by Dawne Knobbe
“Enter,” David hollered from inside.
Nate pushed the door ajar and poked his head inside. “Got enough for one more?”
“Sure, but you’ll have to fish for your keep,” David said. He turned from the woodstove, a spatula in one hand and a ragged towel in the other. Using the towel as a potholder, he wrapped it around the handle of the frying pan and transferred the bacon onto a chipped plate. Returning the pan to the stove, he began cracking eggs into the splattering bacon grease.
“Where did you get all this stuff?” Nate asked, glancing around the cabin and taking in every homey detail he’d missed the day before, from the rugs to the curtains.
“We made the table and chairs,” David said without looking up. “Borrowed the mattress and dishes and stuff from the camp. Somebody just left it all to rot, so we figured they wouldn’t mind if we helped ourselves to a few things.”
Joey sat up from his spot on the mattress, sniffing the air and rubbing his eyes.
“Breakfast is ready, lazy bones,” David said as he pulled the frying pan off the stove.
After breakfast, David sent Beagle and Joey off to the beach to tear mussels off the rocks, and then he told Nate to grab his fishing gear and follow him. They walked across the clearing to a narrow path that ran down toward the beach. Just up from the rocks, a large ancient rowboat lay hidden in the undergrowth.
“Put your gear in the boat and grab the other end,” David said, doing the same with his own gear and tackle box. Behind the boat, Nate noticed a dilapidated engine and a container of gas.
“Hey, does that work?”
“Yeah, but we’re not taking it. Don’t have enough fuel.” He pointed to the oars in the bottom of the boat. “We’ll go on our own manpower,” he said, flexing his muscles and grinning. “I’ll take the real thing over a stupid rowing machine any day,” he added.
Nate grabbed his end of the boat and tried to lift it up. It was much heavier than his kayak, and his sore muscles strained, but he managed.
The shoreline was made up of the same huge sandstone slabs Nate had encountered farther down the island. Thankfully, the tide was high, so they didn’t have to carry the rowboat too far. They had just dumped it into the water when Joey and Beagle came running up the beach carrying a small bucket filled with shiny black mussels.
“We just saw the hugest crab over by the rocks,” Joey said. “We’re gonna go back and see if we can catch it.”
“Grab your gloves so you don’t get pinched again,” David said.
“Yeah, we will,” Joey called over his shoulder as he darted up toward the cabin.
“I’m gonna use those barbecue tongs,” Beagle said, moving with less enthusiasm.
“Hop in,” David said to Nate, holding the boat steady against the rocks.
Nate did as he was told and David stepped in after him, shoving off from the rocks with his foot.
David paddled out around the islet that formed the protected bay and then stopped and picked up his fishing rod. Nate watched as David pulled a mussel shell from the bucket, placed it on the bottom of the boat, and crushed it with the heel of his bare foot. He scooped up the broken bits, twisted the mussel meat out of the shell, and squished it onto his hook. He tossed the broken shell into the water.
“You’re gonna catch a salmon with that?” Nate asked, looking at the slimy piece of meat drooping at the end of the hook.
David smiled. “Not exactly. Here,” he said, handing Nate a mussel from the bucket, “just do what I’m doing.”
Nate put the mussel down in the bottom of the boat, crushed it, and then dug out the meat. It looked like a lump of snot and felt like it too. He began trying to poke his hook through the runny guts, remembering for the first time that his dad had always baited his hook. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw David smirking.
“Give it to me,” he said.
“No, I’ll get it.”
“All right,” David said, relaxing against the side of the boat.
Nate squished the mussel between two fingers and eventually managed to impale it on the hook.
“Now just let out enough line so that your bait’s down about three feet,” David coached, doing the same with his own, “then watch.”
At first there seemed to Nate to be nothing alive in the water, but soon dozens of minnows, each no longer than a finger, darted toward the hooks.
“Got one!” David said, jerking his line. He dumped the rest of the mussels into the bottom of the boat, filled the bucket with seawater, and released the minnow into it.
“I got one too!” Nate shouted. He reached over the side and pulled up the line to reveal the small fish dangling from the end.
“Watch you don’t poke yourself,” David said, twisting a new piece of bait onto his own line. It didn’t take them more than ten or fifteen minutes to hook a dozen minnows.
“That should be enough,” David said, pulling in his last fish and then reeling in his line. He picked up the oars and rowed farther from the shore. When he seemed satisfied with their location, he opened his tackle box and dug out a sparkling squid-like lure with a hook protruding from the bottom. He clipped off the small minnow hook from the end of his line and secured the lure in its place. Then, reaching into the bucket, he grabbed one of the small fish and popped it onto the hook.
“Salmon like live bait,” he said, tossing the end of his line overboard and securing his rod under one knee. He dug through his tackle box, found another one of the sparkling lures, and handed it to Nate. “Know how to tie it on?” he asked.
“I’ll give it a shot,” Nate said. He didn’t say anything as he noted the many things he’d obviously been doing wrong on his own, and it took him just a few minutes to secure the lure and a fish to the end of the line. He proudly dangled it over the water beside David’s.
“No,” David said harshly. “You’ll get the lines tangled up. Put yours on the other side.”
A little annoyed, Nate moved his line. David had seemed friendlier all morning, but underneath he obviously still put Nate in the Spoiled Summer People category.
For half an hour, David rowed up and down, covering the same area of water. Lulled by the motion of the boat and the warming sun, Nate grew sleepy. He closed his eyes but instantly shook them open again. His fishing rod had sat heavy and still in his hands, then, in a flash, it jerked up and the line zinged out.
“You’ve got one,” David shouted, turning to reel in his own line. “Bring him in fast. When he tugs hard, let the line go. You gotta play him till he gets tired.”
This was the part of fishing Nate knew how to handle. He let the fish play itself out, reeling hard when the line went slack and letting it go when the fish pulled hard. They saw a flash of silver in the water beside the boat and David leaned over with the net.
“Just a few more feet,” he said. “Reel that salmon in nice and easy.” He slipped the net into the water as Nate brought the fish closer. One minute the fish was fighting the line again and the next David had scooped it securely in the net.
“All right,” David said. “It’s a nice one.”
He put the salmon, net and all, down in the bottom of the boat, unhooked Nate’s line, and picked up the oars.
“That’s it?” Nate asked, disappointed. “We’re done fishing?”
David actually smiled. “Kind of a thrill, isn’t it?” he said. “But we don’t have anywhere to keep ’em cold, and I’m not ready to hike out again.”
“So this is dinner?” Nate asked.
“Yeah, Joey’ll be disappointed. He was hoping for hot dogs.”
The other boys came running down the beach to meet David and Nate as they landed. Joey was carrying another bucket and sloshing water out of it as he ran.
“Hope you don’t have anything live in that bucket,” David hollered at him in amusement.
“We got ’em,” Joey shouted. “He’s the hugest crab we’ve ever caught.”
Nate peered into the big bucket. “Wow! He
is huge.”
“Mean old guy too,” Beagle said, holding up a pair of rusty barbecue tongs. “Look at these. He actually dented them.”
David bent over the bucket and poked at the crab bare-handed. It snapped its pincers and scurried around the bucket. “Better the tongs than your fingers, I’d say.”
They pulled the rowboat up the beach and back into its hiding spot. “David doesn’t need gloves or tongs,” Joey said to Nate, a look of admiration on his face. “He just puts on a mask and snorkel, dives in, and catches ’em with his bare hands.”
“No way,” Nate said, looking at David in disbelief. “Do you really?”
David turned to Nate, looking thoughtful.
“I’ll tell you what,” he said after a moment. “I’ll teach you how to catch crabs with your bare hands if you’ll teach me how to paddle your kayak. I wanna learn to do one of those rollovers I saw them doing on TV. This guy would just be paddling along, then he’d sort of lean into it, and boom, he’d roll himself right underwater and back up the other side. Cool himself off. Can you do that?”
“It’s called a storm roll. It’s a lot harder than it looks,” Nate said, feeling his ears heat up. “I’ve tried it a couple of times. Got stuck upside down once and nearly drowned trying to get out.”
David almost sneered. “You’re not chicken to try again are you?”
“No!” Nate said. “I have a book with me that shows how to do it.”
“Right on,” David said, as they headed for the cabin. “You can show me after lunch.”
“What are we having for lunch?” Joey piped up.
This time it was Nate who reached out and playfully cuffed the younger boy on the ear. “I don’t know what’s for lunch, but I’m afraid I do know what’s for dinner,” he said, holding up the net with the fish.
11
“Ready . . . set . . . and upside down you go,” David said, egging on Nate from his perch on a floating log.
Day after day Nate had crawled into the kayak, and day after day he had failed to roll it over and flip it back up. He was glad David hadn’t drifted more than three feet away the entire time he’d been practicing storm rolls. He was even more thankful that Joey and Beagle had lost interest in watching days ago. They were probably off building pirate lookouts in the trees or digging for buried treasure, which to Nate was sounding like more fun than hanging upside down in a kayak trying to rescue yourself.
Nate had been so stupid to let David talk him into this, but David had made it look so easy.
“Okay, Nate. Last try of the day. Make it count. Remember, you’re not sitting in the boat; you’re wearing the boat. It’s all in the hips and the paddle.”
Nate pushed his hips upward and leaned to the side, dumping over the kayak in the water. He could flip it easily enough, but he hadn’t managed to roll it back even once.
This time, Nate thought, clenching his knees against the cockpit and swinging the paddle into position. He gritted his teeth. As his lungs deflated, a gasp of bubbles escaped. Below, everything was black. He held the paddle in the ready position but couldn’t complete the stroke. Panic rose in his flip-flopped stomach. He let out another stream of air, and the bubbles brushed against his face as they hurried toward the surface.
David thumped on the bottom of Solace. Nate let go of his paddle, squirmed out, and swam toward the light.
As he broke the surface, Nate saw David pushing down on one side of the kayak. Empty, it flipped easily under his hands.
“What happened?” David scowled. “You didn’t even try.”
“I’m too tired.” Nate reached for the kayak. It was half true, he thought.
They towed Solace to shore and maneuvered her into her hiding spot beside the faded rowboat. Neither of them spoke.
“You make it look so easy,” Nate blurted out at last as they headed toward the cabin.
It was a few seconds before David spoke. “Yeah, well, don’t worry about it. Mostly I’m too pigheaded. I had a counselor once who said I’d just keep slamming my head into a mountain of rocks if I couldn’t figure a way around it.” He laughed and gave Nate a playful shove. “It wasn’t entirely an insult, ’cause the guy added that I was also bullheaded enough to keep trying till I got where I wanted to go.”
“Maybe I’m not hardheaded enough,” Nate said. He stopped outside of his tent and yawned. “I’m gonna take a nap.”
“Get rested,” David said. “We need to catch fish enough tomorrow to sell so we can shop. We’re almost out of supplies.”
Nate lay in his tent drifting in and out of sleep. Random thoughts popped into his head . . . Tomorrow was his birthday. He would have to turn on his phone. He hoped, for a change, that all the messages would be from Sam. He still hadn’t called Mike. Maybe tomorrow.
David . . . he was starting to like David. Even if he was a bit bossy, he did it in a brotherly way.
Nate heard the cabin door scrape open and soft footsteps pass his tent. He rolled over and peeked through the flap. David was crossing the clearing, watering can in hand. Only he didn’t stop to water their vegetable garden. Instead, he paused by the line of trees, glanced quickly over his shoulder in the direction of Nate’s tent, and then disappeared into the trees.
Nate was more observant than David apparently had given him credit for. David had snuck away every afternoon since Nate had arrived, but this was the first time Nate had seen which way David went. He’d asked Joey and Beagle about David’s disappearances, and their exaggerated nonchalance had made him even more suspicious. Knowing how hard it was for Joey to keep a secret, Nate figured they must be hiding something important, and that made him want to know what.
Nate crept quietly from his tent. He could hear voices in the cabin; it sounded like Joey and Beagle were playing cards. Nate headed toward the spot where David had disappeared between the trees.
Under the forest canopy the ground was mostly bare, and Nate couldn’t make out a path. He looked vainly for broken twigs and scuffmarks, as if he were some sort of scout who could read such signs, and then headed in the direction he thought ran parallel to the beach. Ahead, a small clearing came into view, and as Nate got closer he could see that it was surrounded by a roughly hewn fence like the one around the vegetable garden. Above the sunny clearing, it looked as though someone had climbed the spindly pines and broken off higher branches to let in sunlight. It streamed onto the earth like a spotlight, and in the center stood David, watering small green plants.
A stick cracked under Nate’s foot, and David jerked upright, spotting Nate immediately. He glared. Nate entered the clearing as casually as he could manage.
“You nosy little twerp,” David said. He slammed the watering can to the ground, narrowly missing a tender shoot.
“I see you disappear every afternoon,” Nate said, moving closer to lean against the fence. “I was curious.” He peered at the plants. “So what are these, anyway? They don’t look too healthy.”
“None of your business, that’s what they are,” David snarled.
Nate peered more closely at the green shoots. “Weed,” he said realization dawning. “Are you trying to grow weed?”
There was a moment of silence before Dave exploded. “You’re a spoiled brat, you know that? You have this great family and you run away ’cause you feel neglected,” David said, pacing suddenly. “You don’t think your dad pays enough attention to you. Your dad who bought you a brand-new kayak and a plane ticket to visit. Mom has a new boyfriend, and you think she’s trying to buy your approval with credit cards and a nice watch.”
David slammed his fist on the fence. “You’re no different from the summer people. Running away is just a game to you. But this is no game. Who do you think’s gonna take care of Joey and Beagle in an emergency? Forget an emergency; who’s gonna feed them every day and buy them clothes? Me, that’s who. Nobody’s offering us tickets or credit cards, and if I had a kayak or a watch like that, it’d be in the pawn shop.”
Dav
id pushed back his hair and wiped his nose on the shoulder of his T-shirt, but he continued to scowl at Nate.
“None of you talks about your parents.” Nate said. “Are they dead?”
“Might as well be,” David said, his glare melting to a frown. “Dad’s an accountant who got too creative with the books at work. He needed cash to support his twenty-year-old girlfriend. We haven’t heard from him since he went to jail.”
Nate was afraid to ask. “And your mom?”
David tossed the empty watering can over the fence and followed it in an easy move. “Mom had a standard, housewife drug habit. She blossomed into a full-blown addict after Dad was arrested. Ended up in rehab. Somewhere. Least, that’s the last we heard. Joey and I bounced around foster homes. Then they split us up. Nobody wants two losers. And that pretty much brings you up-to-date on our fairytale lives.”
David lifted the corner of his mouth, trying to create his usual look of bored amusement, but his eyebrow twitched with tension. He picked up the watering can again and started briskly toward the cabin. Nate ran to keep up.
“What are you trailing me for? Just leave me alone. Why don’t you go take your nap or play in your fancy kayak,” David said when Nate caught up.
Nate refused to be shaken off. “By the way, how’d you guys end up here?”
David stopped and shrugged. He seemed to be deciding something.
“Like father, like son. I forged a check on my foster dad’s account, hid supplies near the marina, and snuck over to get Joey. Beagle begged to come along and Joey wanted him to. It was easy. We threw our gear in the boat, hopped in, and here we are.”
“So you were a thief,” Nate said. “When did you decide to add ‘drug dealer’ to the resume?”
David grabbed the front of Nate’s shirt and pulled him close “I’m not a fuckin’ drug dealer,” he said, red blotches erupting along his chin and down his neck.
