Kyle's Island (11 page)

“We're not going to be feeding babies this morning,” I cautioned him. “You probably won't get many bites, but when you do, it'll be a keeper.”

I anchored us about thirty feet from the island. The anchors went down, down, down, so I knew we were beyond the drop-off. I passed the worms to Josh and unwound his pole. I'd brought him the short one Gram had always used. It looked like it would be just right for him.

“I'm going to get a real fat worm,” he said, digging down into the dirt. He probably rejected six before he selected a fat, wiggly one and began to bait his hook. “Hold still, won't you?” he fussed at the worm.

“What's the matter, Josh? Won't he behave?” I joked.

Josh has been fishing before, and he's a pretty athletic little kid, so he doesn't have any trouble casting his line where he wants it. The trouble is, no sooner does the bobber
settle down than he decides he'd rather have it someplace else. That was my goal for the morning, to get him to leave his line in till he had a good reason to move it.

He was hunched over, staring at his bobber, while I readied my pole. “I think I've got a bite,” he murmured. “Look, Kyle!”

I looked. The bobber was riding the water peacefully.

“That's just the motion of the waves.”

“Oh.”

I threw my line where I could keep an eye on both bobbers at once.

Five, maybe ten, minutes went by, and suddenly Josh jerked his pole.

“What was that for?”

“I thought I had a bite.”

“When you have a bite out here, you'll know it. Your bobber will go all the way under. You don't pull until then.”

I knew I was testing his patience, but if he was going to go out with Tom Butler, he couldn't be pulling his line in all the time and chattering away too.

Pretty soon he said, “Kyle?”

“Hmm?”

“Do I have a bite?”

“No. Yes, yes, you do! Pull!”

He gave his pole a yank. “Careful! Keep him underwater!” I watched as Josh pulled in. “Bring him to the side of the boat. Keep your line taut!”

As the fish came alongside, I grabbed his line and pulled up. “How about that, Josh! A bluegill. Big one, too.”

He was so excited he almost started to stand. “Sit down! Do you want to capsize us?” I snapped. He sat, and I took the bluegill off the hook and slipped it into the live-sack. “Didn't even get your worm.”

“I'm going to cast out the same place. Maybe there's another one there,” Josh said. It took him three casts to get the bobber exactly where he wanted it, but I didn't fuss. I've done the same thing myself sometimes.

It's a good thing we caught that one, because from then on the morning was dead. After a bit I got out the sandwiches. “I like mustard on mine,” he complained.

“I forgot. At least you have something to eat.”

I'll say this for Josh. He was trying real hard. He hardly pulled his line in at all. I remember when I was little, wondering if some fish had taken my bait when I wasn't looking, if I had an empty hook floating deep in the green water.

The boat rocked gently as we sat there, and now and then I looked over at the island and kind of smiled to myself. I knew what was hidden in there among the trees.
I wondered why someone would build in the middle, where you'd have no water view. Then I realized. If you couldn't see the lake, no one on the lake could see you. If you wanted a place to be alone, you wouldn't want to be in full view of every boat on the water. Was that what the person who built it wanted, a place to hide away? What kind of people wanted that—hermits, criminals, spies …? I was letting my mind wander when Josh spoke so quietly I wasn't even sure I'd heard him.

“If you go again, will you take me along, Kyle?”

I looked at him. He was staring at the island with a funny look on his face, sort of like he was looking at a giant birthday cake and waiting for someone to light the candles.

“There's not much there,” I told him.

“You don't know. You prob'ly didn't see the whole island. Maybe there's something you didn't find. Maybe there's a pirate treasure hidden someplace. Or maybe a gorilla or something escaped from a zoo, and it's living there.”

“There aren't any zoos around here.” I couldn't keep from smiling as I said that. It was the sort of thing I used to think at his age. Maybe Josh and I were more alike than I'd thought.

“Gorillas can travel a long way.” His jaw was set the way
it was when he was driving for a soccer goal. I let him have the last word, and we fished on in silence. A half hour or so later, I decided he'd been patient enough, so I told him to bring his line in. “We'll pull up anchor and go down by the channel,” I said.

“Yeah, maybe all the fish are down there.” He sounded more eager than I expected. Maybe catching that one fish had awakened the fisherman in him. He'd never seemed this interested before.

We went down by the channel and had no luck there, either. But Josh didn't complain, didn't fuss to go back in. Maybe he was old enough to go with Tom and me after all.

When my stomach began to think about breakfast, I told Josh I was ready to head back in. “Can I leave my line in the lake while we row back?” he begged. “Maybe a fish will see my worm and chase it.”

“Sure,” I said with a little chuckle, “but I wouldn't count on it.”

When we got back, Josh scrambled out of the boat and grabbed the live-sack. “I'm going to take my fish up to show Mom,” he said.

“First, you're going to help put things away.” I handed him his pole and the bait can.

“But I want to fish off the end of the dock. Do we have
to put stuff away right now? Can't I fish? Just till breakfast is ready?”

I stared at him in amazement. What a change. He really had caught the fishing bug! “Sure,” I said. “If you need help, call me. Keep your life jacket on, remember.”

Up in the cottage, I was surprised to find that Mom and Vicki and Andrea had already finished breakfast. Vicki was making beds, Andrea was sweeping the floor, and Mom was finishing up the dishes. “You and Josh will have to get something in a hurry,” she said. “Someone's coming to look at the cottage in about a half hour.”

I groaned. “Why so early?” I asked.

“I've no idea,” she said with a smile. “But no matter when they planned to come, you wouldn't want them. Call Josh.”

“Okay,” I said. I hesitated. “Mom? What if I could find a way to pay the taxes? Then we wouldn't have to sell, would we?”

“Where would you get that kind of money?”

“Well, I might. Would we? Have to sell, then?”

“I don't know, Kyle. I really don't. I told you. If we sell the cottage, I can put the money away in the college funds. It wouldn't cover all the costs, of course, but it would help. And I'm just afraid that as you kids grow older it will be harder and harder to make use of the cottage. It won't be
just Vicki and Josh—you and Andrea will have activities, too, things that will make you want to spend more of the summer in Cincinnati.”

“Not me. I'll always want to come here.”

“You think so now, but …”

“I know so.”

I guess I sounded kind of belligerent, because she pressed her lips tight for a minute, then said, “Well, there's no point in talking about it. They'll be here in half an hour, and I want you and Josh out of the kitchen by then.”

When Josh came up from the pier, he had the live-sack in his hands. Mom peered in. “Wow!” she said. “That's an impressive bluegill. Wait here and I'll get the camera. We'll send a picture to your dad.”

Josh looked from her to me, then back to her. “Naw,” he said. “He doesn't need to see it.”

Mom closed her eyes and wrinkled her forehead. “I think he'd like to,” she told Josh gently.

“You can take one picture,” he conceded. “Maybe I'll give it to him someday.”

Mom glared at me like this was my fault. But I didn't have anything to do with it, I thought. Josh had a mind of his own, didn't he?

* * *

I was sorting through a box of old bobbers and stuff down on the pier when Dave Becker's car drove up. Another car came right behind, a Chevy wagon like ours, only a more expensive model, with wood paneling on the sides and back. As soon as the cars stopped, the door of the second car opened, and two kids about Josh's age or a little younger hopped out. Their little-kid voices carried clearly. “Can we go down by the lake while you look at the cottage? Can we, Mom?”

A hesitation. Then, doubtfully, “I guess it will be all right. Don't go out on the pier, though, and don't get too close to the water.”

I had to laugh. She sounded just like Mom—wanting the kids to have fun, but worrying. I watched them skip down the steps. The one in front, a boy, had curly, copper-colored hair and a face full of freckles. The girl behind him had hair so red it was almost orange, and even more freckles. They went running across the grass right to the foot of the pier. There they stopped and looked at me.

“Is this your pier?” the boy asked.

“Mmm-hmm.”

“And the cottage, is it yours, too?” The little girl was trying to stand as close to the pier as her brother did, but he was blocking her way.

“Yes, the cottage is ours, too.”

“Why do you want to sell it? If we get a cottage by a lake we'll never, ever sell it,” she said.

I thought about telling her I didn't want to sell, but I figured it wasn't any of her business, so I just shrugged.

“Is the water deep here?” the boy asked.

“Only about a foot or two here, but it's over your head at the end of the pier.”

“That's what we want,” the little girl told me. “The last cottage we looked at, the water was deep right at the shore. Mom said it would make her too nervous to live there. Maybe she'll like your cottage.”

“I hope she won't,” I said under my breath, but the little girl had sharp ears. “Why do you hope she won't?” she asked. “Don't you like us?”

I couldn't help grinning at that. “How can I not like you? I don't know you,” I said. “I just don't want anyone to buy the cottage.”

“Not even if we give you a lot of money?”

“Not even then.” They both looked so disappointed, I felt mean. “It's not up to me, though,” I said.

“Who's it up to?”

“My mom.”

They looked at each other, and then they both turned
back toward the cottage. “We'll go look at your cottage,” the little boy said.

They ran across the grass and started up the hill. Halfway to the cottage, the little girl turned around. “If we buy your cottage, you can come and stay with us sometimes,” she called.

“Thanks,” I said. I said it sarcastically, but quietly enough, I hoped, that she couldn't hear me. I knew she thought she was being nice, but this whole business brought out the worst in me. I watched them continue up the steps. If I didn't want to keep the cottage so badly, they'd be people I'd want to sell it to. They looked like the kind of family who could have fun here.

This time I didn't go up to the cottage while Mr. Becker was showing it. I wanted to, but I had promised Mom I would stay out of the way. “Actually,” she'd said, “I guess it's just as well if you don't go into town with us. Then if Dave has questions or a message for me, he'll have someone to talk to.”

So I just sat there, listening to the breeze-driven waves slap the shore, looking out at the island. Three boats were out off the western point. I wondered how they were doing. Above me the woodpecker was tapping. Down at the channel end of the lake, a crow cawed. It's not just the
cottage I'd miss, I realized. I'd miss the lake itself. I knew there were lots of other lakes; southern Michigan was rich with them. But this was the one I knew. I knew the exact place the sun came up each morning. I knew where to fish when it was clear and when it was cloudy. I knew where the water lilies grew, and I knew how to pole through the reeds in the channel. I'd been learning this lake since I was just a little boy, but there was more of it still to discover. I'd hardly ever been all the way down to the eastern end. This was the summer Dad was going to show me how to use the motor; this was the summer the two of us were going to fish Pringle's Cove, where there was supposed to be an old catfish bigger than you could believe. This was my lake.

The sound of footsteps on the pier startled me. It was Dave Becker. “Tell your mom I'll try to call this afternoon,” he said.

“Do they like it?”

“Hard to tell. The kids sure do. I'll keep you posted.”

I watched him stride back up the hill, taking the steps two at a time. For a minute, I hated him, even though I knew he was just doing his job.

After they left I went back up to the cottage and lay
down on the porch with the book I was reading. It was peaceful, so peaceful I fell asleep and didn't wake up till I heard our car door slam.

Mom came in the kitchen door. “Kyle?”

“Out here,” I called.

She came through the main room and stood in the doorway. “Well?” she asked. “Did Dave say anything?”

“He said he'd call.”

“Did he say whether they liked it?”

“He didn't say,” I said. I could have told her the kids did, but what difference does it make what kids want? I kept still, and she went back into the kitchen.

I didn't know what to do with myself that afternoon. I finished my book and played a game of Scrabble with Vicki, which was very nice of me because Vicki beats everyone at Scrabble. That was two mended fences, I thought. When the game was over, Vicki said she was going to find Andrea and Josh to go swimming. I thought about it, but I didn't feel like swimming. Besides, I was staying away from the Marshalls. I'd joined them down at their float one day, and they were just as bad as I remembered. Plus they'd each grown about ten inches, and somehow this made them think they'd gained a year or two on me as well. I wasn't
going to be treated like a little kid by anyone. So even though swimming sounded kind of like fun, I decided instead I'd go see if Tom Butler was feeling any better.