A Million Miles From Boston (10 page)

“Are you sure, Ben? I know how much you like it. What about you, Lucy?”

“No, thanks,” I said. We talked for a while and she paddled off silently.
Such a beaut
. The kayak I’d picked for Dad in my boating magazine was just as nice.

He cleared his throat. “All I’m asking is that you give Julia a chance.”

He didn’t ask me to
like
her.

“Okay.”

*   *   *

After dinner, we played Monopoly. When it was time for bed, Bucky hugged the PT before heading upstairs. I waved from the doorway.

I tucked Bucky in and counted the money in my box. Then Superior settled on my rug and I got into bed. I stared at the ceiling and listened to muffled voices on the porch.

During dinner the PT had told us that at her job she treated people who had been injured or had surgery. She often had to help people learn to live with what had happened to them, such as this guy who’d torn up his knee and couldn’t play football. I listened, feeling okay.

A cool breeze blew through my window. I heard laughter and glanced at
The Animals of Maine
on the floor. It was a decent present.

I reached down and touched Superior. Back home when I couldn’t sleep, I played a game from bed, pretending that my ceiling was a new country and the cracks were roads and rivers. I kept adding new details. The ceiling fan was a terrifying whirlpool, the streak marks above my bureau a dangerous waterfall. I had to find my way around it all.

But this ceiling didn’t have cracks. And I didn’t usually lie awake so long here.

Finally, at midnight, I heard voices outside. Soon Dad climbed the stairs. I closed my eyes and felt him at the door. Then the floor creaked and he was gone. I rolled onto my back, listening to water running in the bathroom and Dad humming.

The PT made him happy.

he next morning I stood at the counter, staring at two wineglasses in the sink, one with red lipstick on the rim. What had they talked about the night before? Mom?

I tried to think about something happy, like Mei’s visit, as I washed the glasses. The lipstick was gone but I couldn’t stop thinking about Mom.

She’d died from a stage four glioblastoma. I didn’t know these words until later. At first, everyone called it cancer. Rhymed with
dancer
. The beginning sounded like the first part of
Kansas
.

One day Mom was fine, the next day she had cancer and a year later she was gone. In between, there were treatments, surgery and hospitals, although it was all pretty hazy in my mind. And it never made sense. How could a little tumor have killed my mom?

Then one day this year, Jenny looked up from the newspaper. “This guy died from a glioblastoma, like your mom.”
I’d heard the word before. But it wasn’t until I looked it up on the Internet that I knew exactly what it was: the most malignant of the astrocytomas, which are star-shaped brain tumors.

Malignant. Glioblastoma. Astrocytomas
. Blaming such big, ugly words for what happened to Mom made me feel better. Although sometimes when I said them, I felt a twinge, like what happened when you had to keep reminding yourself that there was no such thing as ghosts.

“Good morning!” Dad grinned as he walked into the kitchen. Bucky and I mumbled hello through mouthfuls of cereal.

As Dad made coffee, he said, “Enjoy the sunshine. Rain is supposed to start this afternoon.”

I groaned. Camp was much easier outside. And I didn’t want any more water damage to the Big House.

“So, what did you think about yesterday?” he asked. “Julia?”

“I like her!” Bucky waved his spoon. I frowned at him but he didn’t notice.

“She likes you, too. And she really likes it here.”

I glanced at the clock: a half hour until camp. Afterward Superior and I were headed to the beach so I could finish my eagle drawing.

“What did you think, Goose?”

Don’t make him angry, I thought. I shrugged.

“I really, really like her, guys.” Dad smiled as he poured a cup of coffee. I started for the porch before he could go on.

“Come on, Superior, Buck,” I called. “Time to go.”

*   *   *

The rain started that night. By Wednesday morning at breakfast, everything was soaked. The cottage was damp and sticky and towels wouldn’t dry. Waterlogged tree branches dipped over the road, and a giant puddle covered the walkway.

“You can call off camp,” Dad said.

I shook my head. “Friendship bracelets,” I said, showing him my bag filled with colored string. The boys wouldn’t like making bracelets, and it might be hard for the little ones, but I’d help.

Dad gave me a hug. “Those kids are lucky to have you.”

I leaned against him for a second, my head resting on his chest.

“Let’s go.” Bucky poked me.

By eleven the rain had stopped, but it was too muddy to go outside. We’d used the last of the paints and made bracelets. Everybody started running around, and Becca skidded on Poley, Lauren’s stuffed polar bear, tearing off her leg.

Stuffing fell out of Poley’s leg when I picked her up. I knelt in front of Lauren, who was crying. “I bet your mom can sew it.”

She looked at me hopefully. “If I wish hard, Poley’s leg will grow back on.”

Wishes
could
come true. When I’d wished for a dog, Dad had brought Superior home. I took Lauren’s hand and walked to the porch. “Look how pretty it is now!”

The sun, peeking through the clouds, made the puddle on the swing seat sparkle. The air smelled like pine and freshly cut grass.

“Boo!”

I jumped. Ian came around the corner, his sneakers covered in mud, his gym shorts hanging past his knees. Lauren giggled, and I laughed, just a little. “You scared me.”

Ian looked over my shoulder into the Big House. The older kids were still chasing each other. Olivia, on her hands and knees, barked at Superior, who ate pretzels off the floor. “Pretty exciting camp.”

“We’re taking a break.”

“Ian, watch this!” Peter ran across the floor and knocked Becca into the wall. But not too hard.

“Nice check!” Ian yelled. The kids kept running as Superior trotted over to us.

“She always knows where you are,” Ian said, squatting. Superior stepped toward him.

“Come here!” She turned and sat next to me. I glanced at my watch. “Okay, time to clean up!”

Everyone groaned. But for the next couple of minutes, we stuffed newspapers, juice boxes and pretzel bags into the trash. Ian stayed on the porch while everyone left.

I was closing the door when Dad came across the field. He raised his arms. “The sun, finally! Hello, Ian. Nice to see you.”

“Nice to see you, Dr. Gallagher.” Ian thrust his hand out.

Dad shook it. “Call me Ben.”

“Thanks. I was wondering how the book is coming along.
That’s pretty impressive, knowing so much about something that you could write a book about it.”

I rolled my eyes. Such a suck-up!

Dad grinned. “Well, I don’t know …”

“I’d sure like to hear more about it sometime,” Ian said.

“Time to go.” I started down the steps, two at a time.

“Hold on. It’ll be a bit muddy but I came over to see if you want to go out to Pear.” Dad turned to Ian. “It’s our favorite island. Want to come?”

My eyes jumped out of their sockets.
Not Ian!

“Sure, okay!” Ian grinned.

“Go clear it with your folks, then meet us at our dock.”

Ian took off through the field. As Dad and I started back to the cottage, I walked ahead, my arms pumping at my sides, my face and body hot.

“So, I guess I shouldn’t have asked him?” Dad caught up to me. “You’re the only kid his age here, Goose. I was trying to be nice.”

“I know.” I kept walking. Dad would see soon enough who Ian really was.

We made sandwiches and filled a cooler with sodas, then carried everything to the boat, where Ian was waiting. I untied the ropes and we were off. I sat next to Dad, protected by the windshield, where I could hold on to the side of the boat.

Ian stood next to Dad, asking questions. What did that lever do? And that gauge? How far was it to Pear? How fast would the boat go? What kind of gas did it take?

Every time we hit a wave, my stomach leaped. Ian wasn’t
afraid of the water. Neither were Dad and Bucky. Superior was in the back, barking at the wake. She wasn’t afraid, either. It was her game.
I’ll get you! And you!

I glanced across the bay. Two years earlier an author had given a workshop at our school and told us to write about a time when we were afraid.

At first I didn’t know what to write. Then I thought about Katie Recht’s sixth birthday party, at her pool with the big blue slide, and how I’d really wanted to go. It had been hot that day and I’d been happy to be there, not at the hospital seeing Mom.

And I remembered not being able to breathe.

So I figured that I must have gone down that slide and landed wrong in the water. And maybe
that
had knocked the air out of me. That was why I’d felt as if I were sinking. And that was why Dad had carried me to the car while Mrs. Recht had cried.

But this was where everything got confusing, because Dad was supposed to be at the hospital. And I still couldn’t quite picture the pool in my mind.

But I remembered the feeling of not being able to breathe, so that was what I wrote about. How scared I’d been when I’d nearly drowned in the Rechts’ pool.

Now I held on tight as the boat bounced in the water.

Finally Dad slowed, cut the engine and threw out the anchor. We waded to shore, then sat and ate our sandwiches, our feet and legs drying in the hot sun.

I couldn’t stop watching Ian and noticing things about
him. How he took huge bites of his sandwich. How long and thin his fingers were, wrapped around the bread. How everything was familiar—the boat ride, the cold prickles on my legs, the sand—but
felt
different with him here.

Dad and Bucky wandered up the shore, turning over rocks, looking for crabs.

Ian wadded his waxed paper and tossed it into the cooler. “Score!”

He smiled at me, a big toothy grin that made me smile back. Then we both looked away.

“Let’s go to the top of the hill!” Bucky yelled. Ian and I jumped up and followed.

The path was narrow and we walked uphill single file. Dad kept turning to Ian, behind Bucky. “This is an oak, one of Maine’s most common foliage trees. Down there, blueberry bushes. Soon they’ll be crawling with wild blueberries.”

“You can eat them?” Ian asked. Dad nodded.

Ian grinned at me again, only this time it seemed more like a smirk. He was two different people—one way with me, another with adults.

A half hour later we reached the top of the hill, an open, grassy area that faced the bay between Pear and the Point. The wind was strong, the water choppier and a deeper blue than when we’d come over.

“Ian, look!” Bucky called from the far side of the clearing. Ian ran over and they looked at something in the grass. Superior sat next to me.

Dad laughed. “He’s a funny kid. Lots of energy.”

“He’s a huge suck-up, Dad.”

“Hmmm. But his enthusiasm is infectious. Don’t you think?”

Infection? Yes.

“He’s interested in boats, history. He seems like a hard worker.” Dad cleared his throat. “The talent show is next weekend.”

“I can’t wait!”

“I want to ask Julia to come up.”

I whipped my head to look at him. “But she was just here.”

“I miss her. We have very deep feelings for each other, Goose.”

My stomach turned.

“She’s a nice person. And, well, we have a lot in common. I’d like to see her more, for all of us to see her more.”

I was so angry I was afraid to look at him.

He waited. “Why don’t you like her? Do you think your feelings about her are … about Mom?”

“No!” How could he put the PT in the same
sentence
as Mom?

“I just wish …,” he said. “Oh, Goose, you don’t have to be so worried.”

“Stop telling me that!”

Bucky yelled, “Lucy! Come look!” I bolted from the spot.