Revel (15 page)
“You probably noticed it’s warmer here,” said Gran. “Our winters are mild, and we have a real nice long growing season.”
“Yeah, why is it so warm?” I asked, brushing away a mosquito. Even for summer, the air seemed unusually heavy, almost tropical. There were plants here that I’d never seen before, and the sweet, spicy scent of flowers was everywhere.
“Why?” Gran stopped short and looked surprised. “Heavens, I don’t know, child. Must be something to do with the currents or the airstream or some such. That’s just the way it is.”
As I was learning, that phrase pretty much summed up my grandmother’s outlook on life as a whole.
That’s just the way it is. Deal with it. Keep going
.
But I’d bet Reilly had a scientific explanation for the strange climate. I’d have to remember to ask him.
“That’s dill,” Gran said, moving on. “And here’s sage, parsley, some basil.” She knelt down. “And here’s rosemary. That’s for remembrance.” She chuckled. “Only wished it worked better; my memory’s not what it used to be.”
Gran moved on and began to cut leaves from a bushy plant. It was strange-looking, with glossy green leaves and tiny flowers of a lighter shade of bright, nearly fluorescent green. Soon our basket brimmed with the cuttings. A sweet, slightly resinous smell wafted up.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“Trapweed. No. Don’t touch it, dear. It’ll give you a rash.” Gran snipped another clump with her gloved hands and dropped it in the basket. “There. That should do it. Gosh, look at the time. It’s nearly high tide; they’ll be waiting.”
“Who?” I asked, but Gran didn’t answer me as she tossed her gear and baskets into the back of the golf cart, and soon we were rattling over the dusty road to a part of the island I’d never been to before. We stopped and I followed as she
crossed a grassy meadow that ended in a bluff overhanging the sea. I came close to the edge, cautious of the soft, loose ground. Far below, waves crashed against the rocks with cracks and booms and jets of water. The water churned with black eddies. At first I thought some heavy current or a rising wind was whipping it. But it wasn’t that.
The water swarmed with Glaukos monsters. There must have been hundreds of them. Scaly arms, dark misshapen heads and tails thrashed together in a tangled, boiling mass.
Gran reached into her basket and threw out a handful of the leaves. They fluttered down to the water’s surface and disappeared. Below, the thrashing increased, accompanied by a chorus of high-pitched, chirping cries as the Glaukos gnashed at the floating leaves.
“You
feed
them?”
“Oh yes.” Gran had a contented expression as she tossed out the clumps of greenery. She looked like one of those people at the park, feeding pigeons. Really big, nasty, poisonous pigeons. Obviously the creatures had immunity to the spikes on each other’s tails, because it was pretty wild down there.
“I’m kind of surprised that they’re … vegetarian,” I said, watching the scene below.
“Oh, they’re not,” said Gran. “A Glauk will eat meat. But they love this trapweed. It’s part of what ties them to this island. They can’t come out of the water for too long, so they need us to provide it for them.” She upended the basket and shook out the last few leaves. “We help each other.”
“This is where you came, that first night I was here.”
Gran nodded. “We aren’t too far from the house here if you follow that path.” She pointed to a break between some arching bushes. “They were overdue for a feeding that night, so I took a bundle of the dried trapweed I keep on hand at the house. Glauks can’t go too long without trapweed. They start to get real agitated. This keeps them calm.”
I stared as one of the Glaukos swam closer to the rocks at the cliff’s base to reach a clump of trapweed caught there. It raised its leathery head and stared up at me with yellow, unblinking eyes. Suddenly it bared curved rows of teeth at me and let out a series of high-pitched trills. I shuddered at the noise. It was like a weird, angry birdcall that drilled right into my ears.
“Step away now, Delia,” Gran said. She turned to go. “They don’t like to be watched.”
She didn’t have to tell me twice. I was only too happy to leave the bizarre creatures to their meal.
I
’d been on Trespass Island for a little over two weeks and had begun to venture out on my own whenever I had spare time. There was a shed behind Gran’s house stuffed with yard tools, clay pots, fishing poles and other odds and ends, as well as an old bicycle. Calling it a bicycle might have been generous: it was basically two wheels and a wire basket, held together by chipped black paint. But it got me everywhere I wanted to go.
Invitations to explore were everywhere. And what I liked best about exploring the island on the bike was there was no one to say “That’s not allowed.” I never got tired of discovering new places, from winding paths that twisted along the grassy bluffs to hillsides covered with wild blueberries.
There were even sea caves on the opposite side of the island
from Gran’s house; from a jagged curve of the coastline, I could see their dark openings at the base of the rocky cliffs below. Seeing them made me think once again of the legends of treasure on the island. The caves would make a likely hiding spot. But they appeared to be inaccessible, except from the water. Even at low tide water churned at the mouths of the caves. Exploring the caves would have meant swimming out to them. So. Definitely not an option.
But I decided that I did need to try new stuff. So one day I took a pole and a box of equipment from the shed and decided to go fishing from the beach.
Yeah. Fishing wasn’t as easy as it looked. Not that I’d never
watched
anyone fish, but the principle of it seemed simple. You threw the line with the hook into the water, right? Voilà. Fishing.
Unfortunately, when I tried to do this, the fishing line didn’t fly out over the water and plop in like it was supposed to. Instead, the line and the hook snapped back with a
zing!
sound in an angry little ricochet. I reached up instinctively, trying to catch it.
“Ow! Crap!”
The hook, I realized when I got brave enough to look at my hand, was buried in the meaty part of my palm, at the base of my thumb. The pain was actually not as bad as my irritation at myself.
I heard barking. Perfect. Sean Gunn was striding toward me. His dog raced around him in crazy circles, chasing
gulls. I held on to the pole but stuck my left hand behind my back. I smiled, nodded at Sean and mentally begged him to pass by.
Pain throbbed in my palm, but all I could focus on was how much Sean had seen of my performance. And how handsome he looked in a simple white T-shirt and cargo shorts.
The giant black dog waggled his way over.
“Two words for you, Buddy,” I told him, glaring. “Personal space.”
“Hey,” Sean called with a wave. “What’re you doing?”
“Oh.” I tried to look relaxed. And not impaled. I couldn’t show him my hand, now that I’d stuck it behind me. This was so stupid. “A little fishing.”
Sean nodded, surveying the opened tackle box and its disgorged, tangled contents. “For what?”
“Tuna,” I answered, training my eyes on the water. “Preferably solid white albacore. I don’t like the other kind, it smells like cat food.”
Sean threw a piece of driftwood for Buddy. He seemed to be enjoying this way too much. He must’ve seen.
“Oh yeah?” he asked pleasantly. “What’re you using for bait?”
“Can opener.” I swiveled to face him. “You know, I think I just want to concentrate on my fishing. Alone. You know, relax, get Zen with it?” I looked around pointedly. “It’s a big beach.”
Sean shrugged. “Small island.”
“Really? Gee, I hadn’t noticed.”
He didn’t seem fazed by my sarcasm and took hold of the line. “What’s the matter, is there a knot in it? That happens all the time. Let me help you.”
Sensing that he might pull on the line, the other end of which was
stuck in me
, I let out a shrill “No!” and showed him my hand. “Don’t laugh.”
But Sean didn’t laugh. “Jeez. Why didn’t you show me right away? You can get a nasty infection from something like this,” he said, gently probing the skin around the hook. His hands were big. Reddened calluses and small cuts marked his knuckles. “I’ll get it out. Buddy, sit,” Sean ordered the dog, who’d circled back, dragging his driftwood. Sean took a Swiss Army knife from his pocket.
“Whoa. Wait a minute!” I said, and swallowed. “What’re you going to do with that?”
Sean looped the fishing line next to the hook and cut it with a quick tug. “You’ve got half an inch of stainless steel buried in your hand, Delia. You can’t pull it back. The barb’s got to be pushed through.”
“Is it going to hurt?”
Sean eyed my hand critically. “Oh yeah. Definitely.”
“What’s the matter with you? You’re not supposed to say that!”
“What,” he said, putting on a wounded look, “you want me to lie?”
“Yes,” I practically hissed. “You’re supposed to lie. And distract me.”
Sean thought this over for a second. “You want a stick to bite?”
I laughed. “Hmm. Somehow I don’t think grinding my molars into a piece of dirty wood is going to make me feel better. You should tell me a joke or something.”
He took a pair of pliers from the fishing box. “I’m not very good at jokes.”
We sat down on the sand next to each other. He must not have worked on the boat today: his skin was freshly shaved and bronzed from the sun. I breathed in.
“You smell nice,” I said. “I mean, not that you smelled bad before. Or that I was … smelling you.”
Okay. Could
not
believe I just said that.
“Pay no attention,” I told him. “It’s the excruciating pain talking. Just do it.”
Sean gave a nod for me to look the other way. “Okay, I’ve got one. There was this tourist couple visiting Maine, Fred and Betty. From Schenectady.”
“Schenectady?” I winced as I felt the pliers grasp the hook, and looked at Sean. He frowned in concentration, teeth catching his lower lip. There was a snap as he clipped the end off the hook.
“Yeah. Don’t interrupt. Joke in progress here. Fred and Betty from Schenectady went out to eat and Betty is looking at the menu and she says to Fred, ‘Let’s get the twin
lobster special.’ And Fred says, ‘Are you crazy? It’s thirty-nine bucks.’ ”
I felt Sean’s hand grip mine tighter. “Hold on,” he murmured.
A sharp pain.
“And Betty says, ‘Well, of
course
it’s expensive, Fred. They’re
twins
. What are the chances?’ ”
I let out a breath, smiling despite myself at the corny humor. “Is it over?”
“Yeah, the hook is out.”
I smiled at him. “I mean the joke. Is it over?”
Sean smiled when he looked up, and the sun glinted on his blond hair.
“Thanks,” I said.
“No problem. You’re going to need to disinfect that when you get home and bandage it up good.”
Sean Gunn was like some super-sized Boy Scout, only with the Hotness badge added.
We sat silently for a minute, Sean looking out to the water and running his fingers through the sand. Buddy gamboled around the beach, barking at gulls. “God, I love this place,” Sean whispered suddenly. The sudden emotion in his voice surprised me, and for a moment I felt awkward, as if I’d heard his private thoughts out loud.
“I can understand that,” I said softly. The feeling of being trapped and helpless that I’d had when I first came here was lessening. I was beginning to appreciate the beauty of
Trespass. “I saw some caves on the northern part of the island,” I told Sean, glancing at him. “But it looks like you can only get there from the water. Could you take me to see them sometime?”
Sean gave an exasperated-sounding laugh. “You must have a nose for trouble or something. The sea caves are totally offlimits. Those belong to the First Ones.”
“Oh, that figures.”
“You know, if you like, I could teach you how to fish. There’s some fine striped bass running lately.”
“That would be great.”
“No problem,” said Sean. “I’ll bring the Band-Aids.”
Zuzu and Reilly invited me to come to the beach with them on Saturday. I agreed, on the condition that actually getting into the water wasn’t required. I couldn’t imagine swimming here, not after what I’d seen.