Kyle's Island (3 page)

“I'm going by myself,” she answered. “I've a couple of things to do that won't be interesting to any of you. Victoria, if you'll watch Josh very carefully while I'm gone, I'll see that you have time to sunbathe and read this afternoon. Andrea and Kyle will clean up the kitchen, then check to
make sure the fishing poles are ready to use. I won't be gone more than an hour or two.”

“An hour or two!” I said. “You can't spend an hour or two at that little store. Not even picking out bait and getting your fishing license.”

“I'm going on into Cassopolis,” Mom said. “I told you I had a couple of things to attend to.”

Mom had a lot of business details to look after when Gram died. She was an only child, so she had to close all Gram's accounts and pay her bills and things like that. Maybe she had more of that stuff to do. Still, an hour or two! I probably wouldn't get to fish before lunch, and after lunch was the worst time of day for fishing. I might as well wait until suppertime. “Cripes,” I muttered. Mom gave me the Look, but I ignored it. “Why can't—”

“Hey, Kyle, look sharp!” I raised my head when I heard Dad's old phrase, and my hand shot up to grab the half-doughnut flying toward me.

“Andrea!” Mom protested.

“I can't eat any more,” Andrea said, sort of fake-innocently.

“That's not the point and you know it.” Mom was glaring, but her lips were twitching.

“Thanks, Andy,” I said, smiling. Andrea the peacemaker, at it again.

“No problem.” She smiled back at me, and for the millionth time I thought how much I like being a twin.

When Mom came back from Cassopolis, her eyes were red and her face was kind of blotchy-looking. I'd thought she was over grieving for Gram, but I guess it takes a long time to quit missing your mother. I don't even like to think about things like that. Anyway, she looked so unhappy I didn't complain when I found out she'd forgotten to buy the bait.

“That's okay, I can walk down to Clyde's,” I told her. “Or I can just go dig some worms across the road.”

“Not until I've asked the Dieners if it's still okay for you to dig there. I suppose it is, but it won't hurt to check. Besides, Clyde will be glad to see you.”

Clyde's Bait Shop was just down the road half a mile or so. He was a nice guy, and his prices were fair, but we never bought bait after the first day. By the time it was gone, I'd have dug enough red worms and found enough night crawlers to keep us supplied. I even caught crickets sometimes and put them in Gram's old cricket cage, but I didn't like using them. I wouldn't tell everyone, but I have kind of a soft spot for crickets. It seems a shame to drown that pretty song.

The road to Clyde's is the one that runs along the backs of the cottages, the same one you come in on. It goes all
around the lake, I think, but we'd never driven down the other way. Once you got to the lake, the last thing you wanted to do was get into a car and leave, even for a little while.

Walking along the road, kicking at stones and watching the dust cloud around my sneakers, I let my ears fill with peacefulness. The birds were quieter than they'd been earlier, and there was no breeze. Now and then you'd hear a screen door slam, and sometimes you could hear voices from down at the water's edge, but mostly it was so quiet I felt as if I were the only one around.

When I got to Clyde's and stepped inside, it took my eyes a few seconds to adjust to the dimness of the shop. There were only two people there—Clyde, and Tom Butler. The shop wasn't much, just one room, with an old cash register on a countertop, some shelves, a couple stools, and two refrigerators. One refrigerator was for bait, and one was for beer and soft drinks. For such a little place, it was amazing how Clyde's shelves always seemed to hold what you needed, from candles and fuses to playing cards and dish towels.

“Afternoon,” said Clyde when I came in. “Kyle Chester, isn't it?”

“Yes, sir,” I said. “Afternoon. Afternoon, Mr. Butler.”

“Sorry about your grandmother, Kyle,” Clyde told me. “We all miss Hazel Cook. I thought she was one of those who'd go on forever. Well, you never can tell.”

“Thank you.” That seemed a funny answer when someone said they missed your gram, but I couldn't think what else to say.

“You here for the summer?”

“I hope so. Mom won't say for sure how long we're staying. The longer the better for me.”

“What's your dad say?”

“Dad's not with us. I'd like a pint of red worms,” I added in a hurry, hoping to avoid any more questions about Dad.

Clyde seemed to take the hint—at least he moved over to the refrigerator and took out an old dirt-filled cottage cheese carton. He came back and plopped it on the countertop. “Lucky you came early,” he told me. “I'm having trouble keeping up with the demand these days. You dig your own worms most of the time, don't you?”

“Yeah, back behind the cottage the soil's full of them.”

“Well, if you want to make some spending money, I'll be glad to buy some off you. Whatever you can provide. Boy who used to supply me is off to college this year, and his younger brother's as lazy as an old sow.”

“That'd be great,” I said. “I could use a little money.”

Tom Butler spoke up then. “Tell your momma I said hello, will you?” It must have been the first time in my life I ever heard Tom Butler speak. He was known for his silence, and if I'd ever heard his voice before, I sure would have remembered it. It was an announcer's voice, deep and kind of husky.

It was hard not to stare at him. He was the fattest man I'd ever seen. Not just fat, enormous. The pouches of fat under his jaws made whatever neck he had disappear. His stomach bulged out over his thighs. Even his hands were fat—his wedding ring cut into his finger like a rubber band wound around once too often. It was kind of disgusting. It wasn't a Santa Claus kind of fat; there was too much of him for that. But his eyes were Santa Claus eyes. Blue, and crinkly around the edges.

“Yes, sir, Mr. Butler, I'll tell her,” I said.

I paid for my red worms and started to go, but then Clyde opened the door to the second refrigerator. “Here, have one on me,” he said, handing me a bottle of root beer. “In honor of our new partnership.”

“Thanks,” I said. I started back to the cottage all light-footed and excited. I wondered how much I could earn selling red worms. Anything would help, I thought. Mom
didn't talk a lot about money, but I had noticed the worry on her face whenever she went through the mail, pulling out the bills. I suppose by the time she paid the mortgage and bought food and stuff, there wasn't much of her paycheck left. It wasn't as if we'd had a lot extra even when Dad was with us. Schoolteachers, which is what Mom and Dad are, don't earn very much money. What made him think it was fair to have an apartment all to himself? I'll bet his rent cost him more than Josh's soccer camp would have.

There I went—Dad again. Think of something else, I scolded myself. I began planning the afternoon. As soon as I got back, I'd change into my swim trunks and start coaching Josh a little.

I was almost at the cottage when I noticed it. A sign, stuck in the dirt of our parking space. What was a sign doing there? I drew closer, close enough to read the writing. “For Sale,” it said. “Dave Becker Realty.” And it had a telephone number and a Cassopolis address below that.

Somebody had made a mistake. I'd better tell Mom. She'd want it moved right away. I ran into the cottage and set my bait carton on the kitchen table. Where was she? I found her on the porch in the old wicker rocker. “Mom?” I asked.

She turned her face to me. “Back already?” She smiled,
but there was something wrong with her smile. I didn't take time to try figuring it out.

“Mom, some dope's put a For Sale sign by our cottage. It's out in back. You better tell the real estate people to move it—their telephone number's on the sign.”

“A sign?” she said. “Dave's already put up a sign? Damn.” I saw the pity in her face then, and I knew. I knew before she said another word. “I'm sorry, Kyle. I was sitting here trying to think how to tell you. I didn't know Dave had put a sign up. You shouldn't have found out this way.”

SO IT WAS TRUE. I STARED
at her, and she stared back. I went through the doorway, sat down on the footstool in front of her. “You're selling the cottage?” I could hear my voice getting louder. “Gram's cottage? Our cottage? The first year it's all ours and you're selling it?”

“I am.” Mom's voice trembled, but I'd heard that tone before. There was steel in it.

“Why?” I didn't think I was shouting, but maybe I was, because Mom flinched.

“We can't afford to keep it, Kyle. The taxes alone are eight hundred dollars a year. And there's upkeep. When Mom was up here, she could keep an eye on things, hire someone to put the pier in and out, lime the outhouse, cut down weeds. … You can't manage a property when you're two hundred miles away.” I didn't want to listen. I tried to
answer, but she didn't give me a chance to say anything. She just plowed ahead. “Besides,” she said, “The money we'll get from the sale can go into the college fund. That's always been a worry, how we could afford to send all of you, and now that your dad—” she broke off, swallowed, began again. “Vicki's already a sophomore, and when you and Andrea go, too …”

“Forget about college—I'm not going.”

That stopped her. “Not going to college? Oh, Kyle, of course you are. These days …”

“Not if we have to sell the cottage to get the money, I'm not. And I'll bet Vicki and Andrea won't go either. Where are they? Do they know?”

“I told them just before you got back. Do you know what Andrea said? ‘Poor Kyle.' She knew, we all knew how hard this would be for you. And I was planning how—darn Dave!”

“What did Vicki say, and Josh?” I asked bitterly. “I'll bet they're glad. They didn't want to come anyway.”

“They aren't glad.” Mom pulled a cigarette out of the pack beside her on the table. “They're sorry, too. We're all sorry, Kyle.”

“Sorry doesn't help. Why don't you do something?” I
stood up so fast my elbow knocked against the big flashlight we kept on the table for trips down the hill at night. It banged to the floor, but I didn't bother to pick it up.

“There's nothing I can do.” Mom said that so quietly I could hardly hear, and for some reason that made me angrier than ever.

“There's gotta be something! You give up too easy.” I was shouting again.

“Kyle, if you'll just look at this reasonably—”

“The hell with reason!” My voice bounced off the cottage walls. “First you can't hold on to Dad, and now you want to take the cottage away from us. This stinks!”

Mom didn't answer. Her hand flew up to her cheek, like I'd hit her. For a moment I was sorry, then I wasn't sorry at all. She wouldn't fight for anything, not the cottage, not Dad. She'd just let Dad leave, let him have everything his way. I'd heard her tell him he could come back whenever he wanted. She'd be waiting, she said. But maybe he'd never want to, maybe he'd want a divorce instead. Had she thought of that?

I had to get out of there. I was a time bomb ready to explode. She had no idea. I wanted to throw something, hit something or someone, run until I dropped. I moved back from her, stumbling a little. My foot bumped against the
flashlight, and I kicked it, hard. It spun crazily across the room, hit the opposite wall. I had my hand on the door when Mom's voice stopped me. “I couldn't help what happened with your father, Kyle. And I can't help this. Regardless of what you think.”

I went out then. I let the screen door bang behind me.

* * *

Down by the lake I saw Vicki, Andrea, and Josh just sitting on the pier, dangling their legs over the side. Andrea's head turned when the door banged. She waved for me to come down, then said something to Vicki. Vicki moved over and patted the place where she'd been sitting, like she was coaxing some little kid. Well, I was coming, wasn't I?

“Are you okay?” Andrea asked as soon as I came near.

It took me a minute to get calm enough to answer. “Mad, that's all,” I muttered.

“We heard you yell,” Josh said. “Kids aren't supposed to yell at grown-ups.”

Just what I needed: a lecture from my little brother. I took a deep breath, all set to blast him, but then I saw the way he was looking at me. He looked so sad—pathetic, really. I shut my mouth. Josh sat there between the girls, soccer ball beside him like always, fooling with a clamshell. He didn't look at me again.

“I'm sorry about the yelling,” I said. “Don't worry—things will work out somehow. We're staying right here in the cottage, the way we planned. If anyone wants to buy it, they'll have to buy us, too.”

“Can they do that?” He sounded really alarmed.

I laughed. We all laughed. After a minute, Josh did, too. It was like laughing was something we needed right then. Josh handed me the clamshell. “I'm going to start a collection of lake treasures right away, so I'll always have them,” he said. “This shell is my first. Do you want me to find one for you, too? There are lots.”

I held the shell so tight its sharp edge dug into my palm. I felt like throwing the dumb thing into the water. I didn't want a treasure collection. I wanted the cottage. But when I looked at Josh's face, I could tell he really wanted to make me feel better. “That's a great idea,” I told him. He can be a good kid sometimes.

He jumped down into the water and started wading around, bending over every so often to run his hands along the mucky bottom. I sat down in his place, and Vicki scooted over to make a little more room for me. “I'm sorry, Kyle,” she said. For once, she didn't have a book open. She'd taken off her glasses, too. Without them she looked a little like Mom. “I really am,” she went on. “We all know
how much you like it here.” Andrea had been quiet, just looking at me. Now she said, “You don't look as bad as I thought you would. More mad than sad.”