by Lisa Ruff
George put his hands on the bar top and leaned forward, holding her gaze with his. “Then change the dream, Mim. Don’t give up your music because other people didn’t love it. Give up your music when you stop loving it.”
A tear welled up and trickled down her cheek and she wiped it away. “Gee, Dad. Don’t hold back. Tell me what you really think,” she said, trying to make a joke.
George didn’t laugh. He leaned back against the coolers and folded his arms across his chest. “You’ve been moping around here for weeks, grieving over your life like it’s dead and gone.” His blue eyes speared her intently. “You’re a musician. You should play. You should perform. Here.”
“What?” Mimi stared at him, eyes wide at the idea.
“I’ll even pay you a percentage of the take that night.” He grinned at her. “I’ll make you a better deal than you’ll get in any other bar in town.”
As George was making his offer, the door burst open and Jack dashed inside, shaking rain off his hair like a dog. “Hi, Mom. Hi, Grandpop.” He dumped his backpack on the floor and dropped his raincoat on top of it. Climbing on to a stool next to Mimi, he asked, “What’s a better deal?”
“I told your mom I’d pay her if she sang in the bar.”
“Are you gonna sing?” Jack asked, his eyes lighting up.
“No! I—”
“She needs some persuading,” George said with a wink to his grandson. “She’s afraid she’ll stink.”
“No, you won’t, Mom. That’d be great! When are you gonna do it? You should do that mermaid song. And—”
“Slow down,” Mimi said with a laugh. His excitement was infectious. “I’ll think about it. Okay?”
The idea was unsettling. She had spent a lot of time over the past few months convincing herself that her life as a musician was over. Giving up music had been the hardest thing she had ever done in her twenty-seven years. Now her father was insisting that she didn’t have to cut it out of her life completely. That she shouldn’t. The idea was so tempting, it hurt. Was her father right? Slowly, an excitement that had been missing for months began to rise inside. She squelched it, but it was not so easily suppressed.
“You should do it, Mom.” Jack’s eyes were filled with a solemn certainty she had a hard time resisting.
“You should, Mim,” George added as he filled up a glass with soda and added a straw. He handed it to his grandson. “You’re not supposed to sit at the bar, kid.”
“Then why’d you give me a glass?” Jack asked. He sucked on the straw and looked around him. “Besides, who’s gonna know?”
“I know, smart guy,” George said, then squirted more soda in the glass. “What if the cops came in? I’d be busted for serving minors.”
“I doubt it,” Jack said with a scoff.
Mimi reached out to brush his hair off his forehead, but Jack ducked away from her hand. He was getting to the stage where he didn’t want to be touched anymore and her heart broke every time he evaded her caresses. The only time he let her cuddle him was when they read together at night. She supposed that would soon end, as well. The price of growing up that she paid, not Jack.
“How was school?” Mimi asked.
“The usual.” Her son shrugged. “It sucked.”
The door opened again and four people walked in, heading directly toward the tables near the windows. They were laughing and talking, their bright red and yellow raincoats making a cheerful scene against the dreary weather.
Jack took advantage of the distraction, hopping off the stool and picking up his backpack and coat. “I’m gonna go play on the computer.”
“Homework first.”
“Aw, Mom. I can do it later.” Then he was out the door.
Mimi frowned after him.
“Go help Jack with his homework,” George said. “I’ll call if it gets busy.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
Mimi spun off her stool and followed her son. Every day the answer to her question about school was the same. Every afternoon they struggled through homework. We just have to get through the next week, she thought as she slipped into her raincoat at the door. Then they would have a few months of respite before the ordeal started all over again. Maybe she should look into getting him a tutor. The thought made her grimace. She knew exactly how Jack would take that suggestion. Still, he just wasn’t thriving the way she thought he should. The way she hoped he would, anyway.
Mimi pushed the bar door open and stepped out into the rain, swallowing down the burgeoning guilt she felt. Despite what her parents said, she knew that Jack’s troubles were her fault. What did she expect from a nine-year-old vagabond?
Mimi shook her head as she splashed through the puddles to her parents’ house. The rain seemed to fall from all directions. Wind blew the water around in circles before each raindrop splashed into the puddles on the sidewalk. She dashed up the steps to the back door, pushing her hood off under the shelter of the porch. There, one hand on the doorknob, she paused. Through the lace curtain she could see Jack and her mother seated at the kitchen table.
Jack was stuffing a chocolate-chip cookie in his mouth. Claire set a glass of milk in front of him, next to a plate holding three more cookies. Mimi saw her run a hand over her grandson’s hair, gently pushing the fringe out of his eyes. That Jack didn’t pull away or flinch amazed and gratified Mimi. Claire must have said something to Jack, because he laughed, showing a mouth full of cookie before covering it with one hand. Mimi saw her mother frown, then laugh, too. They looked so alike just then, both alive with laughter and happiness.
Mimi sighed and closed her eyes for a moment. Tears pricked at the back of her lids. Jack was happy at least some of the time. Maybe her parents were right; he just needed a little more time to settle into their life and catch up with his classmates. She would talk to his teachers again, she decided. They might have suggestions for what could be done to help Jack do better and enjoy school.
In the meantime, she would try harder to help Jack find his way in this new, strange world. Summer was nearly here. Together they would make Crab Creek home. One place she could start was to give them both back the music that had surrounded their lives. He loved it as much as she did. Maybe if she played, it would give a piece of their old life back to him.
Her lips twisted in a grimace. She was making justifications, but it was still a good idea. They were both unhappy, she had to admit. It was time she did something to change that. She turned the doorknob and stepped inside the house.
“Hey, there. Did you leave any cookies for me?”
“IAN! DON’T FORGET TO take these,” Elaine Berzani called to her eldest son before he pulled the office door shut behind him. A small woman with bright red hair and clear gray eyes, she didn’t look old enough to have four grown children. Especially when one of them was Ian’s age.
Ian turned back and saw her waving a sheaf of papers at him. “Give those to Patrick. He’s in charge of Sid’s project now. Not me.”
Elaine frowned at the papers. “Are you sure? He said you knew more about it than he did.”
“Well, it’s time for him to learn more than me.”
With pursed lips, Elaine shook her head. “All right, but I’m sending him to you first if he has problems.”
“Yes, Mother. Thank you, Mother. Goodbye, Mother,” Ian said as he closed the door. Through the glass, he caught a glimpse of her smile.
Ian slipped on his sunglasses and headed across the boatyard to the docks. The day had dawned clear and bright, a welcome change from the rain of the past three days. A light breeze swirled around Ian as he walked away from the office. The pungent odor of seaweed and barnacles wafted through the air as he passed the travel-lift, which had a boat suspended in its slings. Bart, the lift operator, was using a pressure washer to hose off a coating of slime and grass from the bottom of a large cabin cruiser. Piles of barnacles lay under the shaft where he had scraped the metal clean of the clinging creatures.
Saturday morni
ngs the yard did short-hauls—a quick bottom-clean and inspection for boats that didn’t need a new coat of paint or any other major work. Once they were done, the yard would quiet for the rest of the weekend.
“Is that the last one?” Ian called out to Bart over the low buzz of the pump.
The older man stopped the jet of water. “Nope. We’ve got one more, but we’re going to let ’er hang for the weekend. They’re drillin’ a hole for a new transducer. Should take about an hour to finish up. I’ll drop ’er in first thing Monday morning.”
“Good enough.” Ian nodded. Bart started the pressure washer again, sending a spray of water ricocheting from the hull in a rainbow mist of color.
Ian continued on his path to the docks. Patrick’s sailing school was starting in an hour, but Ian hoped to get a few things done before the kids arrived. As he got near the water’s edge, he noticed a familiar figure crouched there. Jack Green was dressed differently today, but the baggy fit of the clothes was the same. Ian changed course and walked up behind him.
“Hey, kid. What’s up?”
Jack stiffened and rose. “I wasn’t doing noth—”
“Anything. Yeah, where have I heard that before?” Ian pushed his sunglasses up on his head and surveyed the child. “I thought we agreed you weren’t going to play around here anymore.”
“I’m not playing,” the boy said, spitting the word out as if it was coated in vinegar. “I’m nine.”
“Hmm.” Ian held back a smile. “Then what’re you doing? If you don’t mind my asking.”
The kid shrugged and looked down.
“What’s the matter, don’t you have anything better to do than splash around in the mud?”
“I’ve got plenty to do.”
“Really?” Ian crossed his arms over his chest. He had seen a brief flash of emotion flicker across the boy’s face. Was it fear? Anger? Ian rejected those, deciding it was something closer to pain, maybe loneliness. He felt a twinge of sympathy. It had to be hard coming to a new place and starting over with no friends. Especially with a chip on your shoulder the size of Mississippi.
“You’d better come with me.”
“You don’t have to tell my mom,” Jack said sullenly. “I won’t come back.”
Ian shook his head. “Look, if you’re going to hang around the yard, you’re going to have to work, like everybody else.”
“Work? I’m a kid.”
“So, you’ll do kid’s work,” Ian said calmly. He turned and walked a few steps away before turning back. “Come on,” he said. “I haven’t got all day.”
Jack stared at him, eyes wary behind his fringe of shaggy hair. Ian stood silent and patient, letting the boy make his own decision. Slowly, the wariness was replaced with curiosity. Ian hid another smile as Jack frowned.
“I’m not gonna be nobody’s slave.”
“Trust me,” Ian said with a chuckle. “Nobody would buy a runt like you.”
“I’m not a runt.” Jack’s frown was halfhearted.
Ian took two steps toward the boy, so that he loomed over him. He put one hand on the sandy-brown head, the other on his own, then examined the distance between his hands.
“I’d say you’re about average size for a runt.”
“I’m tall for my age.” The boy’s blue eyes were clear, and for the first time since they had met, held a spark of friendly humor.
“And skinny, too, but that’s no selling point.”
Jack grinned, and Ian felt as if he had won something precious. He flipped his sunglasses down to cover any triumph that might show in his eyes. “Come on, runt. There’s work to be done.”
He led Jack over to the piers where Patrick was setting up the boats for the sailing school. With his usual ease, Evan had charmed someone into donating the money to buy a half-dozen Optimist sailing dinghies. Somewhere else, Patrick had cadged five more, so they had a fleet of eleven. They were pulled up on the dock in a row behind jumbled piles of sails, masts, daggerboards and rudders. Evan had told Patrick he could get money for four more new boats midway through the summer. Who would have the pleasure of donating those funds, Ian didn’t ask. He was merely impressed by Evan’s ability to charm money out of trees.
“Hey, I shanghaied a worker,” Ian called out to Patrick.
His brother looked up from where he stood on the dock, setting a mast in place on one of the dinghies. “Looks a little skinny to me,” Patrick said as they came closer.
“Best I could find on short notice.” Ian nudged Jack and grinned. Jack elbowed him back, shooting him a sideways glare. “But he’s got a few muscles on him.” Ian put a hand on Jack’s shoulder and introduced the two. “Patty, this is Jack Green. Jack, this is my little brother, Patrick.”
Patrick offered his hand and the two solemnly shook. “Pleased to meet you, Jack. You here to sail today?”
Jack shook his head. “I’m supposed to work.”
“Jack’s nine. He doesn’t play,” Ian said, giving Jack’s shoulder a teasing shake. “He’s been hanging around the yard, so I figured he needed a job.”
“Do you know anything about sailboats, Jack?”
“Some.” He shrugged. “They don’t have motors. And they’re slow.”
Patrick hooted with laughter. “That’s where you’re wrong, kiddo. Some sailboats are as fast as powerboats and a whole lot more fun.”
“Patrick races sailboats,” Ian said.
“Where?”
“On the ocean and here on the Bay.”
Jack squinted up at Patrick. “Really fast?”
“Really, really fast. Remind me later and I’ll show you some videos.”
“In the meantime, what needs to be done here?” Ian asked.
“The rest of these masts need to be stepped, then we can hang the booms and run the rigging. I want everything set up before the kids get here. Next time, we’ll teach them how to do it themselves.”
Ian and Jack formed a team, putting masts upright on the small boats, hanging the booms and reeving the main sheets through the blocks. Jack was a fast learner, following Ian’s directions, watching what Ian did and copying it exactly. He even started to anticipate what came next, which impressed Ian. Maybe the kid wasn’t so bad after all. Most of his orneriness was probably due to boredom. Ian decided a good challenge would keep him from being such a pain.
“Okay, first thing to learn on a boat is that everything has a proper name. The pointy end is the bow and the flat end is the stern. Got it?”
Jack stood straight and looked over the little boat. “They’re both kinda flat.”
“The wider flat end is the stern,” Ian said, rubbing a hand over Jack’s head. “Smart-ass.”
Jack giggled, then nodded. “Bow and stern.”
“Second thing to learn is port and starboard. This is port,” Ian said, pointing to the right side of the boat as they faced the bow. “The other side’s starboard.”
“Why?”
“You want the long answer or the short one?”
Jack stuck his lower lip out in thought. “The short one, I guess.”
“Starboard is the old way of saying ‘steering-board,’ because this side of the ship was where the rudder was mounted, before they started putting the rudder in the middle of the boat. Port used to be called larboard, for lee-board, meaning the board that kept the boat running straight. It was also the side they tied to the dock because it didn’t have the rudder in the way. Larboard and starboard sounded too much alike, so the name got changed to port.”
Jack frowned. “That’s a long short answer and it’s still confusing.”
“Not really.” He walked over to the boy and turned him around so he was facing the stern of the boat. “Which direction is port now?”
Jack looked up at him, a frown on his face. He hesitated, then cautiously pointed to the left side of the boat. Ian squeezed his shoulder briefly and released him.
“Exactly. It’s always the same.”
“Always?” Jack sound
ed doubtful. “No matter what?”
“No matter what. No matter what direction you’re facing. Same as the bow and stern are always the same.”
Jack and Ian continued rigging the boats and Ian kept adding terminology for the parts of the boat as they worked. Noticing that Jack mumbled the words under his breath as he worked, Ian hid a smile. But the kid used the new terms correctly, rarely getting one wrong.
“Has A&E gotten so desperate that it’s using child labor?”
Ian and Jack looked up to see Evan McKenzie standing with his hands on his hips, grinning at them. He was dressed much as they were in baggy shorts, T-shirt and flip-flops. His faded green shirt bore the logo of a local surf shop.
“Since you didn’t bother to show up on time, McKenzie, we had to do something.” Ian straightened and held out a hand in greeting. “He works harder than you do, too.”
One blond eyebrow arched above the rim of his sun glasses. “I never work hard, Berzani. I’m here to supervise.”
“Jack, this is Evan. He’s one of the instructors for this adventure,” Ian said. “Evan, this is Jack Green from down the street.”
Evan tipped his sunglasses down his nose to scrutinize the boy as he held out his hand. They shook. “Your mom’s Mimi Green?” The boy nodded and Evan smiled. “She’s cool.”
Jack shrugged, but Ian could tell the compliment pleased him.
Evan looked over at Ian, his eyes glinting with devilish humor. “I thought you weren’t interested in starting anything?”
Ian scowled, but kept silent. There was nothing he could say now, not with Jack right here listening. Evan smirked and slid his sunglasses back into place as he surveyed the boats lined up on the dock.
“Good. Looks like you guys are just about done.”
At that moment, Patrick joined them. “About time you turned up, McKenzie. What took you so long?”
“Things went a little long last night,” Evan said with a sly grin.
“As in early this morning.” Patrick’s tone was dry.