Rites of Spring (20 page)

“If you make me get on that boat, you won’t have to. I’ll die of fright all by myself. Really, Clarissa. I’m much happier this way.”

“Okay,” she said warily. “But if I don’t see a tan on you this afternoon, we’re revisiting this topic.”

“Absolutely.”

Everyone filtered out the door, including Malcolm, who gave me little more than a friendly wave, and I settled into my rocker with my
On the Sublime
and wondered what the author would have thought of a Florida island in springtime. The earlier mist had completely burned away by this time, leaving nothing but warm, lemony sunshine, blue skies, soft, salt-scented breezes, and the sound of singing insects. All I needed was a hammock.

It was so peaceful that I’d almost forgotten I was in waiting mode by the time a shadow fell across the pages.

“Hey.”

I looked up and there was Poe, in a dark bathing suit and a smoky blue T-shirt that made his eyes look almost silver. He wore a faded pair of running shoes and smelled of sunscreen.

“Are you ready?”

No way.

11.

Lessons

Like many young adults my age and occupation, I suffered from the occasional recurring nightmare of walking into class and finding the other students occupied with taking an exam that I had not only not studied for, but that I had no idea was even on the syllabus. Occasionally, it would be for a class I had no recollection of enrolling in. Such dreams always elicited a peculiar feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach, one quite distinct from the queasiness inspired by heights, deep water, scary movies, or bad eggs. There was dread, and then there was the specific dread of being unprepared.

I had that feeling now.

Poe, on the other hand, looked as if he’d spent the past week working up flash cards and doing timed practice tests with a study group.

I stood up, narrowly avoiding spilling Longinus onto the porch.
Do not say you were worried he was going to stand you up.
Being “stood up” sounds very date-like. Or not, as the case may be. But certainly not
not-date-like
. “I didn’t see you at breakfast,” I said, and hoped he’d get my point.

“Indeed. Did you like it?”

“Breakfast? Yeah. Why?”

And now he smiled, just a little.

“You made breakfast,” I realized.

“Just the pancakes.”

“Why?”

“I was feeling pretty guilty last year, about the free trip to Florida and all. So I kept offering to do things, as if I could balance the debt through some sort of bizarre work-study program. Salt wouldn’t let me do yardwork, which you know is my specialty, but Cook let me in the kitchen at breakfast. Just breakfast, mind you, because she had some strange idea that I was a tad on the antisocial side and would hide out in the kitchen for as long as she’d let me.”

“Imagine that.”

“But since my pancake recipe was better than hers, she made me promise to give her a refresher when I came back.” He shrugged. “No one knows that, by the way. Malcolm just thinks I skip breakfast.”

“And if word got out, you know we’d all be roping you into tomb brunches.”

“Not your club, no. I think they’d be afraid I’d slip strychnine in the batter.” His tone was light as he said it, but I had to wonder, why would Poe keep his pancake recipe a secret, unless it was to quietly lord it over the others that the breakfast they’d so enjoyed was made by the guy they weren’t altogether too fond of?

Still, that didn’t explain why he’d keep it a secret from Malcolm, nor why he’d confess it to me. Maybe he really was embarrassed by his plebeian roots. Or maybe he was just kidding himself that his richer friend wasn’t completely aware of what made Poe tick.

And yet, I still wasn’t sure what kind of person he was. Wasn’t that the reason I was doing this? To figure it out? The funny feeling in my stomach intensified.

“So,” he said. “What are you up for this morning?”

“I was hoping you had a plan, seeing how well you know this place and all of its inhabitants.”

“Oh, Cook doesn’t live here. She only comes in for high-volume weeks.”

“And no doubt Cook isn’t her given name, either.”

“No,” he admitted. “It’s Berta.”

“I see why she goes by Cook.”

Darren wandered out of the library onto the porch. “You’re still here?” he asked. He held the copy of Dumas in his hands.

“Yeah. I’m skipping out on the snorkeling today,” I said. Poe waved at him.

“Oh?” He looked hopeful.

“Jamie and I were going to…” Do what? I looked to Poe for help.

“I’m taking her over to the sanctuary,” Poe said. “We’ll catch you this afternoon, Darren.” He started down the steps and I followed him.

Okay, so we were going to the sanctuary, whatever that was. We hiked down the path in silence for a few moments. As soon as we were out of earshot of the porch, Poe spoke again.

“Are you sorry?”

“For what?”

“Not inviting him to come along.” He cast me a sidelong glance.

P
OSSIBLE
A
NSWERS

1)
“Yes. He seems awfully lonely.”

2)
“No. Do we look like babysitters?”

3)
“Nah, baby, three’s a crowd.”

Each was partially true. I placed a hand on my stomach, where the unease had evolved into butterflies. If anything, the fluttering scared me even more. Not having made a decision was one thing. Making it brought a whole new snarl of nerves.

“Do you think Mr. Gehry appreciates you befriending his son?” Poe asked, saving me an answer.

“I didn’t really think about it,” I admitted.

“I believe that.” But it was said without rancor. “I bet he’s thought about it.”

“Darren?”

“His father.”

“Well, that would explain a lot. Maybe if he’d spent less time thinking about a bunch of college students and more about the laws of the nation he worked for, he wouldn’t be in so much trouble.”

“That’s probably very true,” Poe said. “But do you believe he should think about it more than about the well-being of his family?” He met my eyes, and once again, I reflected on how hard it was to read this boy.

Was he talking about hiring illegal help at home or letting Darren talk to the likes of me? I shrugged and refocused on the path. “My opinions of Kurt Gehry don’t have anything to do with how I treat his son.”

“That’s a nice illusion.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean that it’s pretty tough to disassociate a person from what they stand for.”

“Darren Gehry is a teenager. He doesn’t stand for anything.”

“I disagree.”

“Yeah? What is he to you?”

“The guy who almost got you killed yesterday.”

I stopped short, but Poe kept going, and I practically had to run to catch up to him.

“Poe.”

“Two dollars.” And he kept walking.

“Jamie.”

“You still owe.”

“You don’t blame Darren, do you? It was an accident.”

He slowed down but kept his face turned toward the ground. “People are still responsible for accidents. Someone is always at fault.”

“Yes, but I’m not angry at him, so why are you?”

“I’m not.”

“You just said that you can’t disassociate him from the fact that he made me fall off the boat yesterday, which, I might add, is just as much Clarissa’s fault.” If she hadn’t been so squeamish…

“That doesn’t make me angry at them.” And with that curious statement, we reached the end of the path. Beyond us was only woods. “Watch out for snakes.”

Snakes? Some sanctuary. I started picking my way in after him. “So who are you angry at?”

“If you keep talking, you won’t see anything.” He put a finger to his lips. “Just look.”

So I looked. By this time, the sun had done its duty, bathing the island in warmth and bright light. The patches of sky I could see between the treetops were a deep, opaque blue. Presently, the trees thinned and we broke out onto a narrow, unkempt beach, marred with bleached driftwood and piles of dried seaweed.

“What are we looking for?” I whispered.

He pointed, and out of the trees shot a flash of brown and white. I watched it soar over the water, circle around a bit, then drop like a stone into the waves. A minute later, it rose, clutching something floppy in long, hooked claws.

“Watch where it goes.”

The nest was pretty easy to spot, as it was perched at the top of one of the tallest pines in the stand, dripping with needles like a beard in need of a trim. The bird circled the tree, letting out a long shriek, then landed. Its back and wings were dark brown, its underside pure white, and even from the ground, I could see its enormous golden eyes and the sharp curve of its large talons. It looked around, as if aware that it had observers, then occupied itself with the fish.

“Not an eagle,” I said. I knew next to nothing about raptor species.

“An osprey. It’s breeding season. I was hoping the nests would still be here.”

“It’s really beautiful,” I said. Bird sanctuary. Of course. A moment later, the osprey’s mate joined him at the nest. I listened hard for the sound of cheeping, but if there were any babies in the nest, the wind carried their voices away.

We sat in the sand and watched the birds in silence for a while longer, and then Poe said, “So that’s the last thing there is to do on the island. You can swim, hang out in the rec room, or see the birds.”

“That seems like plenty to me.”

“Come on, Amy, don’t kid yourself. You’ll go as stir-crazy as Darren in a matter of days.”

“Then it’s good I’m only staying a week.” I watched the osprey make another trip to the water, looping in wide circles for a long time before diving again. Imagine being as comfortable both in the air and in the water as this creature was.

Poe seemed to tire of antagonizing me. “Did you talk to Salt yet?”

“He’s pretty interesting…gung ho.”

“That’s a kind way to put it.” He stretched his legs out in front of him. “Couple years ago he wanted to chop down the trees, chase off the ospreys.”

“Why?” I asked, stricken.

“Nesting pairs like this are quite the draw to bird-watchers. The last thing he wants is trespassers on Cavador Key.”

“So he mentioned.”

“Funny thing is, the folks who’d come for the ospreys couldn’t care less about the society. They really, truly just want to watch the birds. Wouldn’t even get near the compound. One group sent all kind of letters to the Trust promising as much. Said they’d stay right here on this beach.”

“What happened?”

“TTA let them on. Three weeks later, a conspiracy-theorist group showed up, dressed as the bird-watchers, and broke into the main house.”

“You’re kidding!”

“Yeah, they stole some photo albums and some of our other stuff. Ever since then, Salt’s been pretty militant about not letting anyone on the island, no matter what they said they were here for.”

“What a shame.”

“You want to see them?”

“The bird-watchers?”

“No, the conspiracy nuts.” He stood, brushed sand from his shorts. “They’re camped out on the next island over. Always are around this time of year, since they know Spring Break is high season. I bet there are even more of the campers this year, watching for the Gehrys.”

We picked our way across the beach until we reached a small cluster of mangroves. Poe claimed you could see them better from the far beach, at the tip of the island.

“Yeah, but won’t they be able to see us?”

“Like I said, there isn’t a whole lot to do around here. One night, we’ll amuse ourselves by playing dress-up and giving them something to actually look at.”

“How very John Fowles of us.”

We moved inland around the mangroves and spilled out onto another beach. This one was shaped like a large, open crescent. On the far side of the lagoon, I saw a tiny sandbar, and beyond that, the expanse of the sea, with a view of another island in the distance.

“You can’t really see,” I said, shooting Poe an accusatory glance.

Poe was taking off his clothes!

“What are you doing?” I asked, as his T-shirt hit a rock.

“You have to get out to the sandbar to see. Take your shoes off.”

I shook my head violently. “What is this, an ambush?”

“Amy, it’s not deep. You can wade.” He pulled off his sneakers, then his socks, laid them side by side on the rock.

How could I make this any clearer? “I don’t like the water.”

“And I don’t like that you almost drowned yesterday. Let’s see what we can do about those things, shall we?”

“No thanks.” I turned, fully prepared to storm back into the woods, but he grabbed my arm.

“You wanted to know who I’m angry at?” he asked. “I’m angry at you.”

“What!” I whirled.

“It’s unbearably stupid that you don’t know how to swim. You have no excuse.”

“I have a phobia.”

“You’re too smart to have phobias.”