by Jill Barnett
Margaret watched Hank continue to deny what they were seeing.
“It is not there.” He closed his eyes and shook his head.
“I see it! It’s magic!” Lydia said. “He is a genie!”
Hank opened his eyes, looked at Lydia, and frowned. His gaze shot to Margaret. He was still frowning. “Do you see it?”
With ironic timing, the genie flew right past Hank’s nose, leaving a trail of purple smoke. Hank blinked, shaking his stubborn head. “I didn’t see that.”
“I did,” Margaret told him.
“You, the educated, logical attorney, Miss It-Makes-Perfect-Sense, sees some crackpot in purple pants and earrings flying around us?”
She nodded.
“You know as well as I do that genies do not exist!”
“I see him. The children see him. You see him. We all see him. Therefore, he must exist.”
“This is not happening,” he repeated, then muttered, “Mirrors. Where are the mirrors?”
The genie buzzed around him like a bee, hovered over his head for a moment, then soared straight upward.
Hank scowled so hard his black eyebrows almost touched.
“It is not logical to assume that the existence of anything can be understood rationally in a world that is consistently irrational,” Margaret explained.
He stared at her as if he’d been clobbered in the head. His gaze cleared, and he seemed to think about what she had just said. He stared at the sand for a long time, then he looked back to her and waved the knife. “You actually believe this crap?”
“I have to believe it. It would be illogical not to believe what I can see.” Margaret was watching a purple genie fly. She turned back to Hank, who sat down on a nearby rock. He rested his wrists on his bent knees and stared down.
“I can see him flying, Hank.”
He slowly looked up as the genie flew over the tops of the coconut palms, then soared downward purposely close to Hank’s head. To Hank’s credit, he didn’t duck.
On the genie’s next flight past, he snatched the cap from Hank’s head.
“Give me that back! You little . . .” Hank shot up and tried to grab Muddy. He missed.
A few seconds later the cap came floating down next to Hank’s feet. He stared at the cap lying in the sand, then grabbed it and jammed it back on his head. “Let me see that bottle, kid.”
Theodore handed Hank the bottle. “I found it and got three whole wishes.”
Hank lifted the bottle close to his eye and examined it the way a jeweler looked at a stone. The only clue that he recognized the bottle was the slight tightening around his mouth.
“It looks exactly like the bottle you threw away,” Margaret said as casually as she could.
His eyes narrowed with the promise of retribution.
She gave him an innocent smile, then added, “Actually, you threw it away twice.”
They argued for almost an hour. Muddy sat on a nearby rock, his chin resting in one palm, while his gaze darted back and forth, like someone watching a long volley in a game of lawn tennis.
“Now, Theodore,” the woman named Margaret said, “don’t worry. Hank doesn’t mean to yell at you.”
“Like hell!”
“Please stop bullying him. He’s only a little boy. I’m certain he doesn’t understand how important this is.” Margaret turned back to Theodore and squatted down so she was eye level with him. “You understand that you are the only one who has the power to get us off this island.”
“I understand,” he said sullenly.
“One wish and we can all go home.”
He stared at his bare toes. “I don’t have a home.”
Muddy saw her flinch. She straightened, took a deep breath, and pinched the bridge of her nose. She’d stepped right into that one.
“Look, kid.” Hank barged in front of her. “I’m telling you. This is the way it is, understand? You have to wish us off this island.”
Theodore looked at Hank for a long, drawn-out minute, then his small jaw became as rigid as Hank’s and he was stubbornly silent.
And Muddy had thought camels were stubborn. He shook his head and looked at the baby, a bright and happy little thing with a crop of orange curls. She sat on a rock. She looked at him and grinned from around the two fingers stuck in her mouth.
Muddy waved.
She waved back, then dropped down from the rock and walked toward him. She was about three feet away when she ran out of rope. She tugged on the rope, but it wouldn’t give. She looked at the rope, then said, “Sit!”
Muddy bit back a smile, then looked back at the others. They certainly weren’t what he was used to. He’d never had a family in two thousand years, even if they weren’t in truth quite a family. They were an interesting group.
Theodore stood next to his sister, a quiet and complicated-looking girl named Lydia. The children talked while Hank scowled and paced. Margaret, who had more beauty than Paris’s Helen, stood with her arms stubbornly crossed.
Finally, Margaret cocked her lovely blond head and gave Theodore a direct look. “Well?”
“I don’t want to leave.”
“For Christ’s sake!” Hank bellowed.
Muddy winced.
Margaret jabbed Hank in the ribs with her elbow. “Stop shouting at him. You’ll only make things worse.”
“Things can’t get much worse.”
Theodore stood there, even more straight and determined. He looked at Hank, then at Margaret. “I like it here.”
Hank groaned.
Theodore stepped up to him. “You said deserted islands were the best places.”
“What are you talking about, kid?”
“Remember the riddle?”
Hank looked as if he wanted someone to punch him.
“There are no prisons or orphanages on deserted islands,” Theodore said by rote. “Hank said so.”
Margaret looked as if she were ready to give Hank exactly what he wanted.
“I don’t want to live in an orphanage. They don’t give you any blankets, and Hank said it was cold and as bad as prison,” Theodore spoke in a rush to get out all the words. “Hank has purple marks on his back ’cause they beat him in prison, an’ he said it was ’cause they didn’t have anything better to do. I don’t want anyone to beat me or my sisters.”
Margaret spun around. “Why on earth did you tell him those things?”
“I didn’t tell him.”
“I suppose he imagined it.” Her eyes narrowed in accusation. “Oh, forgive me, I forgot. Five-year-old children always know about prisons and orphanages.”
Hank began to pace in the sand. “He kept asking questions. Hell!” He waved his hand in the air. “I just answered him!”
“Well, you certainly picked a fine time to suddenly become Mr. Honesty.”
“Let me handle this.” Hank elbowed past her. “Oh, yes, I forgot that, too. You’re the man,” she said in a deep and mocking tone.
As Hank walked past her, he said under his breath, “At least you understand your place.”
Muddy whistled. She should have punched him. A fool with a big mouth, he thought. Based on his past experience, Hank should have been the one to find his bottle.
“I wish my father had taught me how to throw a punch instead of how to create a brief,” Margaret said to Hank’s back, then glanced at Muddy. Hank towered over Theodore. “Look, kid, I’ll make you a trade.”
“What kind of trade?”
Hank took off his cap and flipped it over. He pulled out a harmonica and held it up, turning it enticingly before the boy’s serious face. He dropped the harmonica in the crown of his cap.
Theodore watched his every move, his expression curious but cautious.
Hank held the cap out to Theodore. “My hat and harmonica for the genie and the bottle.”
Muddy stood quickly. “Wishes are nontransferable. Theodore is my master. He must make the wishes. Him and only him.”
Hank and Margaret were
quietly thoughtful. Muddy watched them for a moment, then added, “And you can’t have Master Theodore make his three wishes and then one of you take the bottle. No one who knows I exist can become a future master.”
Hank swore under his breath and cast Muddy a look that was hot enough to cook him. Margaret gave a resigned sigh.
Muddy sat down on the rock, crossed his leg, and rested his chin in his hand again.
“Okay, kid, here’s the deal,” Hank continued. “We need to get off this island. You understand?” Theodore nodded.
“You have three wishes.”
Muddy raised one finger and stood again. “Excuse me. Master Theodore only has two wishes. He generously and unselfishly used one to get rid of the hookah.”
Hank’s look said exactly what he thought of Theodore’s wish.
Muddy sat down, crossed his leg, and began to swing it back and forth. His bell tingled like wind chimes.
Hank swung back around and gave his foot a pointed glare.
Muddy froze.
Hank looked down at Theodore and raised his thumb and forefinger. “Two wishes.”
Margaret made an odd snorting sound, loud enough for Hank to glare at her, too. He continued, raising his hand even higher, “You can wish us off the island and still have a wish left. You can use that wish for anything you want. Understand, kid?”
Theodore stared at the sand for a moment, then looked at him. “I tried to wish for what I wanted.”
“What do you mean you tried?” Margaret asked.
“I want my parents back, but Muddy can’t bring them back. It breaks the wish rules. He can only give wishes in this world.”
No one said anything for a long time.
Theodore looked at Hank, then at Margaret. “I don’t want anything else except to stay here.”
Margaret stepped in front of Hank. “Let me handle this.” She stood near Theodore, who had his head bent. He was drawing designs in the sand with a bare foot. She knelt down so she was eye level with him. “Theodore.”
He looked up at her.
She placed her hands on his narrow shoulders. “I realize how very apprehensive you must be. But I am an impartial party, since I haven’t been associated with any orphanages. I can assure you that I will aggressively seek the best possible institution for you and your sisters. Now if you will just think about this from every angle, you can clearly determine the best possible course of action. It is a rare occasion that this method doesn’t work for me.” She smiled.
“We just have to introduce all the facts and your concerns, then weigh each option, decide which are the most significant points and why you are apprehensive. With some deliberation and good positive analytical thought, we can come to a mutually satisfying settlement that is in the best interests of all parties.”
He stared at her for a moment, then said, “I like parties, especially birthday parties.”
Hank laughed. “Clear as mud, Smitty.”
She looked from Hank to Muddy. The genie still sat on the rock, his head hanging down. He gave a short snore, then he straightened, startled and wide-eyed. He blinked twice.
“Theodore, I was trying to explain that if we talk about your fears and about our situation, then perhaps you will see that the most logical thing you can do is to wish us off the island.”
“But I don’t want to leave here. It’s fun.”
“I think we should consider everyone, your sisters, too.”
“Leedee?” Theodore tugged on Lydia’s hand. “Do you wanna go to an orphanage?”
She shook her head. Her hand closed protectively around his. Brother and sister looked up with the same stubborn looks on their faces. Together they said, “We want to stay here.”
Hank shuffled the cards. “It’s called poker, kid.” Cards sailed through the air like feathers on the wind and lit in perfect fan sequence on the sand.
“Holy cow! Can you teach me to do that?”
“Sure, kid.” He looked up at Smitty who was trying to get Annabelle to eat a banana. “But first I’m going to teach you how to play a man’s game.”
Smitty’s head whipped around. She looked at Hank, then rolled her eyes just as a banana peel hit her in the shoulder.
He laughed. He had already explained to her that this was the way to get the kid to give them the wish. She was skeptical. But Hank knew this was one thing he could control.
Distract the kid with a game, a game he could manipulate, and bam! they’d be home faster than he could pick a pocket. He looked back at the kid, who was eagerly waiting. Hank smiled and began to explain the rules.
An hour and a hundred or so questions later, they finally picked up their cards. Hank’s jaw was tight from gritting his teeth, from answering the same questions, and from restraining his urge to yell at the kid.
The first rule of a smart grifter: gain the trust of the patsy.
Hank laid down his hand without looking at it. He grabbed the brim of his cap and twisted it around so it was on backward.
Rule number two: don’t underestimate good ol’ lady luck.
Theodore watched him intently. “Why’d you do that?”
“For luck.”
“Oh.” He was quiet, then looked up. “I don’t have anything for luck. Except my sisters.”
“I’m not very lucky, Theo.” Lydia sighed but perked up a minute later. “You have Muddy and the bottle. You could use them for luck.”
“That’s right!” Theodore took the stopper out of the bottle and a stream of purple smoke drifted out.
Hank shook his head and tried to forget what he was seeing.
“Yes, Master Theodore.”
The crackpot was back with bells on his toes. And a purple turban.
“Muddy, you’re gonna be my luck, okay?”
The genie’s eyes darted from left to right with a baffled expression. “Whatever you say, master.”
Hank stared at the guy’s clothes and shuddered slightly. He looked away. It wasn’t a pretty sight.
He shifted his gaze to Theodore. The kid was staring at his cards and chewing on his lip, his forehead creased in thought.
“I forgot. What beats what?”
Hank began to mentally count. At fifty, he said, “A straight flush is tops. Got it?”
The kid nodded.
“You’re sure?”
“A straight flush is tops,” the kid repeated. “Four of a kind beats a full house.”
“Uh-huh.”
“A full house beats a flush. A flush beats a straight. A straight beats three of a kind, and three of a kind beats a pair.”
“Okay.”
“You got it all this time?” Hank’s jaw was tight.
“Theodore.” Smitty stepped between them and knelt in the sand next to the kid. “Can you read?”
“Uh-uh.” He shook his head. “But Leedee can.” He turned to his sister. “Can’t you?”
Lydia nodded.
“I’ll write them in the sand, and Lydia can read them for you. Then you won’t have to ask Hank anymore.”
They spent another five minutes writing lists in the sand, while Hank twiddled his thumbs for a while. He watched them, then found himself staring at Smitty. She had smashed bananas in her blond hair, but that wasn’t what he found interesting. He let his gaze rove down over her, then stopped.She had great legs.
She was kneeling in the sand, and as she wrote in it, she would move back. Her dress was bunched up at her knees, exposing her lower legs. They were pale and long and sleek.
God, but he loved a woman’s legs. He had always been a sucker for a woman with legs that went on forever.
He watched her stand up, then walk back over to the baby, her hips moving in that natural rhythm of a woman. Kind of slow and . . . come to Papa.
“Hank?”
He pulled his gaze away and looked at the kid. Theodore grinned. “I’m ready.”
Hank gave a quick sigh. “Good.”
“An’ aces are the highest cards?”
“An’ I can take new cards.”
“Yeah. How many do you want?”
“I don’t know.” The kid spent another five minutes frowning at his cards. Finally, he looked at Hank. “Four. I want four cards.”
Hank laughed to himself wickedly. He gave the kid four cards.
“How many are you taking?”
“One.”
“Oh.” The kid paused, then asked, “Only one card?”
Hank shrugged. “I play the long shots.”
“What’s a long shot?”
“Nothing you have to know, Theodore,” Smitty called out over her shoulder.
Hank looked at his cards—a king high full house. He managed a good healthy scowl when he looked at the kid, who gave him a blank but thoughtful stare. Then the kid looked at the list Smitty had written in the sand. “I forgot. What’s a flush?”
The genie, who had been silent until then, groaned quietly.
Hank almost crowed.
“All one suit or group, Theo.” Lydia pointed to her brother’s cards. “Like those two black clover things in your hand.”
The genie closed his eyes as if he couldn’t bear to watch.
“I bet my harmonica,” Hank paused for dramatic effect. “And raise you my cap.” He tossed them into the pot filled with seashells and sand dollars.
Smitty turned around and looked at him. He gave her a quick and covert nod while the kid was looking at the harmonica as if it were candy.
Hank could see her shoulders relax slightly. He waited, then said, “You’ll have to call my bet, kid.”
Theodore laid his cards face down in the sand and dug through his pants’ pockets. He looked up, frowning. “I haven’t got anything left to bet.”
“You don’t?”
He shook his head, his expression childishly serious.
Hank counted to fifty again, then looked up at nothing and counted to ten. He faced the kid. “I guess . . .” He stopped, then shook his head. “No, that wouldn’t work.”
“What?” the kid asked eagerly.
“I was just thinking that you could bet a wish.” Theodore frowned and looked at the genie. “Muddy said I can’t give you my wish.”
“Yeah, he did.” Hank pretended to be thinking. Made a big deal of it, too. He rubbed his chin for a good two minutes. “Tell you what, kid. You can bet the wish, and if I win, you have to wish for anything I ask. If you win, you get my cap, the harmonica, and you get to keep your wish.”