Fox Island

by Stephen Bly

  Price was up and in the kitchen when Tony returned from his early morning run. He noticed she had dressed, combed her hair, put on earrings, and wore a sweet perfume that radiated above the kitchen scents. “I can’t believe this. Sausage sizzling in the frying pan, breakfast aromas lapping outside on the deck, and Dr. Shadowbrook all dolled up like you were on your way to a faculty meeting. What’s the occasion?”

  “Guess who’s in the shower?”

  “Who?”

  “Our middle child.”

  “Josh?”

  “Oh, you do remember his name.”

  “You’re kidding. How’d he get here?”

  “Their plane was late getting in, and they missed some connections, so Josh and Paul hitched a ride out to Fox Island. Paul crashed on the downstairs bed.”

  “But he didn’t know our address.”

  “The people that gave him a ride know us. A couple young ladies in a new black Dodge pickup.”

  “Melody?”

  “She called Kim and they drove to the airport about 2:00 A.M. They waited around, then ran back and forth between Alaska Airlines and United until they spotted a couple Arizona looking guys.”

  “What do ‘Arizona guys’ look like anyway?”

  “Suntanned and cute, according to the girls.”

  “Four of them in the front seat of the pickup? A little crowded, don’t you think?”

  “Guess not. Melody whistled in here with a huge smile.”

  “And Josh?”

  “Same smile.”

  “When did he get in?”

  “Right after you left to go running.”

  “How’s he look?”

  “As handsome as his father, of course. Only younger.”

  “I mean, his hand. Is it healed?”

  “He said he wears an elastic bandage and it’s fine. Looks like it fractured real close to where he hurt himself the first time he jumped off the roof of the house. Remember?”

  “When he was ten?”

  “No, the first time. He was seven. You were off in New Mexico on some research trip. I had to rush him to the emergency ward by myself.”

  “Fortunately, we never had a two-story house.”

  “Melody and Kim are going to drive the fellas to the shooting. They think they can get the girls passes to watch today’s taping, so the gang will head out after breakfast.”

  “When do they sleep?”

  “They’re young, Tony. You do remember being young?”

  “Vaguely.”

  Within thirty minutes, Josh, Paul, Kim and Melody joined Tony and Price for breakfast on the patio. Paul’s cropped, sandy blond hair was much shorter than Price remembered. He lost the surfer look. And she couldn’t help stare at her son. Give him twenty-five pounds and twenty-five years and he’d look just like Tony. She saw a young man, but she still thought of him as an adventurous little boy. How tough to give them up.

  “You all right, babe?” Tony nudged.

  She dabbed her eyes. “I think I got too close to the onions I chopped for the omelets.”

  The summer morning fog quickly burned away as they talked of work, movies, a new apartment, and Kathy and Kit. When they finished eating, Josh led the procession to Melody’s new pickup.

  “Melody’s taking you back to the airport tonight?” Price asked.

  “If we wrap up this shooting today. I think it’s not much more than falling off the water tower.”

  “Great. Nothing for a mom to worry about.”

  Suddenly, Josh swished his mother off her feet and hugged her close. “I love ya, Mom. I’ll be careful.”

  Her eyes welled and she turned quickly to Paul and grabbed his hand. “You take care of each other.”

  Paul grinned. “Yes, ma’am. Mr. Shadowbrook, I sure like that River Breaks series of yours. I can hardly wait until they’re made into movies.”

  “Thanks, Paul. Take it easy, Josh. We’ll be home in about three weeks. Tell Mark and Amanda when you see them we’ll have a big family barbeque when we get back.” He turned to Melody. “If it’s too cramped in your rig, you can take the Oldsmobile.”

  “Get real, Dad.” Josh climbed in next to Melody.

  “Yeah, Dad,” Melody echoed.

  The foursome roared up the drive.

  Tony and Price hiked hand in hand to the side of the house and upstairs to the deck. “Josh and Melody?” was all he could mumble.

  Price stacked dishes and swatted flies. “Why not?”

  “But it seems, so… well, she’s almost like family.”

  “Go take your shower, Shadowbrook.”

  “But think of it, what if they got serious? We’d have to read all her book proposals for sure.”

  Mid-morning the phone rang. Price rushed into the house as Tony hardly looked up from the pile of notes scattered around his laptop. Soon she stood in front of him, hands on her hips. “What’s up?”

  “Barbara Mason says her mother fell and broke her hip. They’re rushing her to a hospital in Tacoma. She’s desperate to find Melody. I don’t think Barbara does well under stress, and Melody usually handles this kind of thing. We have any way of reaching her?”

  “I don’t know where that scene is being taped.”

  “That’s what I told Barbara. After the way I scolded her last week, I thought she’d never talk to me again, but she practically begged me to come over and drive her into Tacoma. She hates driving over the Narrows Bridge. I think I should go.”

  “But do you feel comfortable doing that?”

  “It’s a possible chance for a follow up. Besides, it was her idea.”

  “Then go. You’re about caught up with me anyway.”

  “Yes, but I still need to re-edit chapter five. I’ve only got it down to twenty-seven pages.”

  “Chopping that much isn’t easy, is it?”

  “No, but this is not shaping up to be an easy morning, either.”

  “Apprehensive about being with Melody’s mother?”

  “I meant it won’t be easy for you.”

  His forehead wrinkled. “Oh?”

  “Remember? This is the morning the church ladies stop by to get our advice on how to begin a writer’s critique group.”

  “What? Here? Today?”

  “That’s what you told them.”

  “But I supposed you’d be the one to talk to them. You’ll have to call and cancel.”

  “I can’t do that, Tony. I already turned down their first two suggested dates. Besides, they’ll be on their way by now.”

  “I’ll tell them you had an emergency. Maybe they can all go out to lunch or something.”

  “That’s not right. You agreed.”

  “I certainly didn’t agree to sit around and have tea with a dozen old ladies for a couple hours.”

  “They’re bringing their own homemade doughnuts and an espresso maker. There’s only six of them and the oldest doesn’t look a day over thirty-nine. But you can have your choice. Do you want to drive Barbara to the hospital? Or stay with the ladies?”

  He didn’t hesitate. “I’ll take the doughnuts.”

  “Okay, but behave yourself. Be … fatherly. I’ll grab my purse and run. I want to get there before Barbara completely falls to pieces. From the sounds of our conversation, that won’t be long.”

  In what seemed to Tony record time, Price rushed out the door on her way to Gig Harbor. He wandered to the deck and watched seagulls near the water’s edge fight over a scrap until it dropped into the Sound, buried somewhere below their frantic dives. The sky was hazy, but the sun beat through with steady summer warmth.

  Lord, I don’t mean to complain, but I just want to write.

  He loved everything about the writing process. Digging around dusty roads and ghost towns for research. Crafting characters that jumped off the page. Living out every scene. Even the fun of telling the stories of the hidden west places. However, the other stuff … interviews, contracts, book signings, writers’ conferences, and critique groups. He di
dn’t do them well. They seemed like such distractions. Let Price do that part.

  The doorbell rang several times before he shook himself free from his thoughts and sauntered into the house. Eight women introduced themselves. Two brought their mothers. Tony dragged in extra dining chairs and opened the drapes full length, hoping to distract them with the beach and bird scene. They circled him in the living room and served him delicious homemade chocolate and caramel doughnuts and a mug of steaming mocha coffee with a huge dollop of floating whipped cream and chocolate curls.

  Tony tried on as sincere a smile as he could muster and listened to the chatter. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  Cherry somebody was in charge. “Mr. Shadowbrook, I can’t tell you what an honor it is to get to meet with you.”

  “Please call me Tony. I’m sorry my wife couldn’t be here. An emergency. She’s the expert in critique and editing. I’m afraid you got stuck with the lesser of the Shadowbrooks when it comes to this sort of thing.”

  They didn’t seem convinced. For an hour they barraged him with questions as his mug of espresso got cold.

  “Where do you get your ideas?”

  “What’s a book proposal look like?”

  “Who publishes poetry?”

  “What’s the best computer program to use?”

  “Where do you get writers’ guidelines?”

  “How many different publishers have you worked with?”

  “How much money can you make on writing? Will it pay the bills?”

  “Do you copyright your own work?”

  They leaned forward or scribbled in notebooks as they listened intently to every word. Several explained their WIPs—works in progress. No sluggards here. Each gal came prepared to learn.

  Cherry’s widowed mother, Patsy Mitchell, talked the most, a plump woman with kind eyes. “At this season of my life, I’m reading a lot more, and you have become one of my very favorite authors.”

  “Thank you, Patsy.”

  She gently touched his arm. “The characters in your books have become my friends. I feel like I know them well. I sometimes find myself worrying about them. I feel I should have a picture of them in my wallet. When your newest book in a series comes out, it’s like a letter from home. I get caught up on how everyone’s doing.”

  Tony felt a lightness in his chest as a satisfied warmth spread through him. “That’s just about the nicest compliment I’ve ever received.”

  Patsy flushed and cleared her throat. “But there’s something I have to ask you.” She leaned in close. “You aren’t going to let Houston marry Beth Marie, are you? She’s no good for him.”

  The room roared with laughter. In the midst of the cheerful noise, the phone rang. Tony rose to answer it.

  “Is this Anthony Shadowbrook, the famous writer of western novels?” a deep voiced man began.

  What was he selling? He should hang up.

  “Tony, this is KSAB in Denver. You’re on the air, partner.”

  “What?”

  “You’re live on 103.5 FM talk radio, and we’re calling a dozen of the country’s top western writers to ask if they can remember the first lines of their last novel.”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “That’s exactly what Elmer Kelton just said. Don’t grab a copy. Give us a spontaneous rendition of the first lines of Standoff Creek.”

  “Eh…” Tony rubbed his head. “‘The bullet that struck Brownie seemed to fall straight out of the sky. When the horse went down, Houston didn’t know whether to dive right or left. Either way, he knew he had to come up firing.’”

  “Right on. I can’t believe it. Joaquin Estaban couldn’t even remember the title of his latest book. Tell us the truth, did you read that?”

  “No. I’ve got eight lovely women here in the room to verify it.”

  “Amazing. How are you able to remember the exact words?”

  “Because I was riding the horse when it happened.”

  “Would you explain that to our radio audience? Are you saying this really happened to you?”

  “I’m saying I walk through and ride out every one of my scenes. They become personal memories, like any real experience.”

  “Weird, man. You writers are wild. So, do you always pack the room with chicks when you write?”

  “Actually, it’s a group of ladies from the church.”

  “Like I said, you writers are eccentric. We’re going to take a break now, and when we come back, western week continues. Thanks, Tony.”

  “Adios, trail partners.” He turned toward eight pairs of astonished eyes.

  “That was a radio show?” Cherry asked.

  “Yeah, but usually they book things ahead of time. It’s not often a spur of the moment thing like that. Sorry for the interruption, gals.”

  “Do you do lots of radio interviews?”

  “One a week is average.” Tony decided to turn this occasion around to his advantage. “While I have you here, by any chance are any of you native Fox Islanders?”

  “Oh, yes,” Patsy said, “I grew up on the Island. After the war I got a job in Olympia, and I’ve lived there ever since. I used to be a very good friend of Jill’s and Jessica’s. But after the wreck … we lost Jill, you know … and Jessica, well, she seemed so lost without her sister.”

  Tony switched from polite to rapt attention. “I hear she changed quite a bit after the wreck.”

  “That’s true,” Patsy continued. “The only way we could really tell them apart was Jessica seemed more dominant. She made decisions for them, like going to Radcliffe. Jill was the quiet one, introverted. She waited for Jessie to make their next move. But after the accident, the spark went out of Jessica. We often wondered what if Jessica died instead. She was so dependent on her sister.”

  “Jessica’s sudden marriage to Reynolds must have been a shock to Jill.”

  “I suppose. A complete surprise to all of us, although we presumed Jessica would marry first. But, of course, Jill never made it home to tell us how she felt.”

  Tony looked around the group. They all seemed interested, so he kept on. “Did you go to high school with the twins?”

  “Yes, we rode the ferry together. Did you know Jill broke her legs in an accident?”

  “We read about that.”

  “All those weeks Jill was laid up, I rode the ferry with Jessica and we’d bring Jill’s schoolwork home to her.”

  “Jessica went to school during that time? I understood from her she stayed home to help care for Jill.”

  “Poor dear. We’re all getting a little forgetful. I can assure you, she attended school.”

  Once again the phone intruded. Tony apologized and wiped his sticky hands on a red-and- yellow striped paper napkin. “Shadowbrooks.”

  “Davidian here. Tony, last night I was at this big ranch party in Ojai, and Ted said TBS might want to look at an option on Stampede Creek. Here’s the problem. I don’t have the signed agreement yet. My hands are tied, pal. Can you FedEx that contract to me tomorrow?”

  “You talked to Ted Turner about making my book into a movie?”

  “Did I say Turner? I meant Ted Roberts. He’s a VP or something in charge of movie production.”

  “I’m not real happy with that agreement yet.”

  “Tony, Tony, don’t you see you’re missing the big ones? I can make you a rich man if you’d let me.”

  “Yeah, that’s what Ed McMahon tells me every month. Look, if you don’t hear from me in a couple weeks, the answer is no.”

  “Nonsense. What about all the work I’ve done on this project already?”

  “It’s a risky business.”

  “Hey, I believe in this book. I’ll give you until el primero de Septiembre. Comprende?”

  “Si.”

  “You drive a tough deal, Tony.”

  “Goodbye, Terry.”

  Several of the ladies picked up cups and plates as the others gathered purses and notebooks. “Were you making a movie deal?
” Cherry asked.

  “It’s very preliminary . An agent might be able to sell an option … which means they have first rights to make a movie. But even if they pick up an option, it doesn’t mean they’ll ever make anything out of it.”

  “But still, talking to someone in Hollywood. Incredible.”

  The ladies traipsed in a line toward the front door. Tony trailed after them. Once again the phone rang. Patsy shooed him away. “We’ll let ourselves out. It’s probably Harrison Ford asking to play the part of Houston.”

  “Harrison’s too old for the part, Mother,” Cherry remarked.

  “Really? But he looks like such a young man.”

  The door closed behind them and Tony grabbed the phone.

  “Daddy?”

  Kit’s calling me ‘Daddy’? “What’s up, darlin’? I can hardly hear you.”

  “Eh … D-Daddy?”

  “What’s wrong, babe? What happened? Where are you?”

  “I’m okay … really. I’m near Oak Creek Canyon.”

  “What are you doing up there?”

  “Long story. I’m using Mom’s cellular phone ’cause Linc’s a jerk.” Kit sobbed again.

  “What did he do?” Both anger and fear leaped out of his heart and throbbed in his throat.

  “Linc drove me up here last night to look at a friend’s car, but the friend was gone. So he suggested we spend the rest of the night at this friend’s one bedroom cabin.”

  “He did, eh?” Did she? Surely she didn’t. More crying. “Do you need to talk to your mother?”

  “I told him to take me home, but he wouldn’t. He said I was acting immature. That I should grow up and have some fun. Said he brought some whiskey, and we should have ourselves a little party. Then he started hanging all over me.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I shoved him off and told him if he tried to touch me again, he’d get a half-inch ratchet alongside the ear. Then he laughed and said I was fantasizing. Said he couldn’t believe I actually thought he wanted to make love to someone with grease under her fingernails.”

  “What did you do then?”

  “I grabbed my toolbox and hiked over the mountain to 1-17. But I didn’t have the nerve to hitchhike, so I stayed at a rest stop until daylight. Then I figured I’d call Josh to come pick me up, but I’ve tried and tried and I can’t reach him. What am I going to do?” She attempted to stop crying, to control herself.