The Penderwicks at Point Mouette (19 page)

“I’m sorry about earlier,” said Jane, “and about the last few days. I can’t believe you didn’t get furious when I said that about someday you’d fall in love and understand.”

“I did get furious.”

“Well, I’m all better now. No more crying, at least over Dominic. Maybe not ever again over a boy. I could be cured.”

“Good,” said Skye, then laughed.

“I
could
be.” Jane didn’t seem to believe it either. “Oh, Skye, he kissed me yesterday. I didn’t want to tell you, but he did, and then I wrote that ‘Ode to a Kiss’ and he gave it back to me, and guess what he wrote on it, the scum. He wrote:
It didn’t mean anything
. My first kiss didn’t mean anything to the person I kissed! A major life marker ruined!”

“But it wasn’t your first kiss. Didn’t you kiss Deane Balogh in second grade?” Skye counted off on her fingers. “And then Walter Li in fourth grade. And who was that kid who followed you around last year—Artie somebody?”

“They don’t count. I was young then.”

“You’re young now.”

“I don’t feel young.” Jane sighed. “Do you ever think about kissing?”

“No.”

“And you haven’t, right? I mean, except for Ron Hagey.”

Skye let herself dwell on memories of Ron Hagey. It had been his sixth birthday party, and out of all the girls he’d picked her as the one to kiss. She still didn’t know why. “I kissed Pearson last December. I told you that.”

“You did not tell me!”

“I thought I did. It was that time I gave him a bloody nose, even better than the one you gave yourself last week.”

“Did you kiss him before or after the bloody nose?”

“Before. He promised he’d finally stop asking me out if I kissed him just once. So I kissed him, then punched him. He didn’t seem to mind.”

“I wish I had your clarity of vision,” said Jane. “I just hope I’m not doomed to a life of falling for the wrong boys, drifting, alone, never settled. Though
probably I shouldn’t get married anyway. A writer has to be able to concentrate on her work without distractions. What about you—do you think you’ll get married?”

Skye frowned. “Why is everybody talking about marriage? First Jeffrey, now you.”

“Who is Jeffrey talking about marrying? You, right? Do you want to marry him?”

“I don’t know! I’m only
twelve
!”

“Calm down. You’re going to have a heart attack or something. Should I try to hypnotize you again?”

“Don’t you dare.” Skye held up a pillow for protection.

“You know, maybe Jeffrey talks about marrying you because we’re his family now and he’s afraid of losing us. Because his actual family is an awful mother and a stepfather who hates him and a real father who’s either dead or never bothered to meet him, and who knows which is worse?”

“Maybe,” said Skye.

“What do you mean
maybe
? I know of what I speak. After all, I’m a writer, and thus understand human emotions.”

“Unless they’re yours.”

“Touché.”
Jane stuck out her tongue at her sister. “Besides, Batty wants to marry Jeffrey, which could solve your problem. Say
touché
back.”

“
Touché
back.”

Wearily peaceful after the day’s traumas, the sisters rested quietly, enjoying the night breeze coming through the windows. Once, faintly, a hint of music blew in with it—a blend of saxophone and piano wafting across the beach from next door. Skye tried to picture the scene over there, with the two of them playing, but she got stuck at Alec, all shaven now. She was one of those who thought he looked like someone else without his beard, and it was still puzzling her.

“Jane, are you sure Alec doesn’t remind you of anyone? And no movie stars this time.”

“Let me think.
Now that Sabrina Starr had cast off the specter of an unfulfilling romance, her mind was once again clear and sharp
. One of our teachers from Wildwood, maybe?”

Skye concentrated—and thought she had it. “The gym teacher.”

“The muscle-bound one with the ponytail?” Jane shook her head decisively. “No.”

“Well, it’s someone, I’m sure of it.”

“I’ll tell myself a magic charm before I go to sleep.”

“For heaven’s sake, no more magic charms or wishes for the rest of the vacation. Please.”

“All right, grumpy.” Jane picked up her blue notebook. “Shall I read you more of my book? I’ll start at the beginning.”

Skye yawned. “Sure.”

“It’s called
Sabrina Starr Rescues the Heartbreaker
.
Chapter One.
Sabrina Starr had met him once—this incorrigible heartbreaker
—
in New York City during her mission to rescue the Chinese ambassador and thus preserve world peace
. Nice beginning, right? Skye? Skye, are you awake?”

But Skye, that overworked OAP, had fallen asleep even before the Chinese ambassador. Wisely not taking this as criticism of her writing, Jane covered her sister with a blanket and went back to work.

T
HERE WAS MUCH DISCUSSION
the next morning about where to hold the golf ball sale. For Batty, who had already met enough new people for any one vacation, the pinewood seemed like the right place—maybe the lady in the green skirt would come back and buy everything, all million balls and every one of Jeffrey’s golf clubs. Jane, however, had grandiose visions of hawking their wares on the golf course itself, maybe from one of those fun little carts. Skye, who was still hoping the whole thing would be forgotten, said they should set up in front of Birches, and if no buyers showed up, that would be the end of it. Finally, when the discussion became too heated, Aunt Claire sent Jeffrey next door to ask Alec for his opinion. Alec’s answer was so logical—the best place for a sale
was the entrance to the golf course—that everyone stopped arguing and packed up to go. Even then, a skirmish with Hound delayed them—he was as insistent that he go with them as they were that he didn’t. Once again Alec was consulted, and once again he solved their problem, this time by sending back with Jeffrey a red rubbery thing stuffed full of peanut butter, which so entranced Hound that he barely noticed when the sales team left for the golf course entrance.

To get there, they had to walk halfway up the hill toward Moose Market, then go left on Pomante Street, right on Cross Street, left on Pullem Street, and, finally, right on Greene Street. They set off, carrying among them five buckets of golf balls, ten signs that Batty and Mercedes had made the night before, a blanket to sit on, snacks and water, and the Mouette Inn box to keep money in. Then there was the big heavy bag of clubs, which Jeffrey insisted on lugging all by himself. He said that he relished the agony, knowing the clubs would soon be out of his life forever. It was a long walk to be carrying so much, and they had to make several rest stops, the most pleasant one on Pullem Street, in front of a house where a potbellied pig named Frederica was sunning herself in the yard. Batty and Mercedes were so overwhelmed with the pig’s splendor that Skye again let herself hope the sale would be abandoned, but too soon Frederica’s owner took her inside, and everyone reshouldered their burdens and trudged onward.

The entrance to the golf course was more imposing than they’d expected, with a wooden arch that said
POINTED FIRS
in ornate gold letters, fat wooden pillars on either side of the driveway, and around the pillars rigidly straight rows of plants that looked as though they blossomed on command. Jane was sent past the sign and the pillars to search for a possible site for their sale but came back with the information that the grounds got only more imposing farther in, so they decided to set up right there, in front of the arch. Skye spread the blanket, Jeffrey let his heavy bag of clubs crash to the ground, and the others set out the buckets of balls in what they hoped was an inviting display. The signs were a problem, because no one had thought to bring anything to hang them up with, nor was there anywhere to hang them anyway, except on the arch, and they had no doubt that was forbidden. So Mercedes picked up one sign—
CLUBS, TOO
—and Batty picked up another—
BALLS
—and they stood beside the blanket holding them high. A car passed them by, and then another car, and then another.

“This isn’t going to work,” muttered Skye.

“Patience,” said Jeffrey.

The fourth car stopped, and the woman inside rolled down the window.

“Is that you, Mercedes Orne?” she asked. “Did you get your hair cut?”

“Yes, Mrs. Domergue.” Mercedes stepped forward
eagerly, saying over her shoulder to the others, “She’s staying at the inn.”

“Your brother isn’t going to appear out of nowhere and startle me with his skateboard, is he?”

“No, ma’am,” called Jane.

“Then I’ll get out of my car and see what’s going on.” Mrs. Domergue did just that, and she ended up buying six golf balls.

Mercedes was so excited at this success and her part in it that she jumped around like a crazed kangaroo, trying to flag down the next car that arrived, which would have been all right if she hadn’t gotten too close to it. Jeffrey pulled her out of the way and gave her a time-out on the blanket, but except for that small trouble, Mrs. Domergue had gotten them rolling, and car after car stopped, and soon two whole buckets of balls were gone and a man had bought what he called the three wood out of Jeffrey’s golf bag, after explaining why a club made of metal was called a wood, even though no one cared at all until he gave them much more money than they’d dared ask for, but it was too late to ask him to explain it again, so they simply said good-bye and thank you.

“Do we have enough for my piano now?” asked Batty.

“No,” said Skye.

“Not yet,” added Jeffrey.

“Here comes our lady!” Jane pointed at a little blue car that had stopped. Out of it climbed the
green-skirt lady from the pinewood, except today she was wearing an orange skirt. A man came out of the passenger side, a very tall man who wasn’t as pleased to see them as the lady was.

“Brian, here are those children I told you about,” she said. “The ones who found my Dunlops.”

“Don’t forget we’re teeing off soon,” he said, looking pointedly at his watch.

“We have plenty of time.” She smiled at them all, remembering which she’d met before and which she hadn’t, and asked everyone’s names, and if they’d found any more of her Dunlops, and while they tipped over buckets and started a search, she strolled over to Jeffrey’s golf bag. “Is all this for sale, too?”

“Carolyn!” said tall Brian. “We don’t have to buy used golf clubs from children.”

“But I need clubs, and these look very nice.”

“They are nice, and I’ve hardly used them,” Jeffrey told her, then lowered his voice so that Brian couldn’t hear. “I hate golf.”

“I don’t like it much either,” Carolyn whispered back. “But since I have to play, I might as well have my own clubs, don’t you think?”

Jeffrey did think so, and so did Jane, Batty, Mercedes, and—with less enthusiasm—Skye. Even with all six of them in agreement, it was quite a struggle to convince Brian. However, in the end, seven clubs called irons, plus a putter and a sand wedge,
and
half a
bucket of Dunlops were all loaded into the blue car, and kind Carolyn and her husband drove away. She’d been even more generous about the clubs than the first man, and now the Mouette Inn box was so impressively full of money that Batty almost worked herself into a fit about a piano, and maybe would have if Skye hadn’t dumped a bottle of water on her head. The day was hot enough that Batty enjoyed the drenching, so everyone else decided they wanted water dumped on their heads, too. At the end, they were all wet and laughing, but now there was no water left to drink.

“We’ll do rock-paper-scissors for who goes back for more,” said Jeffrey.

“Never mind—I’ll go.” Skye scooped up the empty water bottles and went, glad for an excuse to get away from all the talk of pianos and golf. She’d run down Greene Street and had already turned onto Pullem when Jane came puffing up.

“Mercedes just fell into the bag of food and got grapes smashed all over her, so you’d better bring back some napkins, too,” she said. “Jeffrey said to ask Alec for napkins if we’re out.”

“Water
and
napkins,” said Skye, jogging on.

But Jane was calling out to her. “Hey, and that reminds me. I figured out last night who Alec looks like.”

“Who?”

“Jeffrey.”

Skye reversed direction and ran back to Jane. “You think Alec looks like Jeffrey? That’s ridiculous.”

“Not if you imagine what Jeffrey will look like in ten or fifteen years. You should do that anyway, as insurance, in case you marry him.”

“I’m not going to marry—Never mind. Was this brilliant revelation a result of a wish or charm?”

“Make fun if you like,” said Jane breezily. “I know I’m right.
Sabrina Starr’s instincts were impeccable.
”

Skye shook her head and ran off again, wishing—not for the first time—that Sabrina Starr didn’t have to be quite so cocky. Jeffrey! Ha! Jane was obviously going to be no more help in figuring out this puzzle. Skye bent her mind to it, going back to the Wildwood gym teacher. If he weren’t so full of muscles … and then she turned onto Cross Street and saw trouble coming—on a skateboard. Instinctively, Skye ran her fingers through her shorn hair. She really didn’t mind having it short, but that didn’t mean Dominic Orne shouldn’t pay for what he’d done to Jane and all of them. Still, she’d promised Jane that she wouldn’t take revenge. And she meant to keep that promise. She meant it as Dominic came closer and closer, and she still meant it up until the very last second, when she abruptly dodged into his path, a move that would be sure to topple him from his skateboard.