I, Emma Freke (18 page)

One whole hour! I didn't even think twice. But before I could slip away, Aunt Pat grabbed my wrist.

“Stop off at my tent, Emma,” she said, grinning a little too hard. “I have a history book on the brave Wisconsin settlers I think you'd enjoy.”

I was aware of Abby watching nervously, her foot wiggling all around.

“Thank you, Aunt Pat,” I chirped politely, “but I brought plenty to read!”

“I think you'd prefer this,” she insisted.

I knew I couldn't refuse her offer.

“It does sound interesting,” I replied as she finally released her grip. “I'll be over in a little bit.”

And without looking back, I disappeared between two aunts into the mob of cousins, out the back of the kitchen area, and off into the damp woods.

By the time I reached the back of the Hobby Hut, there was no sign of Fred. I assumed he must have waited for me and then gave up and left when the rain started. I was surprised how disappointed I felt and wondered if I'd get another chance to sneak away to see his cabin.

A steady cool wind was blowing in from the lake as the rain continued to pour. My clothes were completely drenched. I decided I probably should go back to my tent and change into something warmer, with a stop at Aunt Pat's.

Just then a pine cone, about the size of an egg, landed near my feet.

“Is that you, Emma from the East?”

I looked up. There was Fred sitting on a thick tree branch about ten feet above me.

“Were you waiting long?” I asked.

He swung upside down like a gymnast and dropped to the ground solidly on his feet. Then he brushed his muddy hands on his wet shorts and shook out his soggy hair.

“I knew you'd come eventually.”

In the distance, soft thunder rumbled through the sky. I started to shiver.

“The hike was canceled. I have a whole hour!”

“I heard,” he said, turning down a new path. “But what I want to know is, what if you
like
trekking in the rain? Huh? But no! You have to go to your tent and read!”

“Or what if you like to read outside in the rain?” I giggled, following close behind.

“Precisely!” he practically yelled, “And suppose you like to sit in your tent on a sunny day and count your toes? What's wrong with that?”

More thunder, only this time a little closer.

“Rule number twelve, Emma! Never sit in your tent on a sunny day and count your toes! Got it?”

I laughed out loud. “It's nine, Fred! We're only on rule number nine.”

By the time we arrived at a small A-frame house with the roof slanted all the way to the ground, we were both thoroughly soaked. Fred had to rattle the handle a few times to unlatch the front door.

Inside the one room, there was an oven and a sink in the back right-hand corner, a tattered couch on the opposite side, and a woodstove between the kitchen and bedroom. A square red table with two broken chairs had been placed in the middle of the space and an old ripped-up recliner, similar to Nonno's, was nearby.

“Nobody lives here?” I asked.

“Nope!” Then Fred stared at me awkwardly. “You seem a tad frosty.”

I was in fact shaking uncontrollably as the thunder grew louder and the air cooler. My teeth were even chattering. Fred hunted in a few corners before he found some towels and a ragged blanket. He twisted around and mumbled something as he handed them to me.

“What did you say?” I asked as we both dried off. “I didn't hear you.”

He stuttered a little, “Nothing, nothing. Just a quick comment.”

I glanced beyond him and teased, “Are you talking to someone back there?”

“Oh, not really. Just an invisible crowd I invented. They kinda live with me.”

So the girls
were
telling the truth.

“You mean like an imaginary friend?”

“Not exactly. These guys are more like a gang, you know, a bunch of invisible pals.”

I peered back and forth across the room and tried not to think about the mean things they had said.

“Where are they now? Your gang?”

Fred shoved his hands in his pockets.

“I told them to take off for a while. They already left. Who knows what trouble they'll cook up in this storm!” he chuckled and smacked his hands together.

“Um. Aren't most people with imaginary friends children, like four-year-olds?”

“Yah, I know. It's more of a habit. I need to run through my lines in front of an audience, so it helps.”

“An audience?”

“I have to practice my act every day—to keep it sharp.”

“Can I see it?”

“See it? Madam, the morning matinee performance is about to begin!
Please
, take your seat.”

I snuggled up in the old recliner, while Fred dragged the two chairs and red table to the side of the room to make space. All at once, a crack of thunder exploded overhead and a giant gust of wind rattled the tiny house.

Fred glared up at the ceiling. “Don't be so impatient!” he yelled at the rain gods, which made me laugh.

Next thing I knew, Fred threw open a blue cooler tucked under the sink and pulled out a carton of eggs.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, girls and boys!”

I glanced at the front door.

“Is the gang back?” I asked.

“No,” he whispered, “it's my introduction. Just work with me, Emma.”

And for the next however-many minutes or so, I was completely entertained by an amazing juggler who morphed into a crafty magician (and sometimes a funny folksinger), all while telling jokes and stories. Like a one-person talent show! The wind howled as the thunder banged overhead, which seemed to only add to the performance.

Finally, Fred took a deep bow and shouted, “Finis! Thank you, thank you, folks!”

“Wow!” I exclaimed. “You're mega-talented!”

“Honestly?” he asked, grabbing a chair and plopping it down in front of me. “You're not just saying that?”

“I never say stuff like that to anyone,” I replied. And it was true.

Fred smiled so hard I could see every tooth in his mouth. Then he slapped his knee and jumped up.

“I knew it! I knew I was good!”

“You're more than good,” I added, “you're amazing!”

Fred spun around twice and punched the air.

“Do you have any idea how long I've been waiting for someone to tell me that? Do you?”

I couldn't believe my ears.

“You mean no one has ever seen you do any of this stuff?”

Fred shook his head. “No one other than you and, you know, the gang.”

“But why?”

“They all assume I'm crazy. ‘Oh that Fred, he's all nuts and no bolts!' People have been saying junk like that for years.”

“Everyone?”

“Pretty much everyone and everywhere I go.”

I knew how that felt—when the world seemed to to tally dismiss you no matter what you did or how good you were at something. Nobody cared because you didn't matter. It occurred to me that Fred needed to attend his own far-off family reunion to know that he wasn't crazy or weird or. . . a freak.

“I'm telling you,” I said as I stood up and took off the blanket now that I was drier, “you should visit us in Homeport. My mother, Donatella, knows every restaurant and bar owner in town. I bet she could get you into one of those places to perform.”

“You mean a real gig?”

I smiled. “I guess so!”

“Hey, are you hungry?” Fred asked.

“Starving!”

We pulled everything he had out of the cooler as we planned his trip back east. It turned out Fred had a lot of money saved from collecting stray golf balls at the local country club and reselling them at Fancy's General Store. He was planning to move to New York City when he turned eighteen but decided he could use some of his savings to visit me first over the holiday break.

We dragged the red table and chairs back to the center of the room and ate tuna-walnut-olive sandwiches made with ranch dressing on sesame-garlic bagels. They were delicious.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot,” said Fred.

“Which ones are your parents? I mean, are they here at the reunion?”

“They're here all right, but we keep clear of one another. We just don't see eye to eye, so to speak.”

I thought of that note and wondered if his parents would agree.

“I guess you could say I'm the same way with my mother.”

Fred took a huge gulp of lemonade, then banged his chest to help it down.

“Speaking of which, where's your father, who I assume is the
Frecky
connection since that's your last name? You keep mentioning your mother but nothing about him.”

“That's because I don't know him. We've never met. I never even knew a thing about him until about two weeks ago.”

“Are you kidding me?” cried Fred as he stuffed the end of his bagelwich in his mouth. “That's intense! Especially since the
Freckys
track every cousin practically back to the tenth century. Hey, is that why you didn't even know how to pronounce our last name?”

We both burst into laughter remembering my arrival.

“Pretty much. My mother has always said
Freak
. You have no idea how glad I am to switch to
Frecky
.”

“I don't know,” said Fred. “
Freak
is a pretty fantabulous name. Fred
Freak
!”

I screeched, “
Freak
is a horrible name, believe me!”

“Hmmm . . . it might even be better than Fred
Frecky
!”

I sighed thinking about how wonderful it would be to meet my father since we would obviously have so much in common.

“So it sounds like you've never met him either. I was hoping you might have some information.”

“What's his first name?”

“Walter.”

“Walter?” he grimaced. “The only Walter I've ever heard of is Wild Wanda's brother, Walter, but he took off years ago.

I was shocked.

“
Wild Wanda?”

“Wanda
Frecky
? Really tall, old, skinny, frizzy gray hair, wears only jeans and biker T-shirts.”

“Drives a beat-up pickup truck? Works on a farm?”

“That's her,” said Fred. “My hero! How do you know Wild Wanda?”

“She drove me here to the reunion. She didn't want to stay, though, something about having to get back to do chores.”

Fred snorted with laughter. “Didn't want to stay? Believe me, she would have been run off the campground by an angry
Frecky
mob. She's a bona fide outcast. I'm surprised they had her drive you up!”

“Well, Jim and Nancy
Frecky
were supposed to meet me. But then Jim had some kind of accident—I guess he's okay—so they called Wanda to pick me up. It was a real mess at the airport, but Wanda figured it all out.”

Fred stared and shook his head. “Remarkable! I guess Wanda was the only one in the state not attending the reunion so they knew she'd be free to drive you. Still, I'm shocked they asked her over the UPS man. I didn't think anyone talked to Wild Wanda anymore.”

“Why? What did she do?”

“It's more about what she didn't do.”

I was confused. “What do you mean?”

“I'm telling you, Emma, there are very hard and fast
Frecky
commandments these people live by. They all believe in the exact same thing. And if you don't follow their self-serving path, you're dirt in their eyes. And Wanda, she not only refused to follow the family manual, she was a card-carrying rebel!”

“In what way?”

“You name it, and she did it: quit school, left town at sixteen without contacting anyone for a whole year, traveled the world as a dishwasher on one of those cruise lines, got tattoos, and married and divorced I don't how many times. The list goes on and on.”

But those things weren't crimes and working on a cruise ship actually sounded fun. None of it seemed like reason enough to kick a person out of a family.

“What about her brother, Walter?”

“Same kind of stuff I think. Except I heard he's got a real job now and lives in Ohio or someplace like that. But I honestly don't know much about him.”

“I wonder if he's the same Walter as my father?”

“Didn't Wanda say anything?”

“Nope, nothing.”

In the distance, we heard voices that grew louder as they got closer. Then the door rattled furiously before it crashed open.

A drenched Aunt Pat, still wearing her orange rain poncho, filled the entire doorway. And she was fuming.

“FRED
FRECKY
! YOU'VE
REALLY
CROSSED THE LINE THIS TIME, BUSTER!”