by Dawne Knobbe
Nate tried to stay calm. The look in David’s eyes was crazy and desperate. “What was I supposed to do, huh?” David said. “Leave Joey in a foster home with a psycho freak for a foster mother? Is that what you’d have done? Seems to me you stole a boat, and for no good reason.”
David let go, and Nate stumbled back into a tree trunk. David reached out and Nate flinched, but David took him gently by the shoulder, steadying Nate to keep him from falling.
“Joey needs to go to school,” David said, twisting his neck from side to side. Nate could tell he was trying to get a grip on his temper. “I need to finish too. We just need to get through winter. Where’s the crime in that?”
Nate said nothing. He wasn’t sure of anything anymore.
They heard crashing through the bush and Beagle emerged. “Here they are,” he called. Joey followed a moment later.
“What’s up?” Joey glanced nervously at David, who still had a hand on Nate’s sleeve.
David dropped his hand and turned toward Joey. “Nate was just telling me that it’s time for him to move on. He’ll be leaving tomorrow, after we get back from town.” David stomped away, leaving the younger boys in his wake.
Joey paled. “You’re leaving? I thought you were gonna stay the whole summer.”
There was no point trying to explain what had happened with David. He didn’t even know if the younger boys knew about David’s extracurricular activities. Beagle looked up, reproach in his watery eyes. Nate had grown to think of the three of them as brothers. They’d had a lot of crap shoveled on and at them in their short lives. David was taking care of them as best he could, and he, Nate, was a spoiled jerk.
Nate grabbed both of the younger boys around the neck and pulled them down in a wrestling hold.
“Come on, you scurvy crew,” he said gruffly. “No self-pitying pirates allowed here!” He playfully knocked them together. “Besides, you haven’t seen the last of me. I’ll give you my phone number in Vancouver before I leave, okay?”
Joey’s eyes brightened. “Promise?”
12
Nate woke early to the usual morning sounds and quickly disassembled his tent, rolled it up, and squeezed it into its storage sack. He checked the contents of his dry bags only to find he had no food left except a small can of ham. The boys had obviously been helping themselves to his supplies.
Of course, he’d eaten his share of their food too. Nate hoped they’d catch a couple of salmon to sell in town later but wondered if David would give him any of the money. Pulling out his wallet, he counted sixty-seven dollars. If he supplemented his diet with seafood and managed to sell a fish or two along the way, maybe he’d survive another couple of weeks. But even if he was careful, it wouldn’t feed him for long.
Nate carried his bags to the kayak, which was still hidden in the thicket beside the rowboat, and carefully stowed his gear.
Wandering down to the beach, he picked up a stone and skipped it across the water. The sea was perfectly calm, and the day was warming quickly.
This was it, the big day. Nate was officially fifteen. In 365 days he’d be old enough to drive. He skipped another flat stone, watching it ricochet before it lost momentum and sank. He felt his stomach sink with it. Before, no matter where he’d landed, the best of everything had always seemed ahead. He hadn’t realized that lately he’d stopped looking forward, stopped looking for something better.
And no matter how casual Nate acted, it would be hard to leave. Yet David had made it clear: Nate didn’t belong and was no longer welcome, if he ever had been. I’m in the way, as usual, he thought—the story of my life.
Nate’s stomach grumbled and twisted simultaneously. He knew he’d have to turn on his cell phone soon and deal with any messages or birthday greetings. He realized his mother was back in New York by now, but his father should still be in Edmonton.
David broke through the brush and landed flat-footed with a crunch on one of the barnacle-encrusted rocks. Shielding his eyes from the sun, he stared toward the horizon.
“Thought you might have pushed off early,” he said.
Nate couldn’t read David’s tone, but it didn’t sound apologetic. He skipped a last stone across the water.
“I wouldn’t leave without saying good-bye,” he said. He tried to flash a friendly grin. “Besides, there are fish to be caught, right?”
“Let’s get to it then,” David said and turned abruptly to the rowboat.
David and Nate followed their usual pattern, popping mussels underfoot to jig for minnows. Then David maneuvered the boat into their lucky spot. The only thing missing from their customary routine was conversation.
They were casting out their lines when Nate heard someone shout from shore.
Nate squinted at the figure jumping, straining in an attempt to see. He thought it was Joey bouncing on a rock near the water’s edge. Crazy kid, Nate thought. Maybe he’d found another giant crab.
“It’s Beagle,” David said. “Something’s wrong.”
Nate and David grabbed their poles and reeled in their lines as fast as they could.
David threw his rod into the bottom of the boat and snatched up the oars. He pulled them through the water with such force that Nate lost his balance and slipped backward off his seat. He climbed back up, straddled the seat, and finished reeling in his line.
Now, as they moved toward him, Beagle paced across a large rock slab, stopping repeatedly to glance up toward the trees.
Something must have happened to Joey, Nate concluded. He watched David push the oars, veins bulging with each stroke. David must be thinking the same thing.
David jumped from the boat as the bottom scraped the shore. “Where is he?”
“By the fork in the road,” Beagle said. “He’s hurt bad. Fell out of the big old cedar. He was trying to watch you guys,” he added, panting.
David was halfway up the beach before Nate and Beagle had scrambled over the first set of sandstone slabs.
They found Joey lying under the tree, Beagle’s blood-soaked T-shirt held to his face. “Stupid branch broke,” Beagle said. “Sharp end nailed him right in the face.
“I don’t feel too good,” Joey said.
David crouched beside his brother but was shaking too much to lift the shirt off Joey’s face.
Nate stepped in. “Joey, it’s Nate. Let’s have a look,” he said as confidently as possible, trying to soothe both Joey and David with his tone of voice and demeanor.
Gently peeling the shirt back from Joey’s face, Nate revealed an ugly purple gash. It was a deep cut. The branch had sliced just beneath Joey’s left eye. Nate swallowed the lump of bile in his throat. Joey’s eye was almost swollen shut.
“What . . . what are we gonna do?” David stuttered.
Nate looked in time to see a wave of white wash across David’s face. Reaching over, he shoved David’s head down. “Keep your head between your legs and breathe,” Nate said. He turned back to Joey. “You hurt anywhere else?
“I don’t think I broke anything; lucky I landed on my head, huh? Mostly I bounced off branches on the way down.” He tried to smile. “I’m gonna be one big bruise tomorrow.”
“We need to get you to a doctor,” Nate said. “You’re gonna need stitches under that eye.”
Joey twitched. “We’ll blow our cover.”
David leapt toward some low-lying bushes that did not muffle the sound of his puking. He stumbled back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Never mind that,” he said to Joey and then turned to Nate. “But how’re we gonna get him to a doctor? He can’t hike out of here.”
“That decrepit-looking motor still works, right?” Nate said, his mind racing. But he felt more clear about this decision than he could ever remember feeling before.
“Yeah.”
“Enough gas to make it to Whaler Bay?”
“Maybe.”
“Good. The clinic’s just up the road, not far from the gas station at the harbor.”
D
avid eyed him skeptically. “How do you know?”
Nate rolled his eyes. What did David think he might pull? “I saw the sign when I was launching my kayak,” he said, then turned his attention back to Joey. The boy’s skin felt clammy and cool. Nate hoped Joey wasn’t going into shock. It would take them at least an hour to travel down the island, maybe more. David and Beagle were still standing behind Nate; he twisted toward them.
“Let’s not waste time,” he said. “David, go get the motor and the gas. Beagle, grab a blanket from the cabin and some Band-Aids or at least a clean T-shirt.”
Beagle was off toward the cabin in a split second, but David stood as if frozen, avoiding Nate’s gaze, picking at the bark on a tree.
“What?” Nate asked. Could David really be pissed at Nate’s take-charge attitude?
“How are we gonna pay the doctor?” David asked quietly.
Nate put a hand on David’s clammy arm. “We have no choice, David. He needs a doctor bad,” Nate said. “We’ll figure something out,” he added.
Seemingly satisfied, David darted off toward the hidden motor.
“We’ll meet you at the boat,” Nate hollered after him.
Alone, Nate turned his full attention to Joey. “I’m going to run my hands down your neck very carefully and then down the rest of your body. I want to make sure you don’t have any broken bones. You’re sure you didn’t land on your neck or back or anything?”
Joey turned his head from side to side and then pushed his chin up, arching his back. “Doesn’t hurt too bad.”
“Guess you’re not paralyzed,” Nate said, relieved yet trying to keep his voice light, like David might have done under other circumstances, like a good brother would do. “Can you sit up?”
“Maybe.”
Nate helped up Joey, then, tucking his shoulder under Joey’s, he hauled the boy onto his feet. Joey swayed and Nate steadied them both.
“I’ll hold you up as much as I can,” Nate said. “Think you can walk?”
Joey took a step forward. “I think I’m gonna . . .” He bent over and retched. Blood trickled down the side of his face.
Nate refolded Beagle’s T-shirt, trying to find a spot that wasn’t already saturated with blood. He gently held up the only white corner against Joey’s face and nudged him carefully forward. Nate was surprised at his tender feelings for Joey and, as he had done so often around Mike, wished he weren’t an only child.
Their progress was slow. Nate focused his energy on holding up Joey, but his heart and mind were sick with concern not only for him but also for Beagle and David because he knew how much they had to be freaked out by what had happened.
Nate realized that he now thought of all of these guys as his friends. He wondered what it was that made them all bond so quickly when he had so much trouble making friends in New York.
By the time Nate and Joey reached the shore, David had the engine securely bolted to the back of the rowboat and was connecting the gas tank. Looking visibly calmer, he hopped out to help Nate lift Joey. Beagle ran pell-mell down the beach clutching a scrunched-up blanket against his chest.
“You wanna lie down in the bottom of the boat?” Nate asked Joey. “I can spread out the blanket.”
Joey shook his head.
David stepped into the boat and made his way to the stern. Beagle sat beside Joey in the middle and put his arm around him. Nate shoved off. He pushed as hard as he could, then leapt in as they drifted out. David yanked the engine cord. It whirred then died. He whacked it, adjusted the choke, and pulled with both hands. It revved loudly, drowning out everything else. David threw it into gear, and they lurched forward.
Facing backward from his seat in the bow, Nate watched the shoreline as they moved out of the bay, heading down the island, back the way he’d come. How many days ago was it? he wondered.
Out of the protection of the bay, the choppy water bounced them in their seats. Something in Nate’s pocket dug sharply into his leg. Damn it, the phone.
Despite Beagle’s firm grip, Joey fell forward, and Nate reached out to steady him. His skin was still clammy, but it seemed less gray than it had been when he lay on the ground. Joey would be okay; he had to be. Even now, Nate felt deeply protective toward Joey as well as Beagle and even David, who didn’t seem so much older than him now.
David kept his eyes mostly on the ocean, presumably scanning for driftwood and other debris that could foul up the engine. Every so often, David’s gaze shifted toward Joey, then he’d tighten his grip on the throttle as if to squeeze it into going faster. Nate wanted to reassure him, but he didn’t know how. Besides, it was hard to speak above the motor, but what could he say? What if Joey’s eye was badly damaged? Then what would they do?
Nate was surprised at how fast they were moving; the dilapidated motor had a lot more horsepower than he had expected. Nate recognized the area where he’d camped his second night, and ten minutes later they were passing his first campsite. Not far beyond it, houses came into view along the shoreline, and Nate felt his body relax. Even if the engine quit now, they could row to shore and get help.
At the mouth of Whaler Bay, David maneuvered the boat around the small rock islands covered in sunbathing seals. A few smaller seals leapt into the ocean, disturbed by the engine, but the larger males stood their ground, their menacing barks echoing across the water.
The sea grew calm as they moved into the inner cove. Nate waved his arm to get David’s attention, and then he pointed to where he’d launched Solace. David aimed for a less rocky stretch to the right of it and slowed the engine, bringing the boat up onto the sand with a loud, lurching scrape. The older boys scrambled onto the beach, and Beagle helped Joey climb out. David and Nate were careful to keep Joey safely between them.
“Wait,” Nate said, digging his wallet from his back pocket. A plan had been percolating in the back of his mind as they’d motored down.
“Joey, listen carefully to me,” Nate said, lifting the boy’s chin so they could look at each other eye to eye. He handed Joey his health insurance card. “Your full name is Nathan Andrew Johnson. Your mother’s maiden name was Ferguson, and you were born July eleventh, 1994. That’s fifteen years ago today. Think you can remember all that?” He peered into the boy’s glassy eyes. “Do you understand, Joey? They always ask that kind of stuff, and I can help you fill in anything else on the forms.”
Nate turned toward David, who was staring at him openmouthed. “David, your last name’s Johnson too. You’re Joey’s eighteen-year-old brother. That’s important, ’cause you have to be eighteen to legally okay Joey’s treatment. If they ask, say you’re staying at a friend’s cabin with your family, and your parents are out fishing for the day.”
“Do you think we can pull this off?” David asked.
“God, I hope so,” Nate said. “What choice do we have, other than turning ourselves in?”
David nodded and set his mouth in a grim line. “Might as well give it a shot.” He put his hand on his brother’s back and guided him up the beach, toward the road. “Think you can handle this?” he asked softly. Joey nodded, wiping at his nose with the bloody shirt.
“Yeah,” he said, “but I think I’m gonna be . . .”
David paled, so Nate stepped in, steadying a wobbly Joey as he doubled over to vomit. David disappeared into the trees again himself, but once again, he couldn’t hide the sound of his own retching.
“I didn’t know this was contagious,” Joey said, trying to smile as he stood up.
When David emerged, he moved to Joey’s other side, carefully avoiding eye contact with Nate. “You puke, I puke.” David said. “That’s a chain reaction, not brotherly love. Come on.” He took Joey’s arm. “Let’s get you some help so we can both stop tossing our cookies.”
David turned toward Nate with an apologetic smile. “Who would of thought you’d be the brick and I’d turn out to be the wuss, huh?”
13
The doctor’s office was kept in order by a tiny
wrinkled lady who appeared to be about a hundred and, fortunately, didn’t seem interested in asking a whole bunch of questions. She tossed Nate’s medical card onto her desk and slipped her arm under Joey’s so that he could lean on her. Nate felt Joey’s weight shift away from him. Clearly, the old woman was not as fragile as she looked.
“Come with me, sweetie,” she said. “You can lie down. What did you do, fall over a cliff or out of a tree?”
It seemed like hours before the wrinkled lady reappeared in the waiting room. They had heard doors opening and closing and the tone of a man’s voice somewhere down the hall, but that didn’t seem to comfort David, who was pacing.
“You must be David,” the woman said, placing her hand on his arm.
“Is he all right?” David asked, his voice sounding as tight as his shoulders looked.
“He’s going to be fine. Doc checked him out head to toe. He’s just stitching up that nasty gash now. He wants Nathan to stay here for a while, though. That’s a pretty good lump on the back of his head; we’ve got to make sure he doesn’t have a serious concussion.” She pushed her glasses up on her nose and glanced around, taking a closer look at them. “Are you all brothers?” she asked.
“No, I’m his only brother,” David said. His body was rigid as a board.
“I’ll just need you to help me fill in some paperwork,” she said. She guided David to the chair in front of her desk.
Nate cracked all of his knuckles in a single motion of relief. He tensed again, however, when he realized the woman was about to ask a bunch of questions regarding “Nathan Johnson” that David might not be able to answer. Holding his breath, he leaned forward to listen.
“Let’s see,” she said, sitting down in front of her computer and sliding her glasses back down her nose so that she could peer over the top. “Now if this darn thing will work for a change, I won’t need much information from you.”
She picked up his medical card and peered at the numbers through the bottom half of her glasses, her head tilted at a funny angle. Then, with one finger, she slowly pressed the corresponding keys. She rocked her head again to squint at the screen and examined the card once more. Satisfied she’d got the numbers right, she nodded. Nate held the sides of the chair he had pulled up alongside David. The woman pushed what Nate presumed was the Enter button, and he went back to holding his breath.
