug. When I got to Tom I hesitated, I guess, because he laughed and pushed back his chair. He got to his feet, saying, “It’s okay to give another man a hug, Kyle. Long as you thump him on the back at the same time,” so we hugged and thumped each other, and then he sat back down and looked at Mom. “Time for you to tell him, Dorrie.”