Kyle's Island (15 page)

Josh had been trying to interrupt, but now he clamped his mouth shut. He stared at me, his eyes big. Then he
turned and went up the steps, his head hanging, his footsteps slow. I waited till I saw him at the cottage door. He stood there for a minute, watching Mr. Barach squat on the walk and hug Zach tightly. I was almost to the top when Josh saw me coming. He turned away and went inside. I hung around while Mom got a beach towel to wrap Zach in and saw both Barachs off. I told her I was going down to get Tom's radio. I'd talk to Josh when I got back. Let him stew until then.

* * *

No one was in the cottage when I got back an hour or so later with Tom's radio under my arm. I was grabbing a snack when Mom came through the kitchen door. She caught me just taking the milk bottle away from my lips, but she didn't even notice.

Her face was shining again. Dad had called, I guessed. Sure enough—“I just talked to your father, Kyle. He's had the best news!”

“He's found a new hole to hide in?” I asked sarcastically.

She ignored me. “He's sold a book, Kyle! Isn't that great? He says it's something completely different for him. And he wanted to be sure I told you the title.”

“Confessions of a Missing Father?”
The sarcasm was automatic—I couldn't help it.

“Don't get smart. It's called
Isabel and Ike Go Fishing
. And he said, ‘Tell Kyle I said thanks for the advice.' You gave him advice, Kyle?”

Huh. I guess he did read my letter. “I might have said something back when I cared what he did,” I told her.

Mom broke into my thoughts. “Where's Josh, Kyle? I was looking for him when I got the telephone call. Was he with you?”

“Nope. I thought he was in here. Maybe he's with Andrea and Vicki, wherever they are.”

“Playing Monopoly down at Marshalls'. He's not with them, I checked,” Mom said. “And I called over and over, and I rang Mom's bell twice. Then I decided he must have gone down to Clyde's with you.”

“Nope. Where did you look?”

“Everywhere I could think of—down by the lake first, of course. Wherever he is, he isn't hungry, because half a loaf of bread is gone, not to mention most of the peanut butter. I found the open jar with the knife still in it on the table when I came back from chatting with the new people up on the hill.”

She sounded more worried than angry, so I patted her on the back. “I'll find him,” I promised.

Mom said she'd looked down by the lake, so I went out
the back door. I was walking around the wagon when I noticed the inside light was on. Someone hadn't shut the door tight. I went over to check and found the glove compartment open. Josh, for sure—he never closes a drawer or a door. But what had he wanted in there?

I looked up and down the road, but I saw no sign of him. Crud! I'd wanted to leave by three. Now we'd have a late start. Why wasn't he here? Earlier, he'd been “chomping at the bit,” as Gram used to say. And then I remembered. Josh wouldn't be in a hurry now, because he thought he wasn't going along. So what would he do instead? An idea struck me. “Mom,” I called through the door, “is Josh's money in his box?” Josh's “treasure box” was where he stashed his lake souvenirs. It was also where he hoarded his cricket money.

In a minute she called back, “It's all gone, Kyle.”

“He must have gone down to Clyde's,” I called, and I think my relief sounded in my voice. I don't know what I'd been afraid of, but I was glad to think of a logical explanation for Josh's absence. Of course, he should have told Mom that's what he was going to do, but I don't think anyone had explicitly said he couldn't leave the cottage area without permission. And if no one had, Josh would be sure to point that out. He always obeyed the letter of the law. We all thought he'd be a lawyer when he grew up—a defense
lawyer. I opened the back screen door and stuck my head inside. “I'll go check,” I said.

I started down the road. I was getting mad now. Just as I got to Tom's, he came out of his door, car keys in hand. “Going into Cass,” he said. “Thought you and Josh would be off by now.”

“I gotta find Josh first. I think he may have gone to Clyde's for some dumb reason. He didn't tell Mom he was leaving, and she's all worried. He's probably on the way home now.”

“Hop in,” Tom said. I did.

As we drove along, I kept looking for Josh. Tom was looking, too. It was nice of him to give me a ride. He didn't say anything, but whenever I looked over at him I felt kind of—I guess comforted is the best word. Strange. But we didn't see Josh, and at the bait shop Tom went in with me.

“Seen Dorrie Chester's younger boy today, Clyde?” Tom asked.

“Sure,” Clyde answered, lowering his newspaper. “He was in a while ago, hauling a backpack that looked to weigh almost more'n he does. Bought a flashlight and batteries. I put it together for him, made sure it worked. I asked was you all going camping, and he allowed as you were. He ain't back yet? Should be.”

Tom and I stared at each other. “He must have gone the other way,” Tom said. “Why in thunder?”

I was beginning to guess. That open glove compartment … “Did he have a map with him?” I asked Clyde.

“Sure did, Michigan, Indiana, Ohio. He wanted me to show him where the lake is, and Cass, and—” but Tom had wheeled around as fast as a man his size could wheel, and we left Clyde in mid-sentence, staring after us.

“Josh get into a row with your mother?” Tom asked as we drove along toward the turnoff to Cassopolis.

“I don't think it was Mom,” I said. “I think it was me.”

“I ran away once when I was his age. Got as far as the next block. Saw some kids I knew, put down my suitcase, and joined a game of King of the Mountain. Forgot all about running away.”

“I don't think Josh is running away,” I said slowly. “I think he's running to.”

In my mind's eye I could see him leaping up on Dad the way he always did. I saw him wrap himself around Dad's middle, rub his face against Dad's beard. That's where he was going—to Dad.

We found him a mile or so farther on, trudging along. When he heard the car motor, he glanced over his shoulder, and for a minute, I thought he was going to run off
into the trees and I'd have to chase him. But he didn't.

Tom drew up alongside. Josh opened the door and climbed in back. When he was settled, Tom turned around and asked him, “Which way?”

“Back to the cottage, I guess,” Josh said, looking at Tom, looking out the window, looking anywhere but at me. “Is my mom mad?” he asked Tom.

Tom let me answer. “Not now. Now she's just worried. But she will be, after she sees you're back safe and sound.”

No one said anything for a while. As we hit the stretch between Clyde's and the cottage, though, Josh said, “Cincinnati's a lot farther than I thought.”

Tom offered to drive us all the way, but when we got to his house, I told him we'd walk from there. “You sure?” he asked.

“I'm sure,” I said. “And Tom—thanks a lot.”

He just grunted, but he kind of clapped me on the shoulder. I put the backpack on my own back. Clyde was right—it was super heavy. “See you,” I told him.

“What were you going to do when you got to Cincinnati?” I asked Josh as we walked along.

“Call Dad.”

“I thought so.” He looked awfully little walking beside me. He looked—I searched my mind for the word I
wanted—he looked defeated. Not cocky anymore, not like himself. I couldn't take it. “Josh? You still want to spend the night on the island with me?”

I've heard about faces lighting up. This was the first time I'd ever seen it. “Can I?”

“If Mom's not too mad to let you.”

He perked right up. He didn't start talking, but he straightened his shoulders and walked a little faster. I felt a surge of self-satisfaction. Being a good big brother was just a matter of knowing when to be firm and when to be soft, I thought. I was congratulating myself when Josh looked up at me.

“Kyle?”

“Yeah?”

“The ball that went in the water? I didn't kick it, Kyle. Zach did. He tried to kick it to me, and it went sideways.”

“Zach kicked it? Why didn't you say?”

“I tried. You wouldn't let me talk.”

His voice was matter-of-fact. He wasn't reproaching me, wasn't feeling sorry for himself, just telling it like he saw it. “I'm going to put the rest of my money back before we go. I'll wait in the cottage.” He ran ahead, and his smart-ass brother, who thought he knew everything, followed along.

* * *

It wasn't easy to get Mom to say yes. First she grabbed Josh and hugged him, then it was all, “Where were you?” “What were you thinking?” “Haven't I told you …?” “Didn't you realize …?” But even when Mom is shooting questions at you, she's watching and listening and trying to understand. So in the end she gave in.

It was almost six before we left. Vicki and Andrea and Mom stood on the pier and waved as we rowed away. They stood there for a long time. I took my hand off the oar long enough to wave back. Josh didn't turn around to wave. He was looking toward the island. He looked tired. And peaceful. And happy.

IT'S HARD TO ADMIT, BUT
if Josh hadn't come along, I might not have stuck it out that night. I'd thought it was dark up at the cottage at night, but in the cabin, surrounded by trees, I began to get an idea of what it must be like to be blind. And one thing's for sure—noises are a lot louder, a lot scarier, when you can't see what's causing them.

It had been fun taking Josh to the cabin. With him to help, we managed to carry all our stuff in only one trip. He followed me through the bushes, and at one point he said, “We aren't lost, are we, Kyle?” I didn't let him see me smile—the island wasn't that big. But maybe it was to a seven-year-old.

When I could see the cabin ahead I called back, “There it is—through the trees—see it?” Josh was so excited at that point he pushed past me. “Let me go first now, okay?” and he plowed ahead without waiting for an answer.

I watched him go. Weighed down by our backpack, his shoulders looked narrow and kind of stooped, but he hadn't once complained about the weight. I was carrying my sleeping bag, Tom's radio, and a laundry bag I'd stuffed with everything that hadn't fit in the backpack. I'd be glad to drop my load, too.

“Cool!” Josh said when we got to the clearing and he had his first whole view.

“Wait till you see inside.”

“Maybe we can stay all week!”

I'd thought something like that myself. “Another time, maybe,” I answered.

We crossed the clearing, and I unhooked the door. “It's kind of dark in here,” Josh said when he stepped in.

“There's only one window. But if we leave the door open, it helps.”

“Just leave it open? What if a bear walked in?”

“There aren't any bears.”

But Josh was still Josh. “There could be,” he said. “They could have been hiding before.” I never could argue with Josh's “could's,” so I let it go.

“You hungry yet?” I asked. That was a dumb question: if he'd nodded any harder, his head would've fallen off. “We'll see what Mom sent,” I told him. Tom had told me
to eat any of the food I wanted from the cans, but Mom was worried it might not still be good, so she and Andrea had packed us salami sandwiches. There was a bag of cookies, too. Vicki had made them that morning, and they were a little burned. Mom told her not to feel bad, that the oven wasn't very dependable. Of course, if Vick hadn't been reading, she might have noticed the burning smell, but it was like Mom not to point that out. Mom had put in carrots and celery sticks, too, but she should have known that was a waste of effort. “Maybe we should each eat one, so she won't feel bad,” I said, handing Josh a carrot. (Carrots aren't so bad, but celery isn't worth the chewing.)

“Or we could feed them to the fishes on the way home,” he suggested with that big smile that shows where his teeth are missing. I laughed and put them back in the lunch bag.

After dinner we had a couple of hours to get things set the way we wanted them and explore the woods around the cabin. But when it started getting dark, we were both glad to go inside and light the candles. I would have loved to build a little campfire and toast marshmallows, but I had promised Mom no fires.

We listened to Tom's radio for a while, and Josh brought out a deck of cards he'd stuck in his jeans pocket. “Good idea,” I told him when he showed me, and he beamed.

“You want to play Go Fish?” he asked.

“How about if I teach you poker instead?” Dad had taught me how to play poker when I was about Josh's age, and once in a while he and Mom and us older kids had sat up playing until almost eleven. We would use the red, white, and blue chips Dad'd had since college. He never would bet for money, though. I used to try to get him to bet money on something, anything. I'd set up a situation where he couldn't lose and offer him tremendous odds, but he wouldn't even bet a quarter. “Bad habit to get into,” he'd say.

I'd answered, “But it's just for fun. Just this once.”

And he'd look at me all serious and answer, “Lots of people have been talked into things they regret by someone who said ‘Just this once' to them, Kyle.” And he wouldn't budge.

So now I only taught Josh the playing part—I figured I could teach him the betting part later. We didn't have any chips anyway. He caught on pretty well, and we played until he started to yawn. I was tired, too, I realized, and I caught myself yawning along with him. I gave him the cot and the blanket and spread my sleeping bag on the floor. Then I went over and barred the door. “Can we turn the radio off now?” Josh asked. That wasn't what I'd planned, but there wasn't anything good on, so I said, “Sure,” and clicked it off.