Seaglass Summer

by Anjali Banerjee

  Mr. Pincus nods, still pressing his hands to his face. “Poppy can stay,” he whispers.

  “Okay. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Uncle Sanjay steps out of the room and shuts the door.

  Mr. Pincus fumbles in his bag and pulls out a soft brush. “He loves this. He lets me brush him for hours.” He hands me the brush.

  My fingers tremble, but I run the brush down Marmalade’s back, and he purrs more loudly. His breathing is slow and ragged. He nestles under my armpit. I hold him closer.

  We sit like that, me brushing Marmalade, and Mr. Pincus telling more stories: about how Marmalade caught a mouse in the house once and left it in a shoe as a present. About how he liked to meow at the birds through the window and swipe at the glass. About how he liked to jump onto high shelves and bat Mr. Pincus on the head, with the soft part of his paws so he wouldn’t scratch the skin.

  “He’s had a good long life,” Mr. Pincus whispers. “Doc’s going to help him cross into the next world, where he’ll run around like a kitten again.” Tears spill from his eyes. He wipes them away. My chest tightens, and the light flickers and dims. Somewhere outside, a dove lets out a soft woo-oo-oo-oo call.

  Uncle Sanjay steps back inside. “Are you ready for me now?”

  Mr. Pincus nods, swallowing hard. “Thank you, young lady. Marmalade says thank you, too. He will never forget your kindness.” Mr. Pincus takes a deep breath and lifts Marmalade from my arms. As I leave the room, I am empty inside. I hold the seaglass up to my eye, but the world isn’t clear anymore. The glass is starting to look cloudy. For the first time, I notice black speckles suspended inside. I can’t tell what they are—maybe tiny dead insects or grains of sand—but they’re trapped in there forever.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  THE KINDEST THING

  I hide in the kennel room. Stu follows and sits next to me quietly, his paw on my knee, as if he’s begging me not to be sad. “How do you always know?” I scratch his ears. He watches me, his brown eyes steady, tail between his legs. I hug him and bury my face in his warm, furry neck.

  Uncle Sanjay comes in and sits on a pile of cat food bags beside us. “I was wondering where you two were.”

  “We’re in here.”

  “I’m sorry about Marmalade,” he says.

  I can’t say another word, or my tears will fill the room and we’ll all drown.

  He rests an arm around my shoulders. “A long time ago, I made a vow to do what I could. To heal. To alleviate suffering. Some people said to me, ‘Why are you worrying about the animals when so many people are suffering?’ I said, ‘The animals are the most forsaken, precisely because everyone says what you say, that their suffering does not matter.’ ”

  Stu flops down on his belly and rests his head on his paws.

  “Marmalade mattered,” I say, looking out the window. Two mourning doves alight on a tree branch.

  “That’s what I mean. Suffering is suffering, is it not? No matter what form it takes. Human or animal. We’re animals, after all. The human animal. I have always wanted to help the most forsaken ones. I do what I can.”

  “I wish Marmalade didn’t have to get old and die. I wish he could’ve stayed a kitten forever.” The noises in the clinic—a dog barking, doors closing, the telephone ringing—come from a faraway universe.

  “Time marches forward and drags us all with it.” Uncle Sanjay places his hand on mine. “Without death, life wouldn’t seem so precious. We can’t have one without the other. Some of us die before our time, while others get to live a long life. Nobody knows why. We did what was best for Marmalade in his old age, the kindest thing to do.”

  “Oh, Uncle Sanjay,” I say, hugging him. “Why is the kindest thing also the saddest?”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  KILLER WHALES

  “Uncle Sanjay thinks you’re very upset,” Mom says on the phone in the evening.

  “An old cat had to be put to sleep,” I tell her. “His name was Marmalade.”

  “I’m so sorry, sweetie. Pets rarely live as long as we do. Such a shame. Do you want to come to India, see your cousins? We could still get you a ticket. But we don’t have much time left here.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  I imagine Mr. Pincus at home in a quiet house, without his kitty meowing at birds or dropping dead mice into his shoes.

  The island seems hushed, too, as if the birds are whispering to each other about the cat that went to sleep.

  I wish I could forget Marmalade. I wish I could fill the empty spaces. I try to meditate, but the seaglass is cloudy. Every time the door to the clinic opens, my heart beats a little faster, and I hope the next patient will go home alive and well. No more furry friends die over the next few days, but I can’t shake the gloominess inside me.

  Then, Sunday morning, a week before my parents are supposed to pick me up, I wake to the sound of stomping elephants. The forest is taking over the cabin, and all the wild creatures are moving in.

  But it’s only Uncle Sanjay rushing around, tidying up and making peanut butter and lavender chutney sandwiches.

  “Get dressed, my dear niece. Bring warm clothes.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “It’s a secret. We’re taking a trip to cheer you up.” He grabs a towel and locks himself in the bathroom. I hear the shower running and his off-key singing.

  Right after I change into my island overalls, the doorbell rings. Toni Babinsky is standing on the porch, bundled in a sweater and jeans. She looks pretty with her hair pulled up inside a woolen hat.

  Francine and Droopy bounce around in her van, which is parked in the driveway. “Hey, Poppy. How’s your meditation coming along?”

  I show her the seaglass. I see more speckles today. “A lot has happened. Some things not so good.”

  “Everything in life is meaningful.”

  I tuck the seaglass back into my pocket. “Where are we going, anyway?”

  “I suggested we go whale watching.”

  “Whale watching? Really?” I want to be happier than I am.

  Hawk comes careering around the corner on his bike, a pack on his back. He parks his bike against the house and trots up onto the porch. “Ready to see some killer whales?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “Hey, cheer up.” He gives me a playful poke in the ribs.

  I try to smile.

  Uncle Sanjay traipses out and loads two paper bags into the van. “Bring your rain gear. The weather can be unpredictable. I’ve brought binoculars and water and food.”

  I grab my blue gum boots and raincoat, which I saved from the stream, and we all get into the van. Stu and the other two dogs clamber around in the back, tails wagging. They have plenty of room. Toni’s van could hold an entire town full of dogs.

  I sit beside Hawk in the backseat. Toni drives along the rolling road, past farms and through forests. Now and then, the sea twinkles through the trees.

  “How far do we have to go to see the whales?” I ask above the din of the dogs and Indian pop music. Uncle Sanjay is playing a CD with booming drums and high-pitched singing.

  “West side of the island,” Hawk says. “West Bluff State Park. We pass through Freetown on the way.”

  Uncle Sanjay chats with Toni about J-pod in the front seat.

  “What is J-pod?” I ask Hawk.

  “A specific group of orcas. A group is called a pod. Usually, family members travel together. This time of year, you can see their dorsal fins through binoculars. I brought my big ones in my backpack.”

  The van slows, and we pass through crowded, noisy Freetown, nothing like Witless Cove. Shops are everywhere, people spilling out. Concrete sidewalks. Straight new roads. Then the meadows and forests creep in again, taking over.

  “How big are the orcas?” I ask. Uncle Sanjay and Toni keep chatting in the front. “Are they really whales? What do they eat?”

  “They’re called killer whales, but they’re actually in the dolphin family,” Hawk say
s. “They eat fish, and sea lions, and sometimes even whales. They’re around twenty-five feet long and can weigh up to six tons.”

  “Six tons!”

  “Yeah, like maybe twelve trucks.”

  “Whoa.”

  When we reach West Bluff, a windy park perched over the churning Pacific Ocean, we take the dogs out on leashes; then we all sit at a picnic table, the wind whipping our hair, and eat our peanut butter and lavender chutney sandwiches. We take turns with the binoculars, watching the sea. We search the waves for almost an hour. Just when I think the orcas won’t ever come, I see the fins.

  “There, look!” They’re silver and shiny in the sun, arching through the ocean.

  “Whoa, cool,” Hawk says. “I’ll have to check with the research center and see if this is J-pod. I can’t tell by looking.”

  Toni’s lashes flutter. She closes her eyes and sways. I wonder if she is reading the thoughts of orcas.

  The sky brightens. The orcas weave in close to the shore, and then they head north. The sounds of nature flood into me—the chatter of birds, the rustle of leaves, the whistle of the wind. The sea stretches away, and I think of everything that hides in its depths. Octopuses, sharks, sea urchins, shipwrecks—all the secrets that live and die underneath the water, never stepping on land, never looking a human in the eye.

  On the way home, we’re all tired, and my skin smells like sea salt. The ocean, so full of life, calmed me. Maybe somewhere, Marmalade really is playing. I still feel his warmth, his fur.

  “Hey, Poppy,” Hawk says. He taps his finger on the window control. “Wanna, um, go bike riding with me tomorrow? I gotta put up flyers for my mom. She’s selling her old beat-up car.”

  “I don’t have a bike.”

  “Oh, come on. I bet your uncle has one. Doc!”

  Uncle Sanjay turns around, his cheeks flushed, his hair blown back by the wind. “I’ve got a bicycle, my dear niece. Just for you.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  LITTLE CHICK

  Uncle Sanjay’s bike belongs in a museum display of ancient wheeled contraptions from the dawn of time. I’m surprised the wobbly seat doesn’t fall off. Rust is munching away at the metal, and I have only one gear. First gear for going uphill, first gear for going downhill, first gear for flat ground.

  “I haven’t ridden this hump of tin since my earliest days in Virginia,” Uncle Sanjay says, patting the seat. At least the tires aren’t flat, and there’s a basket attached to the handlebars.

  “This will be fine,” I say. Fine if you lived about a thousand years ago. I drop a bottle of water into the basket. “Do the brakes work? I don’t want to crash.”

  “I’ve checked. And wear the helmet. Don’t get lost, all right?”

  He holds Stu’s leash while I pedal away. I wish I could take Stu with me, but he has a mild case of garbage gut. He threw up last night after eating something rotten in the street. He’s okay, but Uncle Sanjay wants to keep an eye on him.

  Stu whines, and I wave a sad goodbye as I ride down the road. “Stu, I’ll miss you!” I blow him kisses, and Stu wags his tail and barks—a high-pitched, how dare you leave me? yelp. He’ll have to go to the clinic without me today. Poor Stu.

  In a moment, I’m around the corner, and Uncle Sanjay’s house disappears from sight. I memorized the directions to Hawk’s place, five blocks down, two blocks left, three blocks right.

  I didn’t think any house could be smaller than Uncle Sanjay’s. But Hawk’s house is barely a garage with windows. A bunch of flowerpots are scattered around the overgrown front yard. A calico cat trots through the grass and disappears around the side of the house.

  I lay Uncle Sanjay’s rust heap in the grass, since there’s no kickstand on the bike, and knock on the front door. A dog barks inside. Hawk shows up at the screen, next to a yapping little black pug with a smashed-in face. Hawk picks up the pug, kisses him, and puts him down. “Stay here for a little while, Gilligan,” he says. “I’ll be home soon.” He steps outside with a pack strapped to his back and shuts the door. “Ready to go? I got the goods. I also have tape and a stapler.”

  “How many pets do you have?” I ask as I get on my bike.

  “Just Gilligan and my cat, Skipper.”

  “The calico cat?”

  Hawk nods. “They get along really well.”

  I pedal hard to keep up with him on my antique bike. We stop at the Trading Post and staple flyers on the bulletin boards. Hawk’s mom is selling her old blue Honda hatchback. We put flyers all over town.

  On the way home, we stop for lunch at the Witless Cove Pizzeria. The restaurant buzzes with local people and tourists with cameras slung over their shoulders. We order veggie pizza and cranberry juice and sit at a picnic table outside, next to a bright garden full of flowers and chirping birds. The sun sprinkles through the trees.

  “This place has been around forever,” Hawk says. “My dad used to bring me here when I was little.”

  “Where’s your dad now?”

  “My parents divorced five years ago. He lives in New Mexico. I fly down to stay with him sometimes.”

  “Do you ever think about living with him?”

  He takes a bite of pizza and talks with his mouth full. “Sometimes I do, but as soon as I’m old enough, I wanna be a technician at Furry Friends. Or a dog whisperer, maybe, like that guy on TV. I dunno. How about you? You still wanna be a vet?”

  A brilliant green-blue hummingbird hovers in midair, wings whirring; then it is gone. “Of course I do.” But the words come out shaky. Nothing has changed. Nothing at all. But it has. Everything has changed. I’ll have to help old kitties die. How many mummified fetuses will I find? But I’ll get to save ducks and help puppies be born.

  “That’s cool,” Hawk says. “So you’re getting used to the gross stuff.”

  “Some of it, I guess.”

  A group of three boys, all about Hawk’s age, show up at a nearby picnic table. They’re laughing and punching each other in the arm. They’re wearing baseball caps backward, and their pants are falling down.

  Hawk ducks his head, as if he’s trying to avoid them.

  “You know those boys?” I ask.

  “Kids from town.” Hawk turns away from them and shields his eyes against the sun.

  “Are they your friends?”

  “They were all at summer camp. Guess they’re back now.”

  “Didn’t you want to go to camp?”

  Hawk tears off his pizza crust. “More fun to help at the clinic. Gotta prepare for my future.”

  “Hey, Hawk!” one of the boys calls out.

  Hawk turns around, his face red. “Hey, Johnny!”

  The boys look at me and grin, and Johnny waves Hawk over.

  Hawk turns into a different person as he strolls over; he swings his arms and hunches his shoulders, trying to be cool, like he doesn’t care about a thing in the world.

  “Hey, Hawk. How’s it goin’?” Johnny says. I catch snippets of their conversation. “Camp” and “movie” and “girls” and “baseball.” And “Who’s the little chick?”

  I’m guessing Johnny is talking about me. I want to tell him I’m not a “little chick,” I’m a girl with a name. But I sit quietly, eating my pizza.

  “Just a kid …,” Hawk says, then lowers his voice. He keeps his back to me, but he doesn’t know I have excellent ears. “… Doc at the clinic … My mom said … I gotta babysit her … from L.A….”

  The boys laugh.

  I nearly spit out my pizza. My face is hot.

  Hawk shrugs in my direction, waving an arm, erasing me.

  Just a kid.

  I gotta babysit her.

  I get up from the table and throw my paper plate into the garbage. Then I slip around to the front of the pizza parlor, where Hawk and I locked up our bikes. I let the air out of his front tire.

  “Hey, Poppy!” Hawk calls out behind me. I don’t turn around. I hop onto my bike and ride away, pedaling as fast as I can.

 
Chapter Twenty-five

  THE BEACH

  I hide in my room, and when I know Hawk is working, I stay away from the clinic. Stu and I take many walks on the beach. Two evenings later, the doorbell rings. Uncle Sanjay answers the door.

  I hear Hawk’s mumbling voice. Maybe his mom sent him.

  “Poppy!” Uncle Sanjay calls.

  “I’m busy!” I’m under the covers in bed, reading James Herriot’s Cat Stories by flashlight. I would sit in the closet, but it’s too small. Stu is lying on my feet, farting.

  “He says it’s urgent,” Uncle Sanjay says.

  “Tell him to go away.” I don’t know what could be so important if I’m just a kid he was stuck babysitting.

  Uncle Sanjay speaks to Hawk in a low voice; then the front door clicks shut, and Uncle Sanjay comes into my room. “You’ve had an argument with Hawk, have you? What’s going on?”

  I pull off the covers, switch off the flashlight, and close my book. “He thinks I’m too young. He wasn’t really my friend. He was only pretending. He was babysitting me. That’s what he told his friends.”

  Uncle Sanjay sits next to me. “Perhaps he was just showing off. Boys will do that.”

  “But it was mean.” Outside, a sparrow splashes in the birdbath and flies away. There’s a new hairline crack in the ceramic bowl.

  “I’m sorry, Poppy. Each of us has a dark side, and sometimes we accidentally reveal that dark side to others. Hawk must feel guilty. He apologized.”

  Stu jumps off the bed and stretches out on the floor.

  “I’m not a child anymore. I don’t need babysitting.”

  “No, you don’t. You’ve learned to do so much here already.”

  “I can weigh a cat by myself, and take a temperature, and walk Stu. I bet I can take the ferry by myself. Pretty soon, I’ll be able to fly in a plane by myself, to come back and visit you. Mom and Dad won’t have to hold my hand.”

  Uncle Sanjay reaches down to rub Stu’s belly. “That’s true, but sometimes it’s nice to have other people help you, and it’s good to have family and friends who care about you. Hawk appreciates your friendship. He likes you very much, Poppy.”