My Cousin's Keeper (11 page)

Between us, Dad and I caught five fish. Bon turned away each time we caught something, and he refused to look into the catch bucket, or go anywhere near us as Dad and I scaled and filleted our catch at the preparation benches near the jetty bait shop. And when we had dinner at the beachside barbecue area, I saw Bon avoiding the fish and eating only the salads Mom had prepared.

It had been a good second day, and when we returned to the motel, we all went for a sunset swim in the heated pool. Except for Bon, who shook his head and went back to our room.

“He's fine,” Mom said to no one in particular. “I imagine he wants to watch television or draw in his book.”

His stupid book of maps and inventions
, I thought.
Waste of paper.

But I knew Bon was trying to hide something the moment I walked back into our room. He hunched over his bedspread, scrunching the covers into an awkward handful.

“What are you doing?” I demanded. “What have you got?”

“Nothing.”

“Liar,” I replied, and pulled the bedspread from his grasp. I was stronger than he was, and the covers came half off the bed, spilling the hidden contents onto the floor. Just as before, they were figures from my medieval castle. “You thief!” I shouted.

Mom was in the doorway. “What's going on?” she asked.

“Him,” I said, scowling at Bon. “He's been sneaking around my room at home again. He's taken things without asking.”

“Those?” Mom asked, pointing at the figures — the same white horse and the same knight with the blue crested flag that Bon had taken two years ago. There was another knight as well this time — and the princess with her conical hat and long red gown. “Did you take those without asking, Bon?”

“Yes,” I answered, because Bon, looking guiltily at Mom, said nothing.

Mom glared at me a moment and then looked back at Bon. “I'm asking you a question, Bon. What's the answer?”

“If I'd asked,” Bon replied, “Kieran would have said no.”

Mom sighed, and then lectured Bon about not helping himself to things that weren't his. “And now that you've got them, I'd like you to say something to Kieran.”

Bon looked up quickly. “I'm sorry,” he said to me.

I scowled back at him.

After a pause, he asked, “But can I borrow them? Just till we go home?”

In the dark after bedtime, I hissed, “You take my things without asking, and you barge in on our family vacation. I wish you weren't my cousin and I wish I didn't know you.” I heaved a long, angry breath, and then waited in silence, wondering if Bon would reply or not. Keeping still, I realized I could hear him whispering to himself, the way I'd heard him do at home. It went on for a long time, until I interrupted. “Say it out loud to me. I dare you.”

The whispering stopped, and for a moment there was silence.

Then Bon said in a quiet voice, “I'm sorry about being here. But my mom can't look after me. It's too hard for her.”

I wasn't sure how to reply to that. His answer unsettled me in a way I couldn't quite explain, so instead I listened as his breathing slowed into the steady softness that told me he was sleeping.

For the rest of that week, I did my best to avoid wherever Bon would be, which was easy at least some of the time. He didn't come fishing with me and Dad anymore, preferring to stay with Mom and the girls, exploring the rock pools or walking around the beachside shops. Once or twice, I walked into our bedroom to find Bon kneeling with his drawing book at the foot of his bed. He had the bedspread bunched up and my medieval figures arranged across the folds. I pretended not to be interested, but I realized what he was seeing and drawing when I stopped in the doorway to look more carefully. The folds of the bedspread were a landscape of hills and valleys that the knights on horseback were traveling across. On a distant hilltop, the princess in her gown and cape waited and watched.

I waited until Bon was outside in the motel swimming pool before quickly searching his overnight bag and pulling out his maps and inventions book. Soon enough, I found the page he'd been working on, and there was the bedspread landscape as a story picture, together with a paragraph scrawled underneath in Bon's messy handwriting.

Bon the Crusader and Kieran the Brave have journeyed to the ocean's edge. Back at the village, Julia the Fair is preparing for her own journey.

I read it twice, annoyed and embarassed to see my own name mentioned. For a moment, I toyed with the idea of tearing the page out, but instead closed the book and shoved it back into his bag before deciding to go for a swim as well.

The pool was fairly crowded with other people staying at the motel. Gina and Emily were playing some kind of chasing game at the shallow end with a bunch of other little girls. Mom was in the middle of the pool, trying to keep away from all the splashing at the shallow end, and was talking with another parent. Bon was up near where the kids were playing and whooping. He wasn't part of any game or group, and he wasn't doing much of anything. I'd heard Mom tell Dad the day before, “Bon's actually a really good swimmer. I'm surprised. Where would he have learned?”

Because I'd been doing my best to stay away from him, I hadn't seen any evidence of this fantastic talent. Maybe Mom was trying to find nice things about Bon, and a bit of leg kicking and dog-paddling passed for good swimming.

I found an empty patch of pool, dived in, and swam to one end, thinking it might be possible to do some laps without bumping into annoying little kids or, worst of all, Bon. I knew I could show him a thing or two about swimming because, like Gina, I had learned before even starting school.

“Ten laps,” I murmured, wiping the comfortably warm water from my face. “Too easy.” The pool was short, and ten times would be, I guessed, about two hundred yards. I launched myself away.

And it
was
easy. I managed one, two, three laps without a pause and without anyone else getting in the way. At the third turnaround I glanced sideways and found that Bon had moved across to my part of the pool.

“Keep out of the way,” I muttered quickly at him, before setting off for lap number four. But when I returned next and set off on lap number six, Bon launched himself off beside me. Trying to ignore him, I focused on my stroke and speed, but knew by quick glimpses and the close sound of his own hands and feet splashing in the water that he was keeping up with me. Bon
could
swim.

“Stop following me,” I told him, feeling both surprised and annoyed.

“I'm not following you,” he replied. “I'm just swimming.”

Without saying any more, I launched myself into lap number seven. And so did Bon, who kept up with me again, all the way to the other end of the pool. We stopped next to the tiled edge and looked at each other. Bon wiped water from his face. His braid half floated in the water behind him and his mouth was open a little, as though he were at a loss for something to say.

I wasn't. Against the noise of little girls shrieking and splashing, I asked, “Who taught
you
to swim?”

Bon hesitated. “Sam,” he answered at last.

I remembered Bon at Dad's soccer practice.
Which one is Sam?
“Who are you talking about?” I demanded.

“Someone my mom used to know. When I was little.”

“You mean a boyfriend — that guy with the black pickup.”

“No,” Bon answered abruptly. “That was
Brian
.” He said the name as though spitting it out. “Sam taught me how to swim. He was nice, but Mom . . .” He looked away from me, as though distracted.

“Yeah — what?”

“Nothing.”

I wanted to finish my laps, but had something else to say, something else to make him feel awkward. “Where is Julia the Fair going?” I asked.

Bon blinked in surprise. “Why did you look in my book?”

“Because I wanted to see what you were writing and drawing. And anyway, I've looked at it before — Bon the Crusader.”

He paused. “It's just a story I'm writing and drawing. It's imaginary.”

“But parts of it are real — the names. And I'm in the story, too. How come I'm Kieran the Brave?”

“Because,” Bon answered, sounding embarrassed, “I think you are. And it suits the story character. That's all.”

“That's stupid,” I sneered. “I don't want to be Kieran the anything. That's so lame. Anyway, are you going to keep writing and drawing it, now that I've seen it?”

Bon looked steadily at me. Dribbles of pool water were still running down his face, and he wiped them away with one hand. “Yes,” he answered. “It's not a story unless it's finished and the adventure has a proper ending.”

“How's the story going to end?” I put on a squeaky voice to add,
“
They all lived happily ever after
.”

“It might be like that. I don't know yet.”

“So,” I said, “you don't know where Julia is going yet? In the story?”

“No. Not yet. I have to wait and see.”

“I bet you miss your girlfriend,” I said sarcastically, “being this far away on your free vacation.”

After a pause, he answered. “Yes.” Then he said, “Are you missing her, too?”

Before I could think of something to say, he dropped down beneath the water and I saw him move swiftly across the bottom of the pool toward the steps. He knew I wouldn't want him to hear my answer. And he knew the answer would be,
Yes, I miss her.

Bon had set off for school with us that morning looking clean and tidy. He came home looking exactly the opposite, his hair half undone and his clothes looking grimy.

“What happened?” Mom asked as soon as she saw him. “It looks like you've been caught in a hurricane!”

Bon shrugged and didn't say anything about how, on the playground, Mason had yanked on his braid so hard that Bon's hair elastic had sprung loose. His braid had unraveled and he hadn't been able to get it quite right again afterward. Bon also didn't say anything about how his new school shirt had lost two buttons. That had been Lucas heaving Bon out of his place in the lunch line.

“Some boys in Kieran's class were annoying Bon,” Gina reported. “I saw them and told the teacher.”

“Is that so?” Mom asked Bon. She looked at me. “Did you see any of this, Kieran?”

“I thought they were playing a game,” I said, hoping it sounded like an innocent reply.

I could tell from her expression that Mom guessed there might be more to the story. She pointed to the kitchen stool. “Come and sit down,” she told Bon.

The ritual of Bon and his hair usually took place each school morning that he was with us. It would always be Gina first, with her request for ponytails, braids, or something more complicated, and then Bon. Mom usually had his braid done quickly, but this afternoon she worked more slowly. She pulled his hair loose and took some time brushing it out. She stopped and stood back for a moment, telling him, “You look like you've stepped out of a medieval castle.”

Bon looked pleased about that. “Do I?” He looked straight at her and smiled a little.

I rolled my eyes and shook my head before raiding the fruit bowl on the kitchen island. Noisily, I crunched an apple and silently watched all the attention Mom was giving Bon. The braid had curled his hair, and it dropped in curtains past his shoulders. His face seemed smaller and younger with his hair down.

“But your ends are all split,” Mom told him. She picked up strands of hair and looked at them closely. “Will you let me give you a trim?”

Bon looked doubtful. “What do you mean?” he asked cautiously.

“Just the ends,” Mom explained. “No more than an inch off.”

Bon frowned.

Mom laughed. “I promise! Trust me, Bon. Didn't your mom ever get someone to cut them?”

“No,” Bon answered in a flat voice. “But she taught me how to braid.”

Mom turned to me. “Kieran, make yourself useful. Go and get me the hairdressing scissors from the bathroom. You know where they're kept.”

Of course I knew where they were kept. And knowing how to keep Bon feeling nervous, I came back with the blades loudly clicking open and shut in the air above my head. “Let
me
help!” I offered, using my best Crazy Guy voice. “
I'll
cut Bon's hair! I'm
good
at cutting hair!” And I clacked the scissor blades loudly again for extra effect.

Bon jumped off the stool and looked ready to run out the back door.

“Kieran,” Mom scolded. “Give me the scissors and then go and do something else. Like homework, which I know you've got in your bag.”

“Bon's got homework as well.”

“And he'll be doing his shortly. Go away and stop causing trouble. Bon, come sit down again. I'm the only hairdresser in this household, so you can ignore your cousin, who's just going off to do his homework.
Now.
”