“Yeah. But, I don’t know,” Emily said. She had to admit that she hoped that was true, though.
Zack must have known that they were talking about him, because he yawned, and stretched, and came over for her to pat him.
“I bet if he’d landed on our rocks,” Bobby said, “he would have been friendly and all, but the first time we ran into you, it would have been like, ‘Thanks, Bob, good luck, maybe I’ll see you around sometime.’ ”
Emily laughed. “You think Zack calls you ‘Bob’?”
Bobby nodded. “Absolutely. Sometimes Robert, but mostly Bob.”
It was entirely possible that Zachary would do that, if he thought it would make Bobby happy.
“I should give it a try,” Bobby said. He looked at Zack, obviously concentrating as hard as he could.
Zack seemed puzzled, but then, he lifted his paw.
“Wow,” Emily said, impressed. “He can read your mind, too.”
Bobby shook his head. “No. I was trying to get him to bring me the hammer.”
Oh. So, Zack must have lifted his paw to be polite, instead of as a direct response. Emily closed her eyes, and imagined Zack picking up the screwdriver with the red handle, and carrying it over to Bobby.
Zack promptly got up and went over to the table, and looked at the three screwdrivers with a confused expression.
Were dogs color-blind? Maybe. She had never thought about that before. So, Emily mentally focused on the screwdriver on the far left of the bench, which happened to be the red one.
Zack wagged his tail, picked it up, and brought it proudly over to her.
“Take it to Bobby, instead,” she said, “okay?”
Zack cocked his head to one side.
It was funny that communicating random thoughts was easy—but, speaking English could be hard. So, she sent him an image of Bobby smiling and accepting the screwdriver.
Zack turned around and brought it over to him.
“Thanks,” Bobby said. “Good dog, Zack.”
Zack barked with delight, accepted the biscuit Emily handed him, and went over to lie down on the sand pile to eat the dog bone in comfort.
“That was really cool, but the thing is, I wanted the hammer,” Bobby said.
Emily laughed. “I know. But, I switched it to the screwdriver, so that the concept could, you know, start fresh.”
“Hey, you don’t have to convince me,” Bobby said, and went over to get the hammer himself.
They worked for a few minutes in silence, and then Bobby stopped hammering.
“Hey, I’ve got an idea!” he said. “Let’s go visit Mrs. Griswold’s son!”
Emily looked at him uneasily. “Why?”
Bobby shrugged. “You’re supposed to pass along the message, right? And Mr. Griswold isn’t sure how to do it, seems like. So, we just go there, and—boom! Everything’s cool.”
That sounded too easy. But, then again, was there any good reason why it should have to be hard? “It’s pretty far, though,” Emily said. “It’s not like we can walk over.”
Bobby grinned, and took out his cell phone. “No problem.” He quickly dialed, and then asked his sister Andrea if she could drive them to a hardware store. “See?” he said, when he hung up. “No problem.”
Emily wasn’t supposed to go places without permission, so she left a message on her mother’s voice mail to let her know that Andrea was going to drive them to the hardware store—she didn’t say which hardware store—and then, give her a ride home, and not to worry.
Andrea pulled up a few minutes later in the family car, and Bobby and Emily piled in, with Zack right behind them. The Percivals had a pickup truck, too, but Bobby’s father was the only one who ever drove it.
“Why don’t we just go over to Brunswick?” Andrea suggested. “Instead of all the way up there?”
“Because,” Bobby said.
Andrea frowned at him suspiciously. “Are you up to something?”
Bobby nodded. “Yup. But, nothing bad.”
Andrew narrowed her eyes. “For real?”
Bobby nodded again. “Absolutely. We’re like, on the side of the angels.”
Andrea didn’t seem to be convinced, and she swiveled around to look at Emily in the backseat. “For real?”
“Yes,” Emily said. In fact, it was possibly literally true, in this case.
Andrea shrugged. “Okay, then,” she said, and put the car into drive.
Wiscasset was a totally quaint town with a very famous lobster shack, which was always crowded with tourists during the summer. But, on a quiet October afternoon, there was no traffic, and they made really good time going up there. Andrea pulled the car into a parking spot right near the store.
“Okay, you two angels,” she said, sounding amused. “Zack and I will wait here, while you do whatever it is you’re doing.”
Emily patted Zack on the head. “Good boy. We’ll be right back.”
Zack looked anxious and watched her intently as she and Bobby got out of the car.
The second they walked into the hardware store, Emily knew they had made a terrible mistake. There were a fair number of people inside, shopping in different aisles, and she saw a man behind the front counter who seemed to be the right age to be the Griswolds’ son and looked like the same person from the grainy newspaper photos. He was chatting with customers, and his expression was cheerful and friendly, and it was obvious that he was a very pleasant person.
“I don’t think we should do this,” Emily said quietly.
Bobby looked confused. “Why not? He doesn’t look like he would yell at us or anything.”
Maybe that was exactly why not. “Let’s just go back outside,” Emily said.
Bobby frowned. “I thought we were on a special mission and all. I mean, it would help Mrs. Griswold, right? And we’re going to give him messages from his father and all.”
Somehow, every instinct she had said that it would be the wrong thing to do. So, she shook her head. “I don’t know,” Emily said. “Now that we’re actually here, it seems like it’s not any of our business. There’s helping, and then, there’s just getting in the way.”
“Are you sure?” Bobby asked.
Emily nodded. “Yeah. We would cause a bunch more problems than we would solve.”
Bobby shrugged. “Okay. But, what do we tell Andrea about why we asked her to drive us all the way over here?”
That was a good question, and Emily didn’t have a good answer.
Bobby’s expression brightened. “Wait, I know! I have six dollars. How much do you have?”
Emily checked her pockets. “Eleven dollars, and thirty cents.”
“Well, we do need some stuff for the boat,” Bobby said. “We’ll buy some more sandpaper, and maybe a file, and then, it won’t be suspicious.”
That was pretty good. It would still be a little suspicious, though. Emily nodded. “Okay. I guess it’s good that we can support like, a local business, instead of a chain store, anyway.”
Bobby grinned. “Yeah, coming from you, Andrea’ll believe that.”
Probably because it was exactly the sort of thing her mother would say.
So, they picked out sandpaper with two different grains, and a fine-toothed file—all of which would come in handy for the boat.
When they brought everything up to the counter, the man smiled at them.
“Find everything you need?” he asked.
They both nodded politely.
“Okay, then,” he said, and started ringing up the purchases.
It was interesting, because he did look kind of like Mrs. Griswold—the same thick hair, and something about his jawline was familiar, too.
“School project?” the man asked.
Bobby shook his head. “No, we’re building a boat, and we have a lot of work to do on the wood, still.”
“Sailboat?” the man asked.
“No, it’s going to be a skiff,” Bobby said. “We’re not really ready to put together a mast
or a rudder or anything yet.”
“Well, I’m sure it will come out great,” the man said, handing them their change. “When I was a boy, my father and I built a dory together.” He shook his head wistfully. “We used that boat for years.”
Emily instantly wanted to ask questions about his father—but, that would be crossing a huge line, too. So, she just smiled, and kept quiet.
But, Bobby was nodding. “We might try a dory next. We’re going to caulk the skiff the old-fashioned way, like my grandfather taught my father. It’s going to be so cool!”
“That’s the best way,” the man—okay, Mr. Griswold; not that they could admit that they knew that—agreed. “More work, but you’ll end up with a true classic that way.”
The two of them seemed to be having a good time doing the whole male-bonding thing, so Emily tuned out and looked around.
There were several photographs hanging on the wall behind the cash register, and Emily recognized Mrs. Griswold’s house in one of them. In fact, in that photo, a younger Mrs. Griswold was standing with what looked like a younger version of the Henry Griswold they were looking at this very moment. Maybe his father had taken the photo? In another photo, Emily saw his father, Mr. Griswold, also looking much younger, holding a fishing pole, and wearing a canvas vest with lures attached to it and everything.
She wished there was something she could say, which would help, and put everything at peace—but, if she made a remark about the photograph, she didn’t think that would accomplish much.
Since Bobby couldn’t read her mind, though, he was pointing at the pictures. “Hey, is that your dad?” he asked.
Mr. Griswold turned around to look. “Sure is,” he said. “He was a great guy. I miss him every day.”
“I’m sorry,” Bobby said. “That’s really sad.”
Mr. Griswold nodded, packing their purchases into a small paper bag.
“Do you have a picture of your boat?” Bobby asked.
Mr. Griswold smiled. “You know, I actually do.” He showed them an old photo on the wall of a boy about twelve years old, sitting in a boat with a man, both of them holding fishing poles.
“Wow, it floats!” Bobby said.
Mr. Griswold laughed. “Don’t worry, yours will, too.”
Emily leaned over to look at the picture more closely. “What’s that on the bow?” she asked.
“That’s technically the prow, not the bow. And that’s a wooden gargoyle,” Mr. Griswold said, his expression looking wistful. “I always loved gargoyles, and my mother made that for me to christen the boat.”
Mrs. Griswold made gargoyles? The one on the boat looked sort of like a flying mermaid with the face of a lion. It was really neat. And, now that she thought about it, she actually had seen a few ornate wooden gargoyles on Mrs. Griswold’s porch and in the front garden, over the years. “How did she make it?” Emily asked.
“She carved it for me,” Mr. Griswold said.
That was completely and totally impossible to imagine.
“Must have taken her hours,” Mr. Griswold said softly. Then, he shook his head and tucked the wallet away. “Well. Good luck with your boat, kids. If you think of it, bring me a picture of it sometime, when you’re finished.”
Emily and Bobby promised that they would, and waved good-bye when they left.
“What’s a gargoyle?” Bobby asked, as they went outside.
“They’re sculptures,” Emily said. “They’re usually made of stone, and they’re up on buildings. You see them in New York all the time. My father told me that sometimes they’re just for decoration, but that they also use them like fancy rain gutters. They’re kind of scary-looking sometimes, but I like the way they look. Dragons and monsters and mythological things and all. They’re supposed to keep away evil spirits, too, I think.”
“And Mrs. Griswold is sitting around carving them?” Bobby said, and shook his head. “Weird.”
Yes, it was definitely hard to picture. But, interesting.
Zack must have sensed that she was feeling very conflicted, because after she got into the car and put on her seat belt, he crawled partway onto her lap. She hugged him, half-listening while Andrea and Bobby talked about the fact that their mother’s lobster rolls were much better than the ones sold at the famous lobster shack, and that the tourists really ought to come to Bailey’s Cove for their lobster rolls, instead.
The road they were on was winding along right next to the ocean. As Zachary sniffed at the open window, Emily looked outside—and saw a person-sized gust of mist down by the water. It seemed to stay there just long enough for her to notice that it was there, and then, it disappeared.
Apparently, they weren’t the only ones who had decided to go visiting today!
15
Emily was pretty tired when she got home, and that made it too easy to get into an argument with her parents about what she was going to do the next day after school. Bobby was heading down to Chebeague Island—he was going to be allowed to leave school early and everything—for his aunt and uncle’s twenty-fifth anniversary party, and Karen had an appointment to see her orthodontist. Her friend Harriet had soccer practice, and her friend Florence had the flu, and had stayed home from school.
So, naturally, Emily and her parents spent most of dinner having the predictable discussion about whether she was old enough to stay home by herself for a few hours—and, as usual, her parents very unreasonably outvoted her.
“It’s not fair,” Emily said grumpily. “If I had brothers or sisters, I would win a lot of these votes.”
Her father shook his head. “No, you wouldn’t. Your mother and I would stuff the ballot box to make sure that you would still lose.”
But, Emily wasn’t in the mood to be amused. In fact, she felt so disagreeable that when her parents said that she could come over to the college, and wait in one of their offices, she flat-out refused. In fact, she told them that it would be totally boring, and she would still be alone all afternoon, and that she would hate every minute of it, and that they were extremely mean and unfair.
After all, if they were going to be difficult, she could be difficult, too.
“But, you come over there all the time, and it’s never been a problem before,” her mother said.
Emily shrugged. “Not a problem for you guys. You get to be all busy teaching and stuff, and I’m sitting around waiting, without even getting to play with Zack and Josephine.”
Maybe her parents were tired, too, because they both sighed.
“Some of the eighth and ninth graders babysit,” Emily said. “Maybe you should hire one of them to take care of me.”
To her horror, for a few seconds, her father actually seemed to be giving the idea some serious consideration. So, Emily decided to change the subject—quickly.
“Maybe I should just go upstairs and read some like, financial blogs,” she said. “Because I really am going to work on Wall Street and run a hedge fund when I grow up.”
That had always been one of her best threats, since the very concept upset her parents so much.
“I think Granddad can probably help me find the toughest and most profitable firm down there, and that’s where I’ll go,” she said, since he had spent most of his career as a financial mogul.
Her parents were fairly speechless.
The whole meal was pretty testy, and after they finished, her parents both got on their phones, scrambling around for an alternate solution. Finally, it was decided that, with Cyril’s permission, Emily would go to the Mini-Mart when she got home from school and wait there. Emily wasn’t crazy about the idea, but she was tired of arguing, and at least Zack could keep her company that way.
“I love the free market,” Emily said.
“Well, be that as it may,” her mother said—after the predictable appalled silence—“but, it’s settled that you’ll go to the Mini-Mart, after you get off the bus?”
“Okay,” Emily said. “After I come home and get Zack first.”
> Her parents agreed, as though that was a really big concession on their part.
“And you’ll call one of us, and check in, of course,” her father said.
Emily nodded. But, wow, were they always going to be so protective? If they were, it was going to be nearly impossible to do stuff like go on dates someday.
“So, when it’s time for me to go to college, will I have to commute and live at home and all?” she asked.
Her parents sighed.
“That is, if I even go to college,” Emily said.
It was probably smart that her parents let that one pass without comment.
“I know we need to find some better solutions to the after-school situation,” her mother said, “but letting you spend the afternoons at home by yourself, at this age, is not an option. Period.”
“Fine, whatever,” Emily said grumpily, and went into the den, partially to do homework, but mostly, to sulk.
She had noticed that when any of them had a disagreement, it made their house suddenly seem really small. But, instead of working on math equations, she found herself playing a few rounds of “chase the pen and try to knock it out of my hand” with Josephine, and then throwing a tennis ball back and forth across the room for Zack.
She was over by the bookcases, picking up the slobbery tennis ball, when the row of Bowdoin yearbooks on the bottom shelf caught her eye. Her parents had a collection of about twenty yearbooks, dating back to when they had first started teaching at the college.
She stared at the yearbooks for a minute and then, to Zack’s disappointment, let the ball drop out of her hand and onto the floor.
There was a really good chance that her mother might be in one of those yearbooks.
And there probably wouldn’t be that many African-American students, either. The campus was somewhat diverse, but not to the degree that she would have that much trouble picking her out, or narrowing it down, at least. Emily looked at the row of books, and then started to take down the yearbook from twelve years earlier. But, if her birth mother had left school after she got pregnant, then she was more likely to be in the one from thirteen years ago, so she pulled out that volume, too. If she wasn’t a senior—and she probably wasn’t, since she had transferred to another school—she wouldn’t have had a formal photograph taken, but she might have been in some clubs or on a team or something.
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