Then Alec announced that it was time for lunch and produced a big cooler that turned out to be full of cheese-and-tomato sandwiches, fresh strawberries, and gallons of lemonade, the perfect lunch to eat in the middle of the ocean. It didn’t take long for seagulls to find them—seagulls never can resist free snacks—and Skye and Jeffrey had a contest to see who could throw scraps of sandwich the highest, but the birds were better at swooping low to catch food—even with a frenzied Hoover leaping at them—than Skye and Jeffrey were at throwing it high, so neither could claim victory.
Too soon it was time to leave. The boat needed to be restored to its owner, and Mercedes to her grandmother. Everyone waved good-bye to the seals, who continued to stoically ignore them, and Alec turned the boat and headed back to shore.
“Deliriously and deliciously delightful,” murmured Jane, leaning into the wind, her hair streaming out behind her. “Magnificently wonderful, and fabulously and wonderfully magnificent.”
Skye started to protest, but didn’t. Certainly there had been delight on Jeffrey’s face while he and Alec were playing, a look that had been mirrored back to him from Alec. And now, Skye noticed, Batty was cheerfully humming the “Fanfare” melody while Mercedes snuggled peacefully against Jane. The two dogs, exhausted by the thrill of their shared adventure, slept side by side. All was well on the Bernadette.
“I’m happy, too,” Skye told Jane.
Skye was indeed happy. And so relaxed that when they reached the dock and Batty begged to stay on board while Alec returned the boat, Skye agreed and didn’t even insist that Batty put on an extra life jacket or two. Since Jeffrey was staying on board, and Hoover and Hound, too, naturally, only Skye, Jane, and Mercedes needed to disembark. They climbed up onto the dock after thanking Alec over and over, then watched the boat pull away, Batty boldly alone on the back bench, waving and waving. Only then did Skye turn toward land, and she saw that the seagulls were again lined up along the dock’s railings, pretending they’d been waiting all along, and taking no responsibility for the scavenger seagulls that had been so greedy out at sea.
There was someone else who seemed to be waiting, too, at the far end of the dock.
And all of Skye’s responsibilities and worries came back, like a bowling ball dropping on her head.
“Your brother’s here, Mercedes. He must be looking for you,” she said, willing it to be true.
“Maybe.” Mercedes sounded doubtful. “He hardly ever does look for me.”
“It’s possible,” said Jane, already moving away, “that Dominic is looking for me.”
“Jane, don’t go,” said Skye.
But she was already gone, gliding—Skye didn’t know how—like a movie princess in a long ball gown. All the way down the dock Jane glided until she reached Dominic. She stopped, they talked briefly, and then off they went together, away from Birches, toward French Park.
“I don’t understand,” said Skye helplessly. “Why is she doing that?”
“Lots of girls act that way around my brother,” said Mercedes simply. “At home they stand in front of the house crying if he won’t talk to them, and I can’t play outside because they ask me questions about him.”
“I’d certainly never cry over Dominic.”
“Really?” Mercedes was so impressed with this show of independence that she slipped her hand into Skye’s.
“Really,” said Skye, and didn’t let go, at least not for a while.
Jane knew she was gliding, graceful and proud, like a maiden on her way to meet Peter Pevensie, High King of Narnia. And since that was how she looked, she was also thinking maidenly thoughts. About how much she loved this boy, Dominic, and how this would be their first real time together since the love for him had captured her, enveloped her, devoured her. And how she hadn’t been able to write a word since she’d fallen—no, that wasn’t a maidenly thought. What was art when compared to love, anyway? And who could write when every waking minute was taken up with wondering where Dominic was, what he was doing, what he was thinking, if he’d fallen off his skateboard, and if so, what Jane could say to comfort him while she held his bloodied head in her lap. Now those were maidenly thoughts.
And now she’d reached the end of the dock and she was with him, her beloved, and they headed to French Park, where she knew they would sit and share their love, and she would tell him so many things, like about seeing Gandy Island from the Bernadette, and how she’d been thinking of him all the time, and how he had to promise that if he fell off his skateboard, to do it when she was around so that she could hold his bloodied head. In fact, Jane had so much to tell Dominic that she didn’t want to wait for French Park. She wanted to begin immediately while they walked together. Except that they weren’t walking together, because Dominic wasn’t walking at all, really—he was on his skateboard, either ahead of her or behind, or making large circles around her. She didn’t care, not really, trying to thrust away the suspicion that Peter Pevensie would never make circles around a maiden. You’re being disloyal, she scolded herself, and anyway, there weren’t any skateboards in Narnia. Besides, soon they reached French Park, and Jane was able to sit down on the bench, and although Dominic continued to ride in circles for a while, she could now close her eyes to better picture him as a noble presence worthy of her love, and by the time he sat down beside her, she was feeling steadier.
“I have many things to tell you, Dominic,” she said.
“Yeah.” Dominic shuffled his feet. “Me too. I mean, I have something to ask you.”
“You do?” This was a surprise. Until now, asking personal questions had not been one of Dominic’s skills. “You go first, then.”
“No, that’s okay.”
“Please?”
“Okay, here’s my question.” Dominic shuffled his feet again, then cleared his throat. “Can I kiss you?”
“Excuse me?” Jane was so surprised, she jumped off the bench. Did he love her, too? She hadn’t hoped for as much.
“It will be a short, little kiss.” He looked sternly out to sea. “Hardly a kiss at all.”
She sat down again. “Oh, Dominic, love has no measure.”
“What?”
“I mean, yes, please kiss me.”
She turned expectantly to him, and he turned to her, too, tilting his head first this way, then that, to accommodate both noses, before moving in for the finale. He’d been honest—it was a short, little kiss, hardly a kiss at all, and immediately afterward he was gone—back on his skateboard and flying out of French Park.
Was it over already? So quickly here and gone? But Jane didn’t mind. Not that he was gone, or that she hadn’t told him about Gandy Island or about holding his bloodied head. Jane didn’t think she’d ever mind anything again. She’d been kissed by the object of her adoration, and now she was beyond bliss and all the way to—what was beyond bliss?
Paradise.
Late that night, Skye was reluctantly dragged out of a deliciously deep slumber. Her first thought was that she was really tired of people waking her up all the time. Her second thought was that Jane was talking in her sleep again.
“Snare, wear, pear, lair, solitaire—maybe,” said Jane. “And dare and care. They’re good ones.”
“Wake up, Jane,” said Skye wearily. “Or if you have to talk in your sleep, could you please be more interesting?”
“I’m not asleep. Sorry—I’ll be quieter.” Jane dropped her voice to a whisper. “While, dial, mile, file, guile. Style! No, that doesn’t help. Rile?”
Skye sat up and saw that her sister was hiding under her sheet with a flashlight. “Come out of there.”
Jane’s head popped out. “As long as you’re awake, maybe you can help me with my ode.”
“What ode? Never mind, don’t tell me.” If Jane was writing an ode for Dominic, Skye didn’t want to know about it. Though of course that was what Jane was doing. Ever since she’d returned from French Park, she’d been so goofily strange that her previous behavior seemed alm
ost normal.
“What rhymes with smile?”
“Bile, as in Your smile makes me want to throw up.”
A sleepy voice came from the other side of the bamboo curtain. “How about denial?”
“That I adore your smile, there can be no denial,” said Jane with delight. “Thank you, Jeffrey!”
“You’re welcome. I like your smile, too.”
“Now I need a rhyme for skateboard,” said Jane.
Skye dove across the porch and wrenched the flashlight away from Jane. “No more rhymes. I mean it.”
Jane sighed loudly and tossed and turned for a while. Skye was about to lose her temper in a most un-OAP fashion when that sleepy voice spoke again.
“And it can’t be ignored that I also like your skateboard.”
“Jeffrey, you’re brilliant!” exclaimed Jane.
Skye contented herself with throwing a sneaker at each of them, and then at last all was quiet on the sleeping porch.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Haircuts
IT WAS TIME FOR TURRON to leave Point Mouette, and no one wanted him to go. Even Hoover and Hound were uneasy and kept tangling him in their leashes.
“Stay for just a few more days,” said Jeffrey. “Skye, tell him.”
“Why not, Turron?” she asked.
“Yes, why not?” Aunt Claire swung on her crutches. “Who will do jigsaw puzzles with me when you’re gone?”
Turron didn’t want to leave either. “Unfortunately, I have to get back to work. A recording session.”
“An important one,” added Alec, “that might lead to more work.”
“Actually, I’d leave for that, too,” said Jeffrey.
“Me too,” said Batty.
Skye shook her head at her littlest sister. “Do you even know what a recording session is?”
“Sure she does,” Turron said, and crouched down to say good-bye to Batty. “I’ll see you sometime, kiddo. Keep up your music, and good luck with you-know-what. Break a leg.”
Batty knew that you-know-what was a secret code for the concert she and Jeffrey were working on, and Turron was using code because it was going to be a surprise concert. She wasn’t sure, though, why he’d said that about breaking her leg, and she glanced nervously at Skye, who was so sensitive these days about people getting broken or blowing up. But Skye hadn’t heard. She was too busy observing Jane, whose behavior had changed once more. Last night she’d been rapturously writing odes. Now she was a mess, jiggling around like a bobble doll, her head turning this way and that, watching for someone who had to be Dominic. Skye wished him at the bottom of the ocean.
“Jane,” she said, “you haven’t even pretended to say good-bye to Turron.”
“I’m sorry.” Jane gave Turron an enthusiastic hug. “Good-bye, Turron, and thanks for rescuing me when I hurt my nose and for being funny and kind and an excellent drummer and I hope you find happiness in your life and that every minute is wonderful and perfect and that the light of love shines on you and—”
Aunt Claire cut her off, smiling apologetically at Turron. “We all hope the best for you.”
“Thanks.” And he smiled back. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you. All of you. Jeffrey, you’ve got my phone number. Let me know when you want to visit me in New York, where the best music is made.”
“Ahem,” said Alec. “Jeffrey doesn’t need New York. He’s going to be busy making music with me in Boston, right?”
Jeffrey shook his head, too overwhelmed at the offered riches to joke about it. And now it really was time for Turron to go. As Batty played a mournful tune on her harmonica, he got into his car, and out again because he’d forgotten to give Batty a few final golf balls he’d found for her, and then Hoover tried to knock him over in one last attempt to keep him there forever, but it didn’t work, and Turron drove away and left them all behind.
Despite being sad about Turron leaving, Batty was pleased with the new golf balls, not just because she loved them, but because they also gave her an excuse to go off by herself. The surprise concert wasn’t her only secret; she also knew why Jane was acting so screwy. Jane had told her all about it early that morning—how she’d dropped a node off at the inn for Dominic, that she hoped that he’d like the node enough to come see her, and how she thought she might die of grief if he didn’t. Batty had asked Jane what a node was, and Jane said never mind, but just don’t tell anyone else, especially Skye. Batty hadn’t told and wouldn’t, but it was easier not to tell when she didn’t have to see Skye staring anxiously at Jane. Plus she didn’t like thinking about Jane dying. It was too sad.
So Batty and Hound slipped back to Birches with the new golf balls, and went into Batty’s room, where she’d hidden her collection under the bed. There had been so many searches for lost balls, with so many people helping, that Batty figured she must have almost a million by now. She crawled under the bed and pushed aside the big floppy plastic duck that Hound had hidden the first night in Maine. And there was her treasure trove—three whole buckets full of golf balls. Jeffrey had bought the buckets for her at Moose Market. One was red, one yellow, and one purple, and there were three empty blue buckets, too, which Batty was sure she’d fill soon, since golfers weren’t very good at holding on to their belongings.
Using both hands, she tugged the yellow bucket, heavy with its load, out from under the bed and compared the balls Turron had given her to what she already had. What she liked most about the golf balls were all their different marks—the words on them, and the grass stains and little gouges where they’d been hit with clubs. She tried to show a few of the most interesting to Hound, but he believed that once you’d seen one golf ball, you’d seen them all. Batty decided to change games. Since the boat trip the day before, the two of them had spent a lot of time playing seals on an island, and neither of them was tired of it yet.
“Hound, let’s play seals.” With a great heave, she managed to get the yellow bucket onto the bed. “The balls can be the rocks, and my stuffed animals can be the seals.”
Maybe Hound thought that there were real seals up there on the bed, because his leap onto it was so enthusiastic that the yellow bucket flew up into the air, did a somersault, and fell to the floor, its contents clattering and banging all around it. The noise was horrific, and Batty did the only thing she could think of—yank the blanket off her bed, throw it onto the floor to hide the bucket and golf balls, and hope no one had heard.
While Batty was trying to get Hound interested in her golf balls, Skye was spying on Jane.
“Not spying exactly. More like watching over her,” she explained to Jeffrey.
“Because she can see us, too,” he said. “If we want to spy, we should be hidden.”
That was true. Skye and Jeffrey were sitting on the deck and Jane wasn’t far away at all. She was leaning against one of the birch trees, gazing fervently out at Ocean Boulevard, on the lookout for anyone who might be skateboarding along it.
“You’re not taking this seriously, Jeffrey. I’m afraid contact with Dominic has destroyed Jane’s brain,” said Skye. “What are you humming?”
“It’s a song Alec and Turron were messing around with the other night.” Jeffrey hummed another line, then quoted the lyrics. “ ‘There’s nothing sadder than a one-man woman, looking for the man that got away.’ ”
“You’re a big help.”
Then came the crash that Batty was hoping no one would hear. Skye leaped up in a panic.
“Hound’s not barking, so it can’t be too bad,” said Jeffrey. “I’ll go see what happened, and you stay here, watching over Jane.”
Skye knew he was teasing her about Jane, but she let him go anyway. And she also knew that she was being a little silly. She should probably just ask Jane face to face why she was acting like such a goofball, and Jane would give her some logical answer—but here Skye’s line of reasoning fell apart, because she knew that Jane’s answer wouldn’t be logical. It would again be all about love and Dominic and what Sky
e might experience someday when she met the right boy; and if Skye could keep herself from tossing Jane over the seawall and onto the rocks below, she still wouldn’t be any further ahead in understanding. If only, Skye thought, oh, if only she had no younger sisters, she would be on the beach right now with her soccer ball, happy and carefree and working on her left-foot dexterity, which had never been as good as her right.
“Instead of spying on Jane like a noodle-brain,” she said, and calmed herself down with calf-stretching exercises until Jeffrey returned.
“You know those golf balls Batty’s been collecting—she spilled some of them,” he said. “She tried to hide them with a blanket, but I am much too intelligent to be fooled by a mere blanket.”
“That loud noise was just some of her golf balls? How many does she have?”
“She says about a million. Now don’t look so disgusted.”
“I don’t.”
“Yes, you do. But I already worked it out with her. She wants to take a few home to Ben, and we’re going to have a golf ball sale tomorrow to get rid of the rest—she told me about a lady in a green skirt who gave her five dollars for some balls—and I’m donating my golf clubs.”
“Your golf clubs?” Skye was appalled. “Your mother and Dexter will be furious.”
“Maybe, but I could always stay with Alec until they calm down.” Jeffrey looked quite cheerful at the thought. “Besides, they’re my golf clubs to give away, and I promised Batty that she can save all the money we get from the sale for a piano. We’re going to the pinewood right now to collect more. Do you want to come with us?”
“No to everything—going to the pinewood, the sale tomorrow, the piano, especially the piano.”
“Skye.”
“And don’t look so trying-to-be-patient-with-Skye.”
“I don’t.” Though he really did and knew it, so he wriggled his eyebrows at her.