Kelly McClymer-Must Love Black (16 page)

The storm came from nowhere. It swept away leaves and linens hanging in the sun to dry—and common sense.

—Miss Adelaide Putnam,
Manor of Dark Dreams
, p. 178

As I walked up to the goat pen, I noticed the busted fence. It wasn’t the first time. Geoff had obviously recaptured Misty Gale, because she was tethered to a fence post. He was talking to the girls and Mr. P as I approached. They all stopped to look at me with chagrin. I wasn’t sure how this had become my fault. The goat wasn’t my idea of an ideal pet.

I rejected guilt by pointing to the guilty party, who was drinking from her water bucket as innocent as could be. “She escaped again?”

“Geoff says he thinks our goat is lonely,” Triste said, a little triumphantly because Rienne and I had ignored her when she’d brought it up before.

Rienne still wasn’t as tuned in to the goat vibes. “Lonely? That goat is just ornery. She doesn’t want to do anything we
want her to do. Has she given us any milk? No. How are we going to make cheese?”

“Give her a little time to get adjusted,” Triste argued with her sister. “Wouldn’t you be lonely if you didn’t have me to keep you company?”

Rienne shrugged. “I guess. But I’m not a goat.”

Triste said stubbornly, “We should get another goat so she has a friend. Then she wouldn’t eat her fence and run away.”

Another goat? I shuddered at the idea. “I think you’re both right, girls.”

“What do you mean?” they asked in unison, both staring at me with identically suspicious expressions. Apparently, they didn’t like the suggestion that they both might be right.

“Triste, you’re right that that Misty Gale is lonely.” I turned to Rienne, cutting her off before she could argue why Triste was wrong. “And, Rienne, you’re right that she still needs to adjust. Why don’t we spend a little more time out here with her. She’s doing okay now, with us standing near her.”

Geoff, as always, made my job of minimizing the goat heartache difficult. I think he enjoyed it too. “She’s not eating.”

I stared at him, trying to send the mental message to get my back unless he wanted to be looking after another goat. “Sure she is. Look how short the grass is.”

Triste wasn’t prepared to ignore the problem of the escaping goat. “She ate okay the first couple weeks she was here, but she hasn’t eaten for a few days now.”

“How do you know that?” Mr. P was paying attention. Suddenly I could see the bright side of a lonesome goat.

Any other kid would have argued pointlessly. Not Triste. She pulled a ruler out of her pocket. “I’ve been measuring. I don’t think she’s eaten for at least three days.”

Figures. I looked at Geoff, who was, not surprisingly, looking at me. The twins had that effect on people. I’d learned that it was no use trying to use platitudes with these girls. They liked the facts. I respected them for it, though I knew firsthand it was going to make their teenage years very rough.

Rienne conceded the not-eating point, her trust in her sister’s measurement capabilities absolute. “Should we give her back? We don’t want her to starve to death. That’s not why we got a pet. And if she doesn’t eat, she’s never going to give us milk to make cheese.”

I felt a little guilty offering a stall tactic, but I couldn’t see any other choice. “Why don’t we just hang out with her a little more and wait to see if she starts eating again?” It seemed like a good suggestion to me, except for the waiting part. I couldn’t help sidling away from the goat a little. More father-daughter time, I told myself.

Neither of the twins were happy with that suggestion. Fortunately, Mr. Pertweath not only backed me up, he changed the subject quite effectively when he said, “I’ll come out with you every morning after your swim time to keep an eye on her eating for a few more days.”

Geoff broke in, “Don’t forget, we don’t know what she’s been eating when she escapes.”

Mr. P nodded. “Very true.” And then, miracle of miracles, away from his laptop and the constant business pressures of Chrysalis Cliff, he sat in lotus position on the grass and pulled
his daughters close. “Now, who’s going to tell me about the sailing trip Laurie tells me you’re planning to take?”

I turned toward Misty Gale so that Geoff wouldn’t see me blush. Laurie had e-mailed me the schedule for the sail soon after our shopping trip, and I’d tried not to think of it every second of the day since. I’d been halfway successful. Sarah had managed to call me last night and had—long distance—helped me pick the perfect sailing-with-Geoff outfit. You’d be surprised at how an all-black wardrobe can offer a lot of choices.

The girls were thrilled at their dad’s interest and launched into detailing the plan they’d already outlined three times—beginning with what they’d asked the cook to pack for our picnic.

Geoff whispered for my ear only, “You look nervous. Don’t you trust I can get you out and back safely?”

I was nervous. I didn’t know whether it was the sea or Geoff that unsettled me more. But I didn’t want to let him know that, so I blinked twice and said very calmly, “Whether you can or not, the girls and I have decided we’re going out only as far as we can swim back.” That was part of the girls’ plan, so I wasn’t lying. However, they didn’t have a clue what the real safety distance was, so it would be up to me. And I’d decide based on how Geoff sailed.

He raised an eyebrow at my comment, but didn’t bother to reply. I guess his word limit for the day had been reached with all the talking about Misty Gale. Being a man of few words had to be a hard job, I realized.

After Mr. P stood up and brushed off his pants in indication
that he had to get back to work—I was glad to notice that he actually seemed reluctant—we headed back to the house. It was computer time, I knew without having to look. I was really beginning to get the hang of this schedule thing.

The twins put aside all Camp CSI research and focused instead on goats, and lonely goats, for the rest of the afternoon. I never wanted to know another thing about a goat as long as I lived. But we did find a solution. Get another goat. Triste was pleased to the point of preening at her complete and utter vindication.

“Let’s talk about it with Geoff tomorrow during our sail,” Rienne said.

“And then we can talk to Father. I’m sure he’ll agree. He’s been so lonely since Mother died,” Triste said thoughtfully. “He should understand.”

All I could think was that Lady Buena Verde was not going to be happy.

On sailing day, Geoff met us downstairs after breakfast. “Ready to go?”

“All ready,” I answered, though I didn’t feel ready.

“Not quite,” he countered.

“What? Do I have something in my teeth?”

“You need this.” He handed me a life jacket.

“What’s this?” I knew what it was, but I was stalling, trying to think of an excuse to get out of going. Suddenly, a day on a boat with Geoff seemed like a terrible idea. What if I got seasick?

Geoff grinned, apparently sensing my frantic desire to
back out. “Everyone on my boat needs a life jacket.”

I looked around. “As far as I can see, I’m not on your boat.”

Triste sighed at the inane argument that was keeping us from leaving. “Take it, Pippa. You’re going to be. And if you keep arguing, we’re going to be off schedule.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t come. Maybe I should keep Misty Gale company. She is lonely, after all.”

“I told you she was afraid of sailing,” Triste said to Geoff. Then she turned to me. “You said you hadn’t ever sailed, and Geoff thought you might like to give it a try. You don’t have to be afraid. We’ll be with you.”

“Please?” Rienne cut right through any logical arguments that were surfacing in my mind.

I sighed. “Okay.” I supposed a bit of sun would be a good thing.

Sun might have been good, except we’d only just sailed out of the shelter of the bay and onto the ocean when the clouds swept in. I’d heard of a cloudburst before, but I’d never been directly under one—and in a sailboat.

Geoff and the twins struggled to get the sails down, and then he made sure everyone’s life jackets were tightly secured before he yelled to me, “If we go over, grab the tarp and don’t let go.”

Go over? I didn’t bother to ask it out loud, since the wind was whipping into my mouth every time I tried to breathe. I didn’t even really want to know the answer to that one. I just wanted to hang on and not go over. But I did take a big wad of tarp in my hands, as did each of the twins, while we huddled
so close together we were like one big wet wolf pack.

“Glad you practiced your swimming?” I asked Rienne. She smiled at me, bravely, I thought, for someone who wasn’t dumb enough to believe her strokes were going to do her much good in this rough water.

As if the storm cloud wasn’t bad enough, the waves seemed to be vying to see which one could reach the clouds first. I would have been sick, but I was much too scared.

Inevitably, a wave rolled us and we plunged into the sea. I kept hold of the tarp, even though it seemed a bit stupid since it was pulling me down. But Geoff had said . . . Just as I was grappling with the reality that I wouldn’t be able to get my head above water and still keep the tarp from sinking to the bottom of the sea, I felt it lighten in my hand and I bobbed up for air. There were Geoff and Triste and Rienne, each holding a piece of the tarp. Geoff yelled something I couldn’t hear, and started swimming toward—I had no idea toward what since I couldn’t see. But I started swimming behind him and together we towed the twins behind us, with the tarp acting as a rope.

Eventually, we hit something hard and rough. Rock. I ignored the scrape of the rock face as I scrambled up behind Geoff. I turned and together we again used the tarp to pull the twins up with us.

We took shelter on the little rock that Geoff graciously called “the island.” Our shelter from the wind and rain was the tarp we pulled over us and sat on, making sure not to leave a space for the wind to grip it and tear it—and us—off the granite face of our tiny island. With the tarp over our heads, the sounds of the storm and wind became muffled. We could
talk without shouting; we could hear one another. We could touch one another. We pressed close under the tarp.

“So, anyone know any good scary stories?” Geoff joked.

“How about, there once was a sailboat full of people that turned over,” I said.

“Keeled.”

“Killed?”

“Keeled over. That’s sailor talk.”

“I’m no sailor.”

“Sure you are. You just survived your first keel over, so you’re official.”

Geoff was determined to keep the girls’ minds off the storm—and probably mine, too—so he launched into one funny story after another, about Misty Gale, about his family, about sailing adventures he’d been on as a kid. I probably wouldn’t have said a word, except, when he delivered the punch line of his final tale, he pressed his hand against my knee. He pressed it and took it back quickly, but I felt the imprint burning there as if he hadn’t.

Times like that call for babbling, at least, in my world they do. Maybe if Sarah had been around I might have put my hand on his knee. Or smacked him. Or shut up. But Sarah wasn’t there. Geoff and the twins were, and I babbled. About poems, about wind chimes, about my mother, about black, white, and everything in between.

Under the tarp every breath and every movement that Geoff made seemed magnified. I found myself gratified when he laughed at my jokes, or shook his head, or squeezed my knee when I told about the car accident. Every time I started
to think he might like me, though, really like me as a person, he would react in a way that confused me.

You’d think that being that close to a guy, a girl would figure out the score. But, no. By the time the sound of the wind stopped and the rain no longer beat against the tarp, I was more confused than ever about how Geoff felt about me. And about how exactly I wanted him to feel.

Fortunately, I didn’t have a lot of time to fret about it. There was a more pressing matter—rescue from “the island.” After the storm passed, we lifted the tarp and looked out on a sea that was calm and sparkling and beautiful. Our sailboat was nowhere to be seen, but Geoff didn’t seem too concerned. He opened the case he’d hooked to his belt as soon as the storm hit us, took out a flare, lit it, and sent it up into the brilliant blue sky.

“Someone will come get us soon,” he reassured the girls as he pulled out granola bars for them.

When he offered me one I shook my head. “I take it this isn’t your first capsized sailboat?”

“What’s life without a man-overboard moment every so often, ghost girl?”

I felt a chill. His smile was endearing, but the nickname? No, thank you. “I’d done fine without capsizing or ghostbusting before now. I’d be happy to return my life to normal status, believe me.”

“Normal. Huh, I wouldn’t think a girl like you would deign to speak that word.” He grinned again.

I had felt so close to Geoff under that tarp. If I tried, I could still feel the press of his knee against mine. Did he like
me? Or did he just think I was a funny, freaky ghost girl he could tease whenever he was bored or stranded on a rock in the middle of the ocean?

Apparently, our rocky island was a known hot spot for collecting those whose sailboats capsized in a storm. A lovely small yacht (not sail-powered) answered our flare and picked us up. As we headed home, Geoff said, “Keep an eye out for the lady, okay?” I didn’t try that hard, and Triste spotted the floating hull and called out to Geoff.

To my surprise, he didn’t hesitate; he just dove overboard, turned over the capsized sailboat, hoisted the sails, and headed in.

We weren’t far behind him, and when we reached the bay I thanked the captain of the yacht who’d rescued us. Triste and Rienne also offered their thanks—solemn-eyed and sober, of course.

We climbed onto the dock, like regular yacht riders. No one could guess we’d been stranded, so there weren’t a lot of nosy eyes on us. They were too busy admiring the yacht. Sure, we looked like we’d been put away wet and dried out in the sun, but so did most people who’d come in from the storm, so that was no biggie.

We sat for a while on the green, watching sailboats going in and out. Geoff brought us ice cream from the nearby Acadia Shops—green tea for the twins, mango for me, cherry chocolate chip for himself. At last, Triste said slyly, “That was fun, Pippa. We should do it again.”