Summer at Forsaken Lake (29 page)

* * *

Nicholas sprang out of bed at seven-fifteen, dressed, and ran down the spiral staircase. Nick, who had taken his newspaper and mug of coffee onto the porch, peered at him over his reading glasses.

“Where’s the fire? Thought for sure you’d be sleeping in. Big day yesterday. And a late night. Can I get you some breakfast?”

“No thanks, I’ll get something later. If Dad wakes up, you don’t know where I ran off to.”

Nick nodded. “Got it. I don’t know where you are. Just out of curiosity, where
are
you running off to—with dish soap and sponges?”

“Me and Charlie have a little work to do. Oh, and one more thing. If Dad asks about his old Heron, it’s still up in the hayloft, buried under a bunch of other stuff.”

“Heron. Buried. Got it. Anything else I don’t know?”

“Nope, that’s it,” said Nicholas, grinning. “Thanks, Uncle Nick. Oh, wait—one more thing. Could you bring Dad down to the dock at ten o’clock sharp?”

He ran out the door and down to Mr. Jensen’s dock, where he climbed aboard
Imp
. In a matter of seconds, the mainsail was up and he was under way, confidently guiding her to a spot out of sight of Nick’s house. He anchored her in knee-deep water to the left of the launching ramp and nibbled on a leftover chocolate bar while waiting for Charlie. She flew down the dirt road on her bike, skidding to a stop just as her front tire hit the water.

“Hey, I brought you a cinnamon roll,” she said, wading out to him.

“Cool.”

“Are you eating a chocolate bar?”

“Um … yeah,” he admitted.

“For breakfast? Yuck.”

“Excuse me, but I was in a hurry. My dad is still on Africa time, and there’s no telling when he’s going to wake up. I had to get
Imp
farther away from the house. Here’s the soap and sponges.”

As they rehashed the highlights of the party and the after-party conversations with parents, they scrubbed every square inch—inside and out—of the pretty little
Imp
, until she looked exactly as she had on the day they launched her.

“Do you think your dad will be surprised?” Charlie asked.

“Definitely. He never mentioned her last night. I’m not sure he even remembered she was here. Either that, or he figures Uncle Nick got rid of her a long time ago.” Nicholas checked his watch. “We still have a bunch of time. And the breeze is picking up. Feel like a sail?”

Charlie shrugged. “Why not? Now that your dad’s here, I don’t know how many more chances we’ll have. You could be leaving tomorrow. Or today,” she added sadly.

Giving the main halyard a mighty tug, Nicholas insisted, “We’re not leaving today. Or tomorrow. Dad totally loves this place, and he even told me he’s not ready to go back to work in the city. He seems more burned-out than usual. We may
never
go back.” He handed the tiller to Charlie and hauled in the anchor.

“Somehow, I doubt that,” said Charlie, sheeting in the mainsail. They scooted away on a beam reach, hugging the shoreline.

“So,” they said simultaneously, followed by laughter.

“We’re as bad as the twins,” said Nicholas. “You go first.”

“I was just going to ask if you think we should say anything about, you know, my dad’s part in everything.”

Nicholas pondered the question for a few seconds, and then answered with a definite “No.”

“That’s it? No?”

“Uh-huh. Look, maybe it was a pretty crappy thing to do to somebody, but your dad
was
only fourteen at the time. And from what you said, he’s already paid the price. I just don’t see any point in dragging it up again. I think it’s enough for us to be able to tell Dad about the cut steering cables, and that we
know
he didn’t wreck Teddy’s boat on purpose. We don’t have to tell him about everything we found out.”

“You’re right,” said Charlie.

“As usual,” Nicholas added. “So,
I
was going to say that today is the day I’m going to get a hit off of you.”

“No way. What makes you think that, city boy?”

“I’m on a roll.”

“Correction. You
were
on a roll.”

“Meet you at the barn. High noon. And bring your best stuff, Brennan.”

“You can count on it, Mettleson.”

F
ranny walked around to the front of Nick’s house, where she found Nick and Will on the porch, chatting away, and well into their second pot of coffee.

“Look who’s here,” said Nick, opening the screen door to let her in. “Can I get you a cup of coffee? Will and I are trying to keep those coffee-bean pickers busy.”

“Good morning, you two,” she said. “No coffee for me, thanks.”

“So, what brings you out this fine morning?” Will asked.

“Charlie told me to meet her here at ten. Have you seen her?”

“No sign of her,” said Nick. “I saw Nicholas for about ten seconds before he ran out the—” He stopped, remembering his promise to Nicholas. “What time is it?”

“One minute to ten,” said Will.

“I made Nicholas a promise this morning. Follow me, both of you.” He led them past the remains of the still-smoldering bonfire and out on the dock.

“What are we doing here?” Will asked.

“Some kind of surprise, I suppose,” answered Nick, who had noticed the missing
Imp
and guessed at the rest.

Will shielded his eyes from the sun and squinted at a small sailboat coming around the Beach End point. A smile spread across his face as he realized what—and who—it was.

“Is that what I think it is, Nick?”

It took a few more seconds for Franny to get there. “Omigosh. That’s the boat you built, isn’t it?”

“But never finished,” said Will. “Kind of like
The Seaweed Strangler
.”

Franny nudged Nick with her elbow, recalling the conversation in the diner about an old canoe. “And just how long have you known about this?”

“I may have helped them out a little,” Nick said. “A little advice here and there. A dollar or two for some paint and hardware. But other than that … not much.”

Will pointed at Charlie and Nicholas, who were smiling and waving at him and Franny. “Those two have had
some
summer. I’m sorry I missed it.”

“If it’s any consolation, it sounds like I missed a big chunk of it, and I was here all along,” mused Franny.

Charlie expertly brought
Imp
alongside the dock and smiled up at her mom. Nicholas hopped up next to Will and handed him the short line attached to the bow. “She’s all yours, Dad. Sorry, we put a few miles on her this summer, but she’s still good as new. We polished her up special for you this morning.”

Will’s eyes turned watery as he pulled Nicholas to his chest, squeezing him tightly. “Please tell me that this is the last of your surprises, Nicholas. I don’t think I can take much more.”

Nicholas broke loose from his father’s grip and started to point out all the work he and Charlie had done. “Uncle Nick made us sand for
days
before he would even buy the paint and varnish.”

“Well, you did an amazing job. She looks just how I imagined she would. Even the color is right. I always wanted a bright red boat. How does she sail?”

“Awesome. But take her for a spin and see for yourself.”

“Will you be my crew?”

Behind Will, Franny cleared her throat. “
Ahem!
Mister, er, excuse me,
Doctor
Mettleson, I believe you promised
me
the first sail in your new boat.”

Will smiled, remembering his long-ago vow. “You’re absolutely right, Miss Sherbrooke. I did.” He stepped gingerly down into the tiny craft. “Oh my. It’s smaller than
I remember. Shall we?” He held a hand out to guide her aboard.

“Why, thank you.” She sat on the narrow seat and located the jib sheets. “I hope I still remember how to do this. I’d rather not capsize.”

“Don’t worry, Mom—it’s like riding a bike. Once you learn how, you never forget. Right, Nicholas?” she added with a friendly nudge.

As her sails caught the warm late-summer breeze,
Imp
heeled gently, accelerating away from the dock—from the past—and into a bright future.

* * *

The grandfather clock in Nick’s living room struck noon. Will and Franny had sailed by the dock at eleven-fifteen, ordering a couple of sandwiches and drinks, which the twins were more than happy to prepare and toss aboard
Imp
on her next pass. Nicholas waited, bat in hand, outside the barn, a few feet in front of the wall with the painted-on strike zone. The hundred-year-old siding was marked by thousands of baseball-sized dents where Charlie’s pitches had struck. For the first time, Nicholas noticed how few were in the middle of the rectangle; they were concentrated around the edges, exactly where the great pitchers try to keep the ball. He took a couple of practice swings and smiled to himself.
Yep. She’s good. But today’s the day. I can feel it
.

Nick and Charlie came out the kitchen door, pausing when they saw Nicholas swinging at imaginary fastballs.

Nick whistled. “He looks pretty serious. How’s your arm?”

Charlie made a muscle with her pitching arm. “Great.”

“I thought maybe you chickened out,” said Nicholas.

“Ha! That’ll be the day,” said Charlie, tossing the ball into her glove again and again as she strolled to the pitcher’s mound. “Give me three warm-up pitches, and I’ll be ready.”

Nicholas stood next to Nick and watched the first pitch, a fastball, hit the rectangle dead center with a loud thud and bounce straight back to the mound. The next two were curveballs that caught the low inside corner.

“Her curve is sharp today,” whispered Nick. “Wait for a fastball.”

“What are you whispering over there, you two?” Charlie asked.

“Never mind,” said Nicholas. “Are you ready?”

“The better question is, Are you?”

Nicholas dug his heels into the batter’s box and looked out at her. “Ready.”

Nick, the umpire, stood behind Charlie. “Play ball!” he shouted.

Charlie wound up and let loose with a fastball that sailed away from Nicholas and the strike zone, hitting the barn so hard that it actually broke through the siding and
fell inside the barn. Nicholas fished it out and tossed it back to Charlie.

“Ball one!”

Pitch number two was a waist-high fastball—a slugger’s dream pitch. Nicholas swung mightily, but missed completely.

“Strike one!”

Nicholas stepped out of the batter’s box and breathed deeply, composing himself.
You can do this
.

He fouled off the next pitch, another fastball, into the barn wall behind him.

“Strike two! The count is one and two.”

He knew what was coming: a curveball. The strikeout pitch. It had tormented him all summer. Charlie smiled at him from the pitcher’s mound. She knew that he knew, but it didn’t matter. He bent over and rubbed some dirt on his hands and closed his eyes for a few seconds, visualizing the pitch before she even threw it. Then he took his place in the batter’s box, held his bat high, and waited.

Charlie rubbed the baseball in her hands and then gripped it tightly inside the pocket of her glove. She wound up and let it fly.

Nicholas followed the ball like a hawk eyeing its prey. It appeared to be heading right for him, but he fought off the instinct to back away. His muscles tensed, and his bat began its descent, slicing violently through the air until …

Crack!

The ball rocketed off his bat, over Charlie’s head, and past the barbwire fence that marked the edge of the pasture, a good two hundred and fifty feet away.

It would be hard to say who was most surprised. Charlie, Nick, and Nicholas all stood openmouthed, watching the ball finally land in a cloud of dust.

Nick raised his arm and made a circling motion over his head. “Home run!” he announced.

Falling to his knees, Nicholas threw his arms into the air. “Yes! Finally!”

Nick and Charlie jogged over and lifted him back to his feet. “No question about that one!” Nick declared. “Dead center field. Congratulations.”

“Yeah—nice going, Mettleson,” admitted Charlie with a grin and a hearty pat on the back. “It’s about time. You could have done it the very first day we met, but you didn’t
believe
you could.”