There's Blood on the Moon Tonight (4 page)

Of course, nothing could’ve been further from the truth. Like a lot of overweight boys, though, Tubby had learned the best way to keep from getting his feelings hurt was to accept the ridicule like a gift. 

              His dad made a decent living, buying and restoring old run-down movie theaters. He’d find one in the trades, wait until the price was right, and then pounce all over it. Buy low, sell high, kind of thing. What would follow was a move to a new community, new neighborhood, and a new school. Then, for the next five months or so, his dad would work his magic on the theater, doing much of the work himself (with Ralph doing his heavy lifting on the weekends), turning a dump into a showplace. Then he’d “flip” the newly restored theater, selling it for a tidy profit. The end-results always made Tubby proud, but with the completion of the renovation, he knew a new move couldn’t be far behind. The worst kind of re-location was when he had to enter a new school after it had already begun for the year. At least when it was the first day Tubby was just one of many new students, causing the Spotlight of Shame to spread out and diffuse among the others. No one paid attention or cared about the new kids on the first day of classes. Territories were still in limbo, the cliques in flux. But once the toughest kids in school laid claim to their dominions, and the social status of each and every kid was determined, a new student entering the mix had that harsh Spotlight all to himself. It’s no surprise then that Tubby preferred larger schools. They were more impersonal and easier to lose oneself in. Small schools were his bane. That Spotlight of Shame would follow him for weeks on end, until another new kid entered the lion’s den. Or until they got bored of picking on him. And deflecting attention was something Tubby had become very good at over the years. He’d learned early on the sooner you ignored the taunts and bullying—embraced them, even—the sooner they’d move on to someone else. Over the years his moonpie face had evolved into a doughy mask of indifference.

No matter what they did to him, he’d never given them the satisfaction of seeing him cry.

There was steel in Ralph Tolson; he just wasn’t aware of it yet. Moon Island would change all that.

Having long ago accepted his lonely lot, Tubby’s great ambition now was to become one with the daily wallpaper of life. Unfortunately, Tubby stood out like a
Kick Me!
sign on a freshman’s rear end. Fat kids are fair game in the eyes of most kids, even the more socially conscious ones. It isn’t cool to rag on someone for the color of their skin, or for a handicap, yet it’s deemed perfectly acceptable to look down upon the overweight. To isolate them socially from the herds. It’s just how things were done by the trim and fit, and Tubby refused to lose any sleep over their disregard of his feelings.

His mother could call him “Husky” all she wanted, but his days of shopping at the Husky section at JC Penny’s were long gone now—somewhere between a Big Mac and a Butterfinger. Now he shopped in the Big & Tall stores with full-grown men, even though he was only sixteen-years-old. Food was both his enemy and best friend. His mother unconsciously helped to reinforce the latter notion by showering him with his favorite comfort foods—her way of keeping him close to her. She too was fat, and it’s easier to live that way when you have company.

Tubby knew this to be so. As kids his own age go, he was wiser than most. More insightful. Fat kids, you see, have ample time for introspection.

             
Tubby was actually pondering this unhappy fact, while chasing a powdered donut down with a ten-ounce Yoo-Hoo. He sighed and wiped his mouth with the back of one meaty paw. His dad had just informed him and his mother that they were moving again. And even though the school was small, it wasn’t all bad tidings. The fact that Tubby had just finished the school year, the tenth grade, made the news a bit more palatable this time. He had the whole summer ahead of him before he had to worry about being the new kid again. Even so, it didn’t stop him from complaining—something Tubby rarely did. 

“Moon Island! Gee, Dad, I’ve never even heard of the place. And you promised we’d go on vacation this year!”  

              His father sighed sympathetically. He knew the kind of anguish these moves posed for his son. “I’m sorry for doing this to you again, kiddo. I just couldn’t pass on this opportunity. Anyway, there’ll still be plenty of time for you to hit the beach and have some fun. There’s a real nice one on Moon; where all the kids hang out and play. Things will be different this time, Ralph. You’ll see.”

             
“How’s that, Frankie?” asked Tubby’s mother, not unkindly. She too was tired of moving but understood the necessity. Thanks to the Frank Tolson work ethic, they were close to owning their own home. So close, she could almost smell the fresh paint. “Is this job going to last longer than the others? Will we at least get a chance to unpack this time before you find a buyer?” she teased him.

             
Frank Tolson looked down at his wife and son, sitting on the sofa where they gathered together every afternoon at 4:30 to watch the sitcoms together. A Tolson family ritual.
Leave it to Beaver, My Three Sons,
and their favorite,
Andy Griffith
. Ralph loved those old-school sitcoms. Simpler times and all that. He even talked like the kids on those shows.
Jeepers! Golly!
And
Gee Whiz!

Frank smiled. He had worked hard to get to this point in his life, and his family had suffered every step of the way: Ralph at school, and Emma through his penny-pinching ways. Emma, like his son, almost never complained. Overweight to be sure, but that never mattered to Frank. Emma was the kindest human being he’d ever known, with a work ethic that matched his own. He valued her sweet disposition and gentle soul far more than any superficial qualities she might’ve lacked—although Frank had always considered his wife pretty. They’d been married for seventeen years and poor Emma was still living out of cardboard boxes!
Her only vice, other than overeating, was buying Home Improvement magazines, like
House Beautiful
and
Home and Garden
. Thus it was no mystery as to Emma’s dearest dream. Today Frank Tolson was going to make that lifelong dream a reality.

             
“Actually, I’ve already found a buyer,” he grinned mysteriously. He was enjoying the moment too much, to just blurt it out. “Like I said, it’s this sweet little Drive-In theater on Moon Island, South Carolina. One of the few remaining islands off either of the Carolina coastlines that hasn’t been overdeveloped.”

             
It took all of Emma’s willpower to keep from groaning; if Frank had already sold it, then that meant another quick turnaround for the Tolson family. “Moon Island? Is it one of those barrier islands, dear?” she said, putting on a happy face. At least they could spend some time at the beach; something they hadn’t done as a family since Ralph was six years old.

             
“No, it’s too far from the mainland to qualify for that. Five or so nautical miles, I think. You have to take a ferry or boat to get to it. There are no connecting bridges.”

             
“Ooooo! Sounds exotic,” she said.

             
“It really isn’t,” Frank replied with a shrug. “Which is why I love the place”.
And how I could afford it
, he thought to himself. “The island is round and rather large, about twelve miles across, and from what I hear, looks like a full moon when viewed from high above. It has a small town charm to it, kinda like Mayberry out to sea.” He laughed, thinking that might help sell the idea. His wife and son returned the smile, if not his enthusiasm. “The people there make their living by the sea, one way or another. Either by fishing or selling goods and services to those who do. Although there are a few wealthy families who’ve moved there simply to get away from it all, they’re the exception to the rule. Oh, I almost forgot! Mr. Grimes, the old fellow who sold me the theater, claims the island is free of rats and mice—though I’m sure that’s probably an exaggeration. I just thought you’d like to know, dear.”

Emma, who had a fear of rodents, brightened at this. As Frank knew she would. The theater they were finishing up had had a terrible rat infestation.

“It has a population of about thirteen hundred. Admittedly, not so much. The only other entertainment venue on the island, though, is a wax museum, and while I’ve heard it’s pretty spectacular, as wax museums go, it can’t really be considered competition.”

             
After working alongside Frank for seventeen years, Emma knew a thing or two about the movie theater biz. “It sounds like a good buy for someone. That far out to sea, they’d literally have a captive audience.”

             
“Exactly!” Frank laughed. It thrilled him that Emma understood this on her own.

             
“Where will we live till the job is done? It’s not like we can drive our RV there.”

It was the one question Frank had been looking forward most to answering. “Why, Emma, we’ll live in our very own home, of course. Right there on the lot!”

              Emma still didn’t get it. “You mean there’s a rental house on the same lot as the Drive-In? How quaint!”

             
“It’s not a rental, honey.” He sat down beside her and took her warm plump hand in his. “It’s a good-sized Craftsman. A fixer upper. The kind you’ve always wanted. Three bedrooms, two baths. A spacious living room with a red brick fireplace. And just wait till you see the wrap-around-porch and the full-sized kitchen, and…”

He let it hang in the air.

              “And?” Emma blinked, her eyes growing large and wet. Ralph smiled knowingly at his father.

             
“And, Emma, my dearest,” he said, handing her the house key he’d had palmed in his hand the whole time. “It’s all yours.”

                                                *******

“Well, Ralphie,” his dad said later on, after Emma had stopped mauling him long enough to go cry on her own. She was happily bawling in their tiny bedroom in the Landcruiser RV they used for most of his jobs. “What do you think about all this?”

             
Tubby nodded approvingly. His life may have been a living hell outside of his front door, but his home life had always been good, thanks to his parents. Especially his old man. “I think it sounds great, Dad. Mom sure sounds happy,” he said, rolling his eyes.

Frank looked over his shoulder. The walls of the RV were paper-thin. They could hear every sniffle and sob coming from the bedroom. “This day has been a long time coming, son. Those are the happiest sobs you’ll ever hear.” He turned back to Tubby. “But how about you, boy? How tough is this going to be on
you
?”

             
Tubby looked down at his size twelve feet. He never was any good at lying. “Maybe at first,” he allowed. “Least it’s not in the middle of the school year. And best of all, this’ll be the
last
time when I’m the new kid in class!”

                                    *******

Two weeks later the Tolson family stood together on the bow of
The Moon Beam
ferry. They watched the little lump of land on the ocean’s horizon grow larger as the ferry drew closer to its destination. According to a tourist brochure Frank had picked up at a filling station in Beaufort, Moon Island had once been the hilly tip of a peninsula, jutting out into the Atlantic, some two thousand years ago. A massive earthquake and the tsunami that followed had submerged the peninsula, and forevermore had altered the coastline. After the waves receded, all that was visible of the neck of land was a sandy, rocky island, some five miles off the coast (the tip of the former peninsula, which sat higher above sea level than the rest).

Other than that, there was very little history regarding the isolated isle. Earlier maps referred to it as either Hilltop or Pine Island—the latter name coming from the dense pine forest that still grew within the interior.

Sailing ships of old would lay anchor in the natural harbor whenever they had need of immediate repairs. The tall pines to replace their broken masts, the sappy pitch to temporarily patch their leaky hulls. Sailors would roll off the empty or foul water casks, and wash and refill them in the clear, cool spring water, bubbling up from the depths of the piney forest. Low Country Indians—the Yemassee and the Kiawah—considered Moon an evil place and only went there to harvest the oyster beds, which grew in abundance alongside its steep shores. They believed that the sinkholes, scattered about the dark woods, were the homes of evil spirits. The U.S. Army, which of course didn’t hold with such nonsense, built a base on the lonely outpost shortly before the outbreak of W.W.II. They utilized it for training drills, but mostly as a coast lookout. At some point in the ‘50’s, they abandoned the island—by this time known as
Moon Island
—leaving behind only a lighthouse on the treacherous east coast to mark their passing. According to the pamphlet, other than the current population, which had settled on the island in the late fifties and beyond, there was no record of any settlers. It was too far off the coast; too lonely; too sandy for farming; too spooky. Take your pick.

Frank had read the less-than-glowing review aloud, and then shrugged apologetically to his family, promising them that it wasn’t half as bad as all that. It made no never-mind to Emma; all she knew was that their new home awaited them across Moon River—what the locals called the watery divide between the mainland and Moon—and phooey to any evil spirits that tried to get in
her
way!