A Million Miles From Boston (19 page)

“
uess what?” Mrs. Steele said. It was Friday morning and Superior and I were back from a walk to town. The PT’s car was parked at our cottage. Early. “A man called about the kayak. He’s coming to take a look tomorrow.”

“Oh. Are you sure you want to sell it?”

“Absolutely. Walt and I have no use for it anymore.”

“Lucy!” Bucky called from our porch. “Dad wants you.”

“Bye,” I said to Mrs. Steele. Superior and I walked across the yard and into our cottage. Dad and the PT were at the kitchen table. She was dressed in shorts and a T-shirt and she wore those gold hoop earrings. “Hi,” I said, touching my ears.

“We want to talk to you both.” Dad smiled at her.

I sat at the table.

“Julia and I love each other very much,” Dad said. “And, so … Well.”

I pressed my leg into Superior, who sat next to me.

“Can we go camping on Upper Egg tonight?” Bucky asked.

“That sounds great. Are you up for it, Julia?”

“Sure. I love camping.”

“We get these special hot dogs and roast them on sticks,” Bucky said. “And we cook beans in the coals and eat them right out of the can! And we found really cool horseshoe crabs last time. Right, Lucy?”

“We can’t go camping,” I said. “We have a meeting about the Big House tomorrow.”

“We’ll be back in plenty of time,” Dad said. “But that’s not what we want to talk about. We want, well, we’d like to get married in January. What do you think?”

“Okay,” Bucky said. Everyone looked at me.

I tried to see Mom’s face, and when I couldn’t, I felt my cheeks sting.

“How you both feel about this is important to me,” the PT said. “I love your dad.”

“I feel okay about it.” Bucky took a big bite of his cereal.

How could he not
care?
I tried to list the things I didn’t like about the PT. I couldn’t. Because she was pretty nice and smart and all the things Dad told me she was. But I just didn’t want her for a mom.

I got up, shoved my chair into the table and ran for my room, Superior close behind.

And this time Dad didn’t come up and talk to me.

*   *   *

We left for the island late that afternoon, when the sun was still high in the sky but the boats had thinned in the bay.

We brought the usual gear: tent, sleeping bags, pillows, cooler and bags filled with food and drinks—including our special hot dogs, wrapped in waxed paper. We piled half of the things in the front of the boat, half in back.

Bucky and the PT sat behind me, laughing at Superior, who snapped at the wake. I hung on to my seat. The water was rough. When Dad looked at me, I forced a smile.
Mom would’ve wanted this
. How could Mom ever have wanted us to have a new mom?

Dad hit a big wave and the boat jumped before landing in the water. Bucky squealed, “Do it again!” I felt something filling up the achy, heavy space in my chest. It just kept filling, like a never-ending bucket of water.

“Lucy, we’re gonna look for horseshoe crabs the minute we get there, right?” Bucky asked for the fifth time.

“Didn’t I already say
yes
?”

“There it is!” Bucky yelled. I sat up straighter. We’d gone around Pear, and now Upper Egg grew in front of us, its shores covered with rocks and pine and birch trees. It was smaller than Pear and we hardly ever saw anyone else camping when we were there. Finally Dad pulled into a cove, out of the wind and rough water. We coasted to shore.

Dad wanted to drop the anchor, but it was high tide and he couldn’t do it close to shore or our boat would run aground when the tide went out.

“This’ll be tricky.” He cut the engine and dropped the anchor. “We’ll unload; then I’ll take the boat farther out and swim in. Julia, you stay here and hand everything to us.”

Bucky, Dad, Superior and I jumped. The water wasn’t deep, only to our thighs. The PT handed us bags and we walked to shore. We set them on the beach, then waded back. The water was cold and full of rocks. Superior barked at us from the beach.

The PT wore her flowered bathing suit and a baseball cap. I watched as she bent over, lifted the cooler and turned toward us. But then she tripped. The cooler crashed onto the side of the boat, and everything inside spilled into the water.

“Oh, no!” Dad ran, water splashing around him. Bucky and I ran, too, only we couldn’t go as fast as Dad. The PT jumped in, trying to rescue the food.

The Tupperware container full of fruit salad had opened and strawberries and blueberries floated next to our hot dogs. Bucky picked up the giant chocolate bar we’d brought for s’mores. The paper slid off and the chocolate slipped into the water. The eggs were smashed, the butter bobbed, a tomato floated.

We lost soda, jars of mustard and relish, and maple syrup. Bucky picked up ice cubes floating by him. Dad dove underwater and came up with two soda cans. I grabbed the orange juice container, half full, so it floated.

Dad and the PT burst out laughing. Hot tears filled my eyes. How could they think this was funny?

“Oh, come on, Goose, it’s okay.” Dad picked up a blueberry and squished it between his thumb and finger. They laughed harder. The PT’s big mouth was open wide and water dripped from her baseball cap. I stomped up to shore.

“Lucy, wait,” the PT said, laughing.

I whirled around. “You ruined the campout and now you’re laughing about it.”

She frowned. “I’m sorry. I’m clumsy when I’m nervous.”

Nervous? About
what
?

“Nothing’s ruined,” Dad said. “We have plenty of food left in the boat.”

“She ruins everything!” I screamed.

“Lucy!” Dad said.

“No, Ben, this is between me and Lucy,” she said. “Tell me what else I ruin.”

“Everything!” I couldn’t stop screaming. “You come up here every weekend and now everything has changed and then you laugh about it.”

“I don’t laugh about everything.” Her voice was softer. “I’m trying so hard to do this right, but you don’t seem to notice. Or care.”

“I care about a lot of things!”

“But you don’t care about me. You’re not the only one who has lost someone you loved.” She started to cry.

Dad waded over and wrapped his arms around her. They held each other, the boat bobbing behind them. Bucky threw ice cubes. I felt numb. Then the three of them walked up to the shore.

“Let’s just go home.” Dad wouldn’t look at me.

“Can’t we look for horseshoe crabs first?” Bucky asked. “Lucy, you promised.”

“Shut up about the stupid horseshoe crabs!” I yelled. “I don’t want to look for them, now or ever!
Okay?
”

“Don’t you dare take this out on him,” Dad said.

“But that’s all he talks about!”

“He’s not the problem!” Dad’s face was purple with anger.

“Listen, I know this isn’t how you do it, but we’ll make the best of it,” the PT said. “Let’s stay. Bucky, come look for firewood with me.”

They started off for the woods.

“I’m not going to let
you
ruin the campout,” Dad said, wading out to the boat. I followed and helped unload. Then he took the boat out farther, dropped the anchor and swam to shore. I stood on the cool sand and watched, miserable.

No one talked as we set up the tent and built a fire. I kept glancing at Bucky but he wouldn’t look at me. Finally I felt something melt inside me.

“Come on, Buck.” We started down the beach, stopping to turn over rocks, but all we found were blueberries washed up on shore. I glanced back at our campsite, where Dad and the PT talked quietly. “I’m sorry that I yelled at you. I’m just upset.”

Bucky tossed a rock into the water. “Why do you hate Julia?”

“I don’t hate her. I just don’t want her for a stepmom.”

“Why?” Bucky was on his knees, peering under a rock.

“I don’t know. Why do you want her?”

“She’s nice.”

I wished he felt like I did. But he didn’t remember Mom. He had nothing to feel guilty about. But then I thought, Do I?

Later we cooked cans of baked beans in the coals, then poured them into buns. They’d have tasted better with hot dogs, but they were okay. We roasted marshmallows, seeing who could make the perfect one—golden on all sides, but not burnt. Bucky won.

We talked about Dad’s book, the PT’s job and the Big House. No one mentioned what had happened. At the same time I knew it was the main thing on everyone’s mind.

We cleaned up, then headed into the tent. It was huge, able to sleep ten. Dad and the PT went to one side while Bucky, Superior and I were on the other. We settled in and turned off the flashlights. I listened to the night sounds—June bugs hitting the tent, the breeze rustling through the leaves, water washing onto the shore.

Dad told us that he used to camp here as a kid. He’d always wanted to bring Mom for an overnight but then I was born; then I was too young; then Bucky came.

This was
our
tradition, Bucky’s, Dad’s, mine. Now the PT’s. I glanced toward the other side of the tent but it was too dark to see. Then I remembered something the PT had said that day.
You’re not the only one who has lost someone you loved
.

She’d lost her husband. Dad had tried to tell me other
things but I’d never wanted to hear them. Now I wondered. Had her husband died of cancer?

I didn’t have to like her, but I shouldn’t be mean.

“Julia?” My voice startled me.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks, Lucy.”

And then I rolled over and tried to go to sleep.

he Big House was packed. Mr. Ramsey started the meeting by reading a brief history that Dad had written.

“ ‘Over the last twenty years alone, this room has witnessed numerous celebrations and arguments, a fistfight, one woman going into labor and a marriage proposal,’ ” Mr. Ramsey read. I glanced at Dad. “ ‘It continues to be the heart and soul of the Point.’ ”

Everyone clapped. Then Mr. Ramsey talked about bonds. Inflation. Costs. Damage to the support beams. He turned the meeting over to Mr. Richards, who told us how long he’d been in construction and how many houses he’d built.

Ian, wearing a new lacrosse shirt, was back from camp and standing against the wall. Becca and Peter waved to me from the porch. I turned back to Mr. Richards.

“The shingles run straight into the dirt. That’s one of the reasons we’ve got termites. Remember, the Big House was
built for summer use, and these long winters are taking their toll. We’ll have to do something soon. We shouldn’t let another wet winter and spring go by.

“The southwest section has sagged because of the rotten beams. The easiest and least expensive thing to do would be to run an extra beam alongside the old ones and bolt them together.

“The next best thing would be to remove the entire porch; that way we’ll be able to get to the other beams, see what shape they’re in. What makes most economic sense, but only in the long run, would be to knock it down, start over and build it the right way.”

“He’s right.” Mr. Pollard stood. “My brother’s a builder and he agrees.”

Finally everyone decided to remove the porch and see what was underneath the house. I sighed, relieved.

After the meeting, Mr. Richards stood next to the hole by the porch. I got on my knees and looked inside.