Kyle's Island (7 page)

I went home happy, knowing I was five dollars richer. He'd said he would pay me by the week, and that was okay with me. I carried my pole and my bait can and my raincoat, and I just kind of jogged along, I felt so good. I had no way of knowing what had happened at the cottage while I was gone.

NO ONE WAS INSIDE WHEN
I got back. The breakfast dishes had been done and were drying in the dish rack. I went through the main room to the porch and looked down toward the lake. Vicki was sitting in the shade, reading (big surprise), and Andrea's head was bent over her sketchbook. Josh was climbing around on the hill, probably looking for another toad, but I didn't see Mom at all.

I decided to get something to eat, then go down and see if Josh wanted me to take him out for a boat ride. I might even let him try to row a little. I planned to make another trip to the island this afternoon. I'd wear swim trunks, anchor the boat up close, and wade around it as far as I could. I knew that on our side of the island the bottom was stony and the water was shallow, but I wasn't sure about the far side. Whistling a little tune (I've got a pretty good whistle, and I like to keep in practice), I got out the bread
and the peanut butter jar. Peanut butter toast is one of my all-time favorite snacks. I made two pieces, and after I ate the first, I decided I'd probably want more. I'd just stuck two new slices under the broiler when Mom came in the kitchen door.

“Where were you? I didn't see you down by the lake,” I said.

“I was over at the Morleys', taking a telephone call.”

“Oh,” I said, chewing. “Who called?”

“Don't talk with your mouth full, Kyle. It was Dave Becker.”

“The Realtor? He's not going to bring someone else to see the cottage, is he?”

“No, he doesn't have anyone else who wants to see it.” She had her back to me when she said that, getting a cup out of the cupboard.

“That's good.” I pulled the broiler drawer wider and flipped the toast. When I looked again, Mom was still facing the cupboard, the cup in her hand.

I had a funny feeling. Had her voice sounded strange? “Mom? If he didn't have anyone who wants to come see the cottage, why'd he call?”

“The Thompsons have made an offer on the cottage, Kyle. They want to buy it.”

“Wha—No!” I sputtered. “They wouldn't! They didn't like it at all. I heard them say so.”

“They don't like it,” she said. “They want to buy it for the lot. Then they'll tear it down and build something else.”

“Tear it down? No!” My stomach felt as if I were going to be sick. “They can't do that, can they?”

“If they buy it and have the money, they can.”

“But you won't let them, will you, Mom? That would be awful.”

“I don't know, Kyle. I'll have to think. Dave Becker says he doubts we'll get anyone else willing to pay the asking price. People expect cottages to be a little more up-to-date these days.”

“You can't think about it, Mom. Just tell them no. I'll never forgive you if you let them do it, never! It would be bad enough if someone bought it to live in, but to tear it down … Besides—”

“Besides what? Get your toast, honey—it's burning.”

I pulled out blackened slices of bread that scorched my fingertips before I could drop them on the plate. After I'd turned off the broiler, I finished my thought. “Besides, maybe we won't have to sell. Maybe something will happen.”

Out on the lake this morning, I'd come up with a plan. I was pretty sure that between Tom Butler and my worm
sales, I could raise two hundred dollars this summer. And once we got back home, Vicki and Andrea could probably earn something too—babysitting, or whatever. I was counting on them for one hundred each. That would take care of the fall bill. We'd deal with spring later. I wanted to tell Mom now, but I hadn't talked to Vicki or Andrea yet. What if they couldn't save that much? What if they didn't want to? I should have talked to them before. I had kind of relaxed when I found out the Thompsons didn't like the cottage, and no one else had come around looking.

Now I felt myself getting desperate. “Please, Mom? Say you won't let them tear it down.”

I gave her my most pleading look, but she looked away. “I have to think, Kyle,” she repeated stubbornly.

I can be stubborn, too. “Remember what I said about not forgiving you. Think about that. Think hard,” I said. “I'm going down to the lake.”

Ordinarily I wouldn't talk to Mom like that. Ordinarily she wouldn't let me. But she was upset, and she must have known I was, too, because she just pressed her lips tight and let me go.

Down at the lake, things went wrong at first. Andrea hadn't heard me coming, but when my shadow fell over her sketchbook, she looked up and slammed the book shut.

“You shouldn't sneak up on people like that!” she said.

“I wasn't sneaking up. You were just wrapped up in what you were drawing. What was it anyway?”

“Nothing,” she said, pushing her hair away from her face.

What was bugging her? I never looked in her sketchbook unless she wanted me to. She sat hugging it to her chest like she thought I'd take it out of her arms. “Well, then, be like that,” I said. “Who wants to see your old drawings anyway? We have more important things to think about.”

She didn't answer, just sat there glaring at me.

“Vicki?” I said. “Hey, Vicki, put your book down and listen to me.”

“Can't a person have a little time to herself around here? I want to finish this before lunch.”

“Finish later,” I told her. “This is important.”

“Oh, all right. What's up? How was the fishing?”

“The fishing was fine, but everything else is lousy. Mom got an offer on the cottage.”

“She did? From the people who came yesterday?” Now Andrea looked concerned. “Is she going to take it?”

“I don't know.”

“But you said they didn't like the cottage.”

“They don't. They want to tear it down and build a new one on the lot.”

They stared at me. Andrea's face got so pale her freckles looked like wet sand sprinkled over her cheeks and nose. “Tear it down?” she whispered.

Vicki closed her book without bothering to mark her place. “We need a way to stop them. There's got to be something we can do,” she fumed.

“There is,” I said eagerly. “I've been thinking.”

“I knew you'd have an idea!” Andrea exclaimed.

As I outlined my plan, I could tell they weren't exactly enthusiastic. I tried to be persuasive. I talked about the good times we'd always had here. I pointed out that Josh was just getting to the age when he could really enjoy it. Andrea twirled a lock of hair around her finger, the way she does when she's thinking. Vicki looked out at the lake without any expression at all. I almost wondered if she was even listening to me.

“A hundred dollars is a lot of money,” Andrea said finally. “How soon would I have to have it?”

Good old Andrea. I knew I could count on her. “Sometime in the fall,” I said. “Could you get it by then?”

“I don't know,” she said doubtfully. “I can't earn much babysitting after school, and even if I persuade Mom to let me sit in the evenings, too, Vicki will get most of the jobs. But I do have some money in my savings account.”

“That's for college!” Vicki told her. “Mom would never let you spend that!”

“Well, if you don't think we can do it …” I heard my voice trail off. I was getting depressed. What had made me think we could raise four hundred dollars?

“Wait a minute, Kyle,” Vicki said. “If Andrea can't save a whole hundred, maybe I could save the rest of her share as well as mine.”

“Would you really, Vick? I was afraid … I mean, I know you didn't want to come this summer.”

“That's different from not being able to come when I do want to. Maybe next year I'll really want to come back.”

“Brad and Jeff Marshall just arrived,” Andrea told me with a wink. The Marshalls lived a few cottages down. “Their braces are off, and they both grew a foot over the winter.”

“That has nothing to do with it!” said Vicki hotly. “I just think the cottage should stay in the family, that's all.”

We were all quiet for a moment. I turned around and looked up at the hill. Josh was squatted halfway up, poking in the dirt with a stick. Mom had come out on the front step and was smoking a cigarette. Her head was bent, and she looked discouraged.

I thought of Dad and felt a flash of fury. This was all his fault. He should be here with us, taking care of things.
That's what fathers were supposed to do. They weren't supposed to get all upset and go off by themselves to “think.” So he turned forty. So another publisher turned down his novel. So what?

I'd written him a letter as soon as I knew the address of his crummy apartment. I told him instead of writing novels no one wanted, he should write down the Isabel and Ike stories he'd been telling us for years. Those stories were so funny—I loved Ike—I bet any publisher would buy them. And I told him forty wasn't so old—one of my friends even had a mother who was fifty! But you know what? He never even wrote me back—he just told Mom to tell me he appreciated my thoughts. That's when I quit talking to him.

Mom had tried to explain that Dad's life hadn't gone the way they'd planned it when they first started out. He'd always wanted to be a writer, and for a couple years he had stayed home writing while Mom taught. But nothing he wrote seemed to sell, and then Vicki came along, and then the rest of us, and he'd had to start teaching, too. He still tried to find time to write, she said, but it wasn't easy with a family. He always had papers to grade, and the house and yard needed attention. Not to mention us, I thought. Well, if he didn't have time for us, he shouldn't have had us.

Dang! I was doing it again. There was no point in
thinking about Dad, I reminded myself. Dad was history. We'd manage without him. He could sit in his apartment and write all the books he wanted to. I'd never read them.

Vicki got to her feet. “Come on, Andrea. You and I need to talk to Mom. If we tell her Kyle's not the only one who doesn't want to sell to the Thompsons, she'll have to listen.”

“How about the taxes?” Andrea asked. “Are we going to tell her we'll pay them?”

“I don't think so,” Vicki decided. “Not until we're sure we can earn enough money. Besides, after we pay them in the fall, we'll have to pay them again in the spring, and you won't be fishing with Mr. Butler in the winter, Kyle.”

“I'll do something else,” I said quickly. “I can earn another two hundred, I know I can.”

“Maybe so, but in the meantime, we have to talk Mom out of selling to the Thompsons.” That was so like Vicki—most of the time she was off in her own world, and then she'd come charging into yours with her I'm-your-big-sister, let-me-tell-you-what-to-do attitude. This time I didn't mind, though. We needed all the help we could get.

I TAGGED ALONG WHEN VICKI
and Andrea went up to talk to Mom, but they had even less luck than I'd had. They'd hardly begun to talk when Mom got up from her chair and put her hands on her hips. “I told Kyle, and now I'm telling you. I have to think. I know you don't want the cottage torn down. I don't either. But I have the responsibility of keeping this family afloat financially. You've let me know how you feel—now leave me alone for a while.”

There are times when you can argue with Mom, and there are times you can't. This was one of the second kind. Andrea bit her lip, Vicki shrugged, and I headed for the door and held it open for them. There was no point in talking anymore, so Vicki went back to her book, and Andrea said she thought she'd go hunt wildflowers to replace the wilted ones in the kitchen. I just sat down on the porch step.

When Josh saw me there, he scrambled up the hill and sat beside me. “Want to kick the soccer ball?” he asked. “Like yesterday?”

What I wanted to do was sulk in silence, but Josh looked so hopeful I hated to spoil his day as well as my own. “Let's get the boat and give you a rowing lesson instead,” I answered.

Instantly he was speeding down the steps. “Wait a minute,” I called. “Why don't you put on your trunks? Maybe we can do a little swimming, too.”

He stopped in his tracks, turned, and sped up the steps. You sure could tell he wanted to go. After we'd changed, I called into the kitchen, “Hey, Mom, I'm taking Josh rowing.”

“Wear your life jackets!” she called back.

When I got to the bottom of the hill, Josh was already in the boat, sitting smack in the middle of the center seat. I lifted an eyebrow. (I'd practiced a long time to learn how to do that.) “You already know what to do?” I asked.

“Well, sort of.”

“Go ahead, then.” I climbed in and sat down in the stern.

Josh put a hand on an oar. “You have to untie us first,” I reminded him.

“Oh, yeah.” Josh blushes easy. He used the rope to pull us over to the pier, undid the knot, and pushed us away.
Then he pulled an oar out of the oarlock and started poling. The oar was big for him, and he stuck out his tongue in concentration, but he shoved us into open water pretty well. Then he sat back down and started to row.

It was obvious pretty quickly that Josh's right arm was stronger than his left. The boat was beginning to circle, so I showed him how you find a point and fix on it. That's the only hard part of rowing, keeping the boat going straight. Well, I guess if you're seven, rowing itself is hard. I'd forgotten. I'll say this for Josh, he's not a quitter. I let him follow the shoreline for fifteen minutes or so, then we switched. “Will you row us over to the island? Please?” Josh begged.