The Penderwicks at Point Mouette (10 page)

“Ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch,” she said because she just had to, Sabrina or no Sabrina.

The next task was to climb up to the road. But if it had been tricky before, it was close to impossible now. She kept getting partway up the pebbly slope and sliding backward again. Maybe Jane would have done better if she’d had the use of both hands, but she’d lost most of the paperweights in her fall and wasn’t thinking straight enough to throw away the one she had left. Once, twice, three times she tried, and was about to give up and go beg old Neptune for help when a car stopped on the road above her, and soon after that a man was lifting her up as easily as if she were Batty. He gently set her down beside his car.

“I can stand,” she said, wobbling.

“Not very well,” he said. “Sit.”

So Jane let her legs collapse under her, and the man guided her to the ground. A minute later, he was handing her a water bottle.

“Drink,” he said.

She drank half the bottle of water, which did nothing for her hurting nose but did ease the dizziness enough to let her focus on her savior. He was a dark man, tall and strong, with kind eyes and no hair at all. Not having hair suited him, Jane thought, and made him look even stronger. No wonder he could lift her so easily.

“Thank you,” she said. “You rescued me.”

“What happened?”

“I think I smacked my nose with this,” she answered, showing him the paperweight rock. “Not on purpose.”

“Do you know you’re covered with blood?”

Jane looked down at her shirt, which was indeed a mess. “Oh, boy. My sister is going to be furious, especially if my nose is actually broken. Do you think it is?”

“Can you breathe through it?”

“Yes.”

“It looks straight, so unless it used to be crooked, I’d say it isn’t broken. Come on, I’ll drive you to this furious sister of yours.” He stopped and frowned. “But of course you don’t know anything about me, so you can’t get into my car. What a world.”

Jane was glad he’d mentioned it first. “Tell me about yourself, then.”

“My name is Turron Asabere and—”

“And you’re Alec’s friend! My family is staying
next door to Alec, and we’re having dinner with you tonight.”

So Jane, safe now, let Turron help her into the car and drive her back to the house—without the groceries she’d been sent to buy, and with a face that would have looked just right on a heavyweight boxer. But for the moment she wasn’t worried about the groceries, her nose, or her bloody shirt, because it had occurred to her that if she could come up with enough questions for her Love Survey, maybe Turron and Alec wouldn’t mind being her first real test subjects.

Skye gave the kitchen counter one final polish, then stepped out into the main room and looked around. Not bad. Jeffrey and Batty had done a good job with the sweeping, and if they were now obviously messing around with that stupid harmonica on the sleeping porch, that didn’t necessarily mean Skye’s authority was being flouted. A good leader knew when to let her people relax from their duties.

“You’d better be finished with your sweeping,” she called.

Jeffrey’s voice roared back at her. “Sir, yes, sir!”

“Not funny.” But it was kind of funny, she thought, and went out onto the deck to check on Aunt Claire.

“Hello, niece of mine,” she said.

“Are you ready for another ice pack yet?”

“No, thank you.”

“Anything to drink?”

“Nope.”

“Am I too bossy with the others?”

“What?”

“Because the true measure of a leader isn’t just how she handles herself in a crisis, but how she manages herself in the day-to-day, right?”

Aunt Claire reached out and took Skye’s hand. “You’re an excellent OAP, Skye Magee Penderwick.”

“Thank you.” Skye chewed on her lower lip to keep from looking too proud. “I guess I’m doing okay.”

She wandered back into Birches, wishing her father could see her right at that moment, calmly adjusting after a disaster and even keeping everyone properly fed. Or Rosalind. If Rosalind called now, Skye would certainly pick up the phone and say that everyone was just fine and everything under control. She did a half dozen celebratory deep knee bends and decided that it was time to have some fun. Like a good round of soccer on the beach when Jane got back from Moose Market, and after that a chapter of
Death by Black Hole
, by which time they would all be hungry again.

Her musing was interrupted by a quiet knock at the front door. Alec again, she thought, though he usually came around the back. But when she opened the door, she found a big, strong-looking bald man who was certainly not Alec.

“Skye?” he asked. “I’m Turron Asabere, a friend of Alec’s.”

“Oh, the drummer. Nice to meet you.” Skye shook his hand. “But if Alec sent you to check on us, please tell him that honest-honest-honest I don’t need his help right now.”

“I’m sure you don’t. But Alec didn’t send me. I’m here to make a delivery.”

“What kind of delivery?” She noticed now that as large as Turron was, he seemed to be trying to make himself even larger. But not quite successfully, because it was becoming obvious that someone was standing right behind him. “Jane, is that you?”

“Don’t be furious, Skye.” It was Jane.

“About what?”

“Turron, you’d better let her see.”

When Turron shifted to one side of the doorway, revealing Jane in all her blood-soaked glory, Skye shrieked. Then shrieked again and clutched at her sister, searching frantically for the source of all that blood.

“It’s just my nose, honest, and I have a perfectly good explanation.” Jane held up one of her paperweight rocks and was about to launch into the explanation, but Skye’s shriek had brought Jeffrey and Batty running, and then came Aunt Claire, heaving herself along on her crutches, and there were introductions to make for Turron, and damp cloths to be fetched to wipe up Jane’s blood, and Hound to force onto the sleeping porch because he was as panicked as Skye herself at a battered Penderwick. So it wasn’t
until several minutes later that Jane started to tell her story, and by this time Skye had at least started breathing normally, until Jane came to the part about why she fell.

“Wait a minute!” Skye shouted. “All this is Dominic’s fault? Did he try to shoot you?”

“Of course not. He skateboarded past me and I wanted to wave but I slipped and I was holding this rock …” Jane sheepishly held up the rock.

“Which she hit herself in the nose with,” said Turron. “Accidentally.”

“I can’t stand it. I give up.” Skye sank onto the couch.

“And then Turron rescued you, Jane, and brought you home,” said Aunt Claire brightly. “That was nice of him.”

“Dominic Orne!” This came out of Skye as a kind of growl. She was no longer following the conversation.

Jane glanced uneasily at her OAP. “My nose isn’t broken. No special doctors.”

“That’s good,” said Jeffrey.

“Yes, that’s excellent,” said Aunt Claire. “Jeffrey, could you please show Turron out? And, Turron, thank you so much.”

“Anytime.” He waved to her and smiled, then was gone.

“All right, then. Forward.” Aunt Claire took a
closer look at Jane’s nose. “Jane, you go change out of those clothes. Then if Jeffrey could find some bandages and cotton—in the bathroom cabinet, I think—we can get you patched up.”

While Jane was being cleaned and repaired, Skye stayed slumped on the couch, brooding. She’d been so confident, the great and powerful leader doing deep knee bends, and all the while a second Penderwick was undergoing serious damage. It was quite clear that she rated about a zero as the OAP. She’d told her father so—she’d warned him. She’d warned them all, and no one had listened, and now the family was being picked off one at a time, one body part at a time. Next it would be Batty blowing up her arm, and then Hound would lose a rib, and then Jeffrey his head. Complete disaster.

Nevertheless, Skye knew she couldn’t quit. Not yet. Failing as the OAP was embarrassing, but quitting would be rank humiliation. She sat up straight, took a few deep breaths, and then sprang off the couch and back into the fray. Seconds later, she was bundling Batty into the orange life jacket. Then she was searching out Hound, to tighten his collar and hook up his leash. She went for Jeffrey and Jane next, determined to make them accident-proof, but without more life jackets—or leashes—there was nothing she could do but order them never to go anywhere alone.

“Teams of at least two at all times,” she said.

“That’s ridiculous,” protested Jeffrey.

“Promise!” But Skye was already moving on, insisting that Aunt Claire could no longer move without help.

When she actually tried to lock Aunt Claire’s crutches in a closet, a rebellion erupted, followed by a coup. The end result was that Aunt Claire got her crutches back and declared Jeffrey Temporary OAP for as long as it took Skye to get hold of herself.

It took most of the day. Skye wouldn’t have managed it even in that time if Jeffrey hadn’t worked her so hard. He made her run all the way to Moose Market for the groceries Jane didn’t get, and run back again. After that, he put her through two hours of soccer practice, the grueling kind, not at all fun. Lunch came next, at which Skye drank up all the milk while finishing the last of Churchie’s gingerbread, so after lunch, Jeffrey sent her back again to the market for more milk. When she returned, Skye told him that she was fine now and not at all nervous, but moments later he caught her once more trying to stuff Batty into the life jacket, though she was nowhere near the ocean. So off Skye was sent again, to run down to the inn and back—five times. That licked her. She was finally too worn out to fear instant catastrophe, and when it was almost time to leave for dinner at Alec’s, Jeffrey gladly handed back the reins of OAP-dom.

“I don’t like being in charge,” he said.

“Neither do I.” Skye wearily surveyed her small troop, assembling now for the walk to the red house. While Jeffrey was in great shape, glowing from all the sun and exercise, the rest of them were not at their best. Batty’s hair was in a tangle. Hound was hiding under the table, woozy from eating who knew what. Aunt Claire had been forced to slit open the leg of her best jeans to get them on over her plastic boot. And then there was Jane. Her nose was no longer stuffed with bloody wads of cotton, but its swollenness was still covered with a gigantic bandage.

“How do I look?” she asked, making herself cross-eyed by trying to see her own nose.

“Horrendous,” said Skye.

“Scary,” added Batty.

“Different,” teased Jeffrey, “than you used to look.”

“My phone is ringing,” said Aunt Claire. “It’s in my bag, if someone could get it for me.”

Everyone went for the phone, but Skye got there first, just in case the display had Rosalind’s name on it. Skye snatched it up and, yes, it was the true OAP. Skye’s newfound calm evaporated.

“It’s Rosy! No one tell her about all the accidents! Please!”

Again taking charge, Jeffrey wrested the phone away from Skye, tossed it to Aunt Claire, then dragged Skye out of the house and sat her down on the seawall.

“You’re acting nuts, you know,” he said.

“I can’t help it. All that work to keep people safe and then Jane smashes her nose because she’s waving at Dominic. It kills me.”

Jeffrey leaned in to look at her closely. “Are you crying?”

“I never cry.”

“Yes, but—”

“I’m just tired,” said Skye. “If Aunt Claire doesn’t mind, I probably shouldn’t go to Alec’s for dinner.”

“Do you want me to stay with you?”

Skye knew what it took for Jeffrey to offer that. He’d been talking all day about music after dinner with Alec and Turron—that is, whenever he hadn’t been torturing her. “Don’t be silly. I need you to make sure Batty doesn’t drown or blow up.”

“Skye, repeat after me. Nobody is going to blow up!”

She refused to say it—not after the day she’d had—until he threatened to shake her, and even then, she’d only muttered the first few words when Jane came out onto the deck to call All Clear. Skye and Jeffrey went back inside.

“Rosalind is fine and reading lots of mysteries, and Anna has a crush on a lifeguard named Serge,” said Jane.

“And they rode on a Ferris wheel,” said Batty.

“Rosalind and Anna, not Serge,” added Aunt Claire. “And though I told Rosy that my ankle
was hurt, I may have left her with the impression that it wasn’t as bad as it is. There’s no point in her worrying.”

“And I didn’t mention this.” Jane pointed at her nose. “It’s too embarrassing.”

“Good. Thank you,” said Skye.

Aunt Claire didn’t mind at all if Skye wanted to stay home, as long as Hound stayed with her, in case she had a sudden desire to protect someone from certain danger. Jeffrey offered to send Hoover back to Birches, too, so that Skye could have another potential victim to save, but she declined the offer—and could almost summon the energy to smile at the joke. And then it was time for the dinner contingent to set out for Alec’s. Jane and Jeffrey were taking up positions on either side of Aunt Claire and her crutches when Turron unexpectedly appeared at the sliding glass doors.

“Taxi service,” he said, and scooped a giggling Aunt Claire into his arms as easily as he’d lifted Jane that afternoon.

“Be careful with her,” cried Skye.

“You bet.” And he took off, with the others trailing after him.

Skye sank onto the couch and stayed there, too worn out to move, until Hound jumped up to lick her face. When she still didn’t move, he gently took her arm in his mouth and tugged.

“I’m all right,” she said, taking her arm back. “It’s
just that no matter what anyone says, I know that people wouldn’t be getting hurt if Rosalind were here. And I can’t believe I’m talking to you.”

“Woof.”

“Right.”

She was glad she’d stayed behind. When she got hungry, she could have a sandwich, and until then she’d read
Death by Black Hole
, and when it got dark enough, she could go outside with her binoculars to look at the stars. It would be a peaceful and intellectually satisfying evening, and the first time she’d had to herself since coming to Maine.