Spirit’s Key (3 page)

Who would send me kibble and a toy for Sky? Everyone on Bald Island knows he's dead.

I pull the plastic off the toy. Its yellow-stitched eyes stare at me. Stern. As if it would disapprove of being thrown away.

Sky's pheasant.

It's exactly the same one. It's got brown furry wings. The same green head with the white band around its neck.

But I put it in the garbage. I swear! It was hard, but I did it. I even heard the trash truck pick up our can this morning.

I smell Sky so strong I think he's here ready to catch it. I call his name and look around.

But I'm alone. Thank goodness no one's here to see me being foolish.

“Sometimes I miss you so much, buddy, I smell you. I wish you were here to play fetch.” Even though he's not, I hurl the pheasant into the air.

As soon as the toy is airborne, an eagle appears. Then other birds. They fill the big blue canvas overhead as if they've come to welcome the stuffed pheasant. Another whiff of Sky fills my nostrils. If I didn't have eyes, I'd say it was dogs flying instead of birds.

As I stand to get a better look at all the birds I notice my bike. My front wheel is busted. Son of a sand fiddler! I really hit that tree root hard. Guess I deserve it for riding off the road in people's backyards. I kick the flat tire and broken rim, and the birds scatter.

All except the toy pheasant. It stares at me from where it landed in the grass. Its yellow-stitched eyes are serious and wanting. Wanting what?

Sky? I know the feeling.

I pick it up and put it in my basket. If the pheasant wants Sky, I'll take the pheasant to Sky.

 

4

A S
URPRISE FROM THE
P
AST

I dig my toes in hard, pushing my broken bike over heavy sand. Despite the ocean's wind, I'm sweating by the time I get to where Sky lies deep inside a sand dune.

The wind skims sand from one hill and adds it to another. The sand twirls this way and that over the beach, making a new place every day. I have to rely on instinct and the patterns of the sea grass. The grass changes, too, but slower. I wish I could put up a marker, with something on it like
Here lies Sky, the best dog a girl could have
, but the sands wouldn't hold it. Plus, I don't want anyone to know that Sky is buried.

People on this island believe that burying bodies traps souls. Lighting the body on fire sets the soul free. But on the mainland, people bury bodies in the ground all the time. Mom is buried on the mainland.

When we moved, I didn't want to leave her behind. But Dad said it wasn't practical to dig up a body after it was buried. He explained Mom is in heaven looking down on us no matter where we live. After we came to Bald Island and I found Sky sick and hurting under our house, I knew in the deepest part of my soul that Mom had sent him to me. Dad said I couldn't
know
things like that yet. But I was convinced. So I named my dog Sky, because Sky seemed like a good name for a dog from heaven.

I stand beside the spot where Sky lies beneath the sand, the spot where I found him washed up on the beach two weeks ago. His body lay in this soft curve of the dune, still as a fallen tree, his legs crumpled under him like folded branches. Was he hit by a passing boat? Why had he been in the ocean alone?

The questions didn't have answers. The only answer I had was that there wasn't anything anyone could do to save him.

So Dad and I buried him, because I couldn't bear not to have a place to visit.

“This is for you, boy.” I place the pheasant on his grave. “I brought your favorite toy. Do you like it?”

The wind whips out a howl. I spin around. The howl sounded just like Sky had answered me. I look up into the clouds, where I still imagine heaven must be.

Are you up there, Sky? With Mom and Grandmother? And all the Holden grandmothers from ages past?
Dad says the women in our family are powerful holders of the Holden gift. I'm not six years old anymore, but I still believe Mom had something to do with Sky being mine. She wasn't a Holden, but she could have pulled some strings with my ancestors. She could've asked my grandmother for help.

I turn back to the dune and brush myself off. When I was sad about Mom, Sky's thick fur held my tears. Now it was best not to start them rolling.

I unclip my walkie-talkie, because I want Dad to know I'll be late. “Zookeeper calling Big Panda.”

Static.

“Big Panda, are you there?”

I change channels but still get static. Like my bike, the walkie-talkie must have broken in the fall. Luck of the oyster crab has abandoned me today.

I point myself toward the Hatterasks' house. I don't want to see Mrs. Hatterask again, but her husband is the best handyman in town.

When I arrive I park my bike and check the backyard, hoping Mr. Hatterask is working there like usual.

I don't see him, so I circle back to the front to find Nector messing with my bike. He's already got the broken wheel off, ready for a new one.

Dad says Mr. Hatterask has a fixing compulsion. He can't not fix a broken thing. Maybe it runs in the family.

“You know what you're doing?” I ask Nector just to be sure.

He doesn't stop tinkering or even turn around. After a minute he stands up and wipes the gravel off his knees. “We probably don't have the right size rim, but I'll see.”

“You know we get free fixings, right?” After Dad saved his kids from the wave, Mr. Hatterask gave us free fixings for life. Unlike Mrs. Hatterask, he appreciates what Dad did. “Don't think just because I'm a dingbatter, I don't know what's what.”

“Shoot,” Nector says. “I was hoping for a box of cereal at least.” He grins wider than a clam at high tide, until he sees my face. “Day that bad? You could use some yaupon tea. There's a pot made up inside. You're welcome to a cup.”

“No, thanks.” Heaven forbid Mrs. Hatterask should find a dingbatter smack-dab in her own kitchen. “I think I'll just wait here.”

“Suit yourself.” He leaves to go to the back of the house.

Those are the most words Nector Hatterask has ever spoken to me in his life. With Sky at my side, he wouldn't even come near. Now he's climbing over our boxes, making jokes about cereal, and offering me tea at his house? I try to get over the shock.

I pace around their front yard, not sure where to wait. Everything about the Hatterask house is plain as plain can be. They don't have a porch like most people or even a set of front steps.

Mr. Hatterask could make his house the best on the island if he wanted, but since a hurricane is sure to come wreck it all, he doesn't bother. I've seen it twice myself. Storms hit their house so often people call them Hurricane Hatterasks.

I scan the yard for a comfortable spot, but the Hatterasks don't bother with lawn care either. I'm about to sit on the gravel when I notice a thin circle of metal that looks like a quarter.

I pick it up, and my whole body tingles like I've been dipped in ice. Sky's dog tag! The ocean wave of remembering knocks me back to the dunes, to Sky crumpled and still. He didn't have his tag when I found him.

What's it doing at the Hatterasks' house?

Nector comes back empty-handed. I shove Sky's tag into my pocket and try to push back the water threatening to crash out of my eyes.

“Looks like we don't have what you need,” Nector says. “I'd be happy to get the part for you though. Eder's got the general store packed so tight with bikes this summer, you'd think he's expecting tourists.” He laughs. “Lucky for you he's got rims and tires to spare. I can have it fixed for you by Saturday.”

“Okay, thanks. My radio's also busted. You know how to fix it, too?” I unclip the walkie-talkie from my shorts and hand it to him.

Nector immediately takes it apart and gets to fiddling.

As he works, I stare into the yard near the spot where I found Sky's tag.
Were you here, Sky?
I hold his tag in my pocket and run my fingers over the etched engraving with Sky's name and my phone number.

Something rustles near the trees.

“What is it?” Nector follows my gaze.

“I thought I saw a baldie.”

“Nah. They never come this side of the island. You might see them where you live, backed up against the woods like you are, but not over here.” He pauses a second. “Weird that one dying in the Selnicks' yard like that. Wouldn't think they'd be at their house either. I hope they aren't getting bold.”

It
is
weird. First Sky, now another baldie.

Nector's siblings, Yasmine and Gomez, run out of the house with their backpacks and a paddleball set.

“We're going to practice on the beach before school,” Yasmine says.

Nector nods. “Be there at eleven. Don't be late because you're breaking some record.” He looks at me and rolls his eyes. “You'd think they'd get bored after a while. But they can paddle for days.”

Yasmine grins like this is a compliment and twirls her paddle around her hand.

Gomez gawks like he's never seen me before. “What's
she
doing here?”

“What's it look like?” Nector asks.

Gomez frowns at me, then points to a tree near their house. “Ought to take down that
Lost Dog
sign you got over there, since your dog is dead. Momma says that was the biggest waste of paper she's ever seen. No one would've gotten near enough to a baldie to tell if he was yours or not.” Gomez laughs and runs to catch up with his sister.

There's nothing I can say to that, so I wait in a steamy silence for Nector to finish with my radio.

When the radio is back together again, Nector pushes the talk button and hands it to me to test.

I call Dad. “Zookeeper to Big Panda.”

“Big Panda here.” Dad's voice comes through loud and clear. “What's your twenty, Zookeeper?”

“My bike is broken, but I'm coming on foot from the Hatterasks' now.”

“Roger that, Zookeeper. See you in ten.”

“See you in ten. Zookeeper over and out.”

I thank Nector.

“See you at school?” he asks.

“Yeah.” On my way out, I tear down my
Lost Dog
poster. The photo of Sky makes my heart feel squeezed. Useless poster. Gomez is right. As if anyone on this island would have helped me get Sky back.

I fold the poster until it fits in my pocket because I don't want to litter. I pull out Sky's tag.

I should throw it in the trash. I make a promise to myself to do it, when something tickles my leg. I yelp and fall backward. My hands hit the tree's roots and I catch myself, but Sky's dog tag goes bouncing. “Who's there?”

I spin around, but there's nothing. My heart hammers anyway. Probably a bug, a butterfly, maybe a leaf. But when I retrieve Sky's tag, I see it. The white band. The yellow-stitched eyes.

The toy pheasant floating in midair.

I blink a few times, but the pheasant is bouncing up and down in front of me. It's bobbing in the air like it's being held by an invisible string.

But I left it on Sky's grave. If those Hatterask kids are playing a trick on me, it's a good one. I look around and in the trees, but I don't see anyone. The toy pheasant flies over the dirt road, bouncing madly. Every now and then it doubles back toward me and shakes itself. Sky's smell is everywhere. I hear him bark.

I sit stunned under the tree, unable to believe what I'm seeing. The invisible thing carrying the toy. The longer I stare, the more it takes shape.

Dog shape. Sky's shape.

I smell him. I hear him bark. I see him shake the pheasant.

“Sky? Is that you?”

 

5

F
LOUNDERING

The dog has Sky's foxy tail. His brown spots bold against his blond fur. His eyes. I'd know them anywhere. Sky could command an army with his eyes. His stare is intense.

This must be a dream. Everything is topsy-turvy. Sky's fur, for example—it's baby soft and young again like when he was a puppy. He's got that puppy energy in his tail and overconfidence in the way he stands. As if he hasn't yet learned the world can be dangerous. But the longer I stare, the more solid he becomes. His black pupils gleam as if to say,
Follow me.

So I do, because it's the realest dream I've ever had.

I clutch his dog tag and run after him. “Sky!” I yell. “Wait, Sky! Wait for me!” But he takes off like he's got someplace to be. Usually Sky is the one following me, not me following him.

I chase him, screaming his name, but he won't stop. I follow him across the island, running and sweating, all the way to the woods. But I can't catch him before he darts into the trees. The woods are dense and hard to navigate. I plunge in after him. For Sky, I'd step into a bed of snakes, off a cliff, down a waterfall.

I brush at my legs, hoping to scare away the insects. The mosquitoes and ticks are bad on the island, especially in the woods. I worry about getting Lyme disease. I know firsthand how awful Lyme disease can be. It was how Sky came to be mine. I found him under our house so sick he couldn't even stand up without crying, that's how painful it was for him to move. Dad figured out what was wrong with the help of the Internet, and we contacted a vet on the mainland who sent antibiotics. It seemed like a miracle the way he recovered so fast. And, well, in a way Sky's come back from the dead once already. Maybe it isn't so hard to believe he could do it again.

Branches grab at my bare arms and legs. I shove through the trees, calling his name. I tuck his tag into my pocket so I don't lose it.

But I have no idea which direction he went. I crouch down, searching for paw prints. The ground is hard and the dirt is cracked, like thirsty chapped lips. I listen carefully, but the woods are silent.

He hasn't left tracks on the ground. I don't hear the sounds of sticks breaking as he runs. It's like he disappeared into thin air.