Seaglass Summer (2 page)

Furry Friends Animal Clinic
is painted in bright blue on each side of the truck. Inside, a huge yellow dog jumps up and down.

Uncle Sanjay taps on the window. “That’s Stu. He still acts like a puppy.” He throws my suitcase into the back. It lands with a whump. He slams the tailgate a few times to keep it closed, then yanks open the passenger-side door.

Stu charges out and leaps at me, knocking me back into the grass. He sits on top of me, paws on my shoulders. Floppy ears dangle in my face.

I scrunch up my nose. “Help! I’m suffocating. Stu, stop it!” But he doesn’t listen.

“Stu!” Uncle Sanjay says from far away. “Leave your cousin Poppy alone.”

Cousin? I am
not
the dog’s cousin. Stu breathes hot doggy breath on my cheeks.

“Stu, bad dog. Get off me!” I shout, but Stu keeps drooling and licking my face.

Uncle Sanjay laughs—a rolling roar. “Stay calm—”

“Calm? How can I be calm with a giant dog in my face?”

“Studebaker Chatterji, come.”

Studebaker?
The dog lumbers up and leaps into the truck. I climb in next to him. I’m turning into a pancake, squished against the door. Stu rests his paws on my lap.

“Sorry about the mess,” Uncle Sanjay says cheerfully. He shoves junk onto the floor.

As the truck rumbles to life, he pats the dashboard. “I’ve had this hump of tin since my early days as a vet in Virginia. Drove across the country and it has not failed me yet.”

“Don’t you mean
hunk
of tin?” I hold on to the door handle.

“That’s what I said.” He presses the pedal with his foot and the truck wobbles down the narrow road. Tall trees bend their branches low, forming a tunnel of green above
us. There isn’t much traffic, but everyone who passes us waves. Uncle Sanjay waves back. Nobody waves in L.A. unless they’re angry at you, and they usually wave one finger, not a whole hand.

“How was the ferry ride?” he says as he speeds along. He waggles his forefinger at me. “The boat stops at only a few of these islands, nah? There are many more islands. Some are invisible at high tide. Water rises up and covers them completely.”

“Invisible islands?” I don’t want to sound too interested, but my mouth drops open.

“Well, you can see them underwater.” He grins. “Nisqually Island is always visible, however. It’s bigger than you’d think. Many beaches and parks. Swifty Bay, Witless Cove Beach, Humphrey Landing. And we have three towns, too, not only Witless Cove. Lopty Village and Freetown.”

“Wow, three whole towns.” I won’t have time to explore. I’ll be too busy with the animals. “When do we go to work?”

“Tomorrow. The clinic is closed on Sunday afternoon.” The truck rattles and creaks, but we don’t slow down, even when the road twists around curves or climbs hills or crashes through puddles. Rain fell in the night; puddles are everywhere, reflecting the sky and trees.

“Oops, water in the road.” Uncle Sanjay spins the
steering wheel. The truck veers and skids through a stream. I hear a loud clunk, some bumping, and a couple of thuds. I glance in the side mirror. Bright colors flap away behind the truck. My suitcase bounces along the road, snapped open, spitting out my clothes, my shoes, and my underwear—right into the rushing stream.

Chapter Three
ISLAND GEAR

“U
ncle Sanjay, stop! My suitcase fell out!”

Uncle Sanjay glances in the rearview mirror. “Oh, my dear niece.” He pulls over to the shoulder, and the three of us scramble out of the truck. Uncle Sanjay scratches his head. “Must get that tailgate fixed.”

“It’s
broken
? And you put my
suitcase
back there?”

“Nowhere else to put it. I could’ve strapped it to the hood, I suppose.”

I take off my shoes and socks, roll up my jeans, and
wade into the stream. Icy water laps over my feet. Uncle Sanjay follows to help search for my clothes. Stu leaps around, splashing us. I find my pants, shirts, and socks, all soggy. Stu chomps one of my T-shirts.

Uncle Sanjay grabs the shirt. “Stu, no eating. Bad for you.”

I catch my sneakers before they float away, and my yearbook.

“What am I going to wear?” I say. Where is my vet kit? The stream rushes more loudly, bubbling in my ears.

“Not to worry. We’ll buy you some clothes. Nothing much is open today, except the Trading Post, if we get there soon. You’ll find some good solid gear. Island gear.”

Island gear? I start to shiver. Cars whiz by, people waving from the windows. I’m too upset to wave back. I try to remember my bedroom at home and the way my clothes used to be, folded neatly and dry.

Uncle Sanjay grabs the soaking, broken carrying case. Cotton swabs and tongue depressors are floating downstream.

I catch my stethoscope and thermometer before they sink. “The water ruined everything! I saved up for that kit. What am I going to do?”

His eyebrows rise. “You bought the kit for your trip to the island?” His lips are pressed together, as if he’s trying not to laugh.

I snatch the container from him. “It’s cracked now. And there goes the blanket wrap!”

“Not to worry. We have the proper equipment at the clinic.” He pats my back.

“But this was
my
kit. I put my name on it in Magic Marker, right there.”

“Ah, I see. Well, keep the box. Perhaps you’ll fill it with something new. Come, let’s go.”

How could I ever fill it with anything but emergency veterinary supplies?

We climb back into the truck. I try to send 911 text messages to Mom, but I still can’t get a signal. The deeper Uncle Sanjay drives into the shadowy woods, the slower the world moves, as if time skips Nisqually Island and races on through to Seattle.

But then we burst out into the sunshine, next to the shoreline. A wooden sign appears, half covered by twisty madrone branches:
WELCOME TO WITLESS COVE
.

“Where did that name come from?” I ask Uncle Sanjay.

“In the early 1800s, when the Wilkes Expedition sailed through these islands, Captain Wilkes found this cove shallow and exposed to storms, useless for boats wanting to come ashore or drop anchor here. Scared sailors ‘witless.’ Wilkes coined the name Witless Cove.”

He points to the right, to a curved, sandy ribbon of shore littered with rocks and driftwood. The black ocean
throws up huge white-capped waves, and the smells of kelp and sea salt waft into my nose. Stu whines as we pass the beach.

“You can find many treasures there,” Uncle Sanjay goes on. “Quartz, shells, seaglass. Stu likes to go exploring.”

I want to stop at the beach right away, but Uncle Sanjay turns left, away from the water and into town. No mall, no painted lines in the road. No fast-food restaurants. I bet nobody here has heard of a traffic light. People are biking and strolling along brick sidewalks. What’s with all the smiling and waving? Uncle Sanjay must be famous in this village of old-fashioned lampposts, shops, and hanging flowerpots. A rusty fire truck sits in the overgrown driveway of an old white church. I have to admit, Witless Cove is pretty, but nothing can fix my broken suitcase or my first aid kit, and I’m still in desperate need of a telephone.

In one blink, we pass the main street and pull up at a square building made of giant logs. A wooden sign reads,
THE WITLESS COVE TRADING POST
. I have to buy clothes in
there
? When Uncle Sanjay and I get out, Stu moves into the driver’s seat. He looks like a proud human disguised as a dog.

Inside the store, families in jeans and T-shirts mix with people in fancy clothes. They browse the soaps, lotions, and displays of cockleshells and colorful chunks of
seaglass. Up front, a few women chat about a clambake and a Girl Scout Cookie sale.

I choose a few island postcards for Emma and Anna. I wonder what they’re doing at summer camp. They’re into fashion. They would never let me shop for clothes
here
, in this world of polyester pants and shirts with sequined bunnies on the front.

Uncle Sanjay brings me a pair of denim overalls and two T-shirts with “Island Lover” written across the front. And a lime green sweater. And a set of pajamas with pictures of whales on them. And thick, striped socks, and underwear and one pair of rubbery shoes. My uncle doesn’t have a clue about clothes, but I don’t want to hurt his feelings. After all, he’s trying.

Chapter Four
MORNING MAKEOVER

“R
ise and shine, my dear niece!” Uncle Sanjay stands in my bedroom doorway in yellow pajamas. His hair sticks out like the many spikes of a cactus plant.

“What? Where am I? What time is it?” I open my eyes. Oh, yes. I’m in the closet that Uncle Sanjay calls his guest bedroom, in his cabin in the woods, nine blocks from Witless Cove, population 812.

“Here we wake with the sun and sleep with the moon.”

Stu is lying on top of me, letting out farts and pedaling his feet in his sleep.

I look up at the ceiling to see a giant spider hanging from a cobweb. I tumble out of bed, screaming. “
Spider! Right there!
Big as a Volkswagen!”

Uncle Sanjay reaches out and grabs the spider in the palm of his hand. “Oh, that little thing. She needs to be in the forest.” He carries the spider outside. Through the window, I watch him walk across the grass in his slippers and drop the spider at the edge of the woods.

Back inside, he says, “When we see those spiders, we don’t panic. We take them outside. They perform a great service, eating mosquitoes and other pesky insects such as aphids, for example.”

I press my hand to my chest. “I almost had a heart attack.” But I’m mad at myself. I shouldn’t be afraid of a few hairy little legs if I’m going to be a veterinarian.

Uncle Sanjay pulls up the blinds all the way, letting in a burst of bright sunlight. “I’ll make us some tea and breakfast, shall I? We leave for the clinic in half an hour.”

“Half an hour? But I have nothing to wear.”

My mucky clothes are piled like a volcano on top of Uncle Sanjay’s washing machine in his laundry room. I left my suitcase lying on the floor, the two halves broken.

“What about your island gear?” His face falls, so I force a smile.

“Right! How could I forget?” I have to wear the denim overalls from the Trading Post, an Island Lover T-shirt, and the lime green sweater. I wish I could go in disguise—a wig and sunglasses. At least I still have my own shoes. I tie my hair back with a slightly soggy green bow to match the sweater.

In the kitchen, we’re having huckleberry jam, toast, and lavender chutney for breakfast. I try everything except the chutney. I’m not ready to eat a flower.

“Would you like some tea with honey?” Uncle Sanjay asks.

“I need sugar.” I open the kitchen cabinets. Empty spice bottles are mixed in with the full ones. The empty ones are labeled with place names—Paris, Seattle, Miami. Looneyville, Texas; Whakapapa, New Zealand; and Little Hope, Georgia.

“What are these, Uncle?” I have to take out all the bottles to reach the bag of sugar in the back.

“I like to collect air samples. They’re all different. I should’ve asked you to bring some Los Angeles smog.”

“We live in Santa Monica, on the western edge of L.A. We get clean air sometimes, too.”

“Not as clean as our island air, I’m sure.”

“Maybe not.” I separate the air bottles from the spice bottles and put the sugar in another cabinet, with the tea bags. “You don’t have any bottles from India.”

Uncle Sanjay sits at the table and spreads lavender chutney on his toast. “Reminds me too much of home. I had a bottle of Kolkata air, but I emptied it. I wish I could go back more often, but India is so far away.”

“We go every year, and my grandma visited us last spring. She was always cold. She wore a parka all the time. Dad got teary eyed when she left—”

“I know what it’s like to miss family. I became a veterinarian in India a long time ago, nah? But when I got here, my training and experience counted for nothing. People come to America for the opportunities, the great schools, and one can open a private clinic and do very well. But I had to go to veterinary school all over again. I spent years away from my parents. I still miss everyone in India.”