Touch Blue (9 page)

O
ne problem with agreeing to keep a secret is that it always starts off feeling like an easy, little decision. But it doesn’t stay easy or little. It sits there like one of those jagged ledges hiding under the surface of the ocean at high tide — quietly waiting to rip everything apart if you forget, for even a second, it’s there.

Every night after supper, Aaron, Libby, and I walk over to the parish hall to practice for the talent show. Now that it’s August, dusk comes a little sooner, and by the time our rehearsal is over, the frogs are trilling and booming in the marsh, and moths dart and dive around us. Every night, I make Libby promise and repromise not to tell about Aaron’s mom coming. “Cross your heart and swear not to tell anyone,” I say.

Libby draws another X on her chest. “I won’t tell.”

But my happiness gets punctured a week before the talent show as Libby skips along beside us on the way
to practice. “Grace wishes her mom could come to the talent show, too!”

Aaron and I stop short. “What?”

Libby slows down. “It just slipped out. We were talking about who was coming to watch.” She chews the side of her lip. “But it’s okay. Grace promised not to tell anyone but Jenna.”

“Oh, great!” I say. “Why don’t we put a sign up on the bulletin board at Phipps’s!”

“Jenna won’t tell,” Libby says.

“I’ll make sure of that,” I promise Aaron.

“Okay.” But he looks concerned.

At the parish hall, Aaron takes his seat at the piano and I sit next to Jenna. While Libby and Grace sing and buzz about on the stage, I’m trying to decide how best to bring up the subject of Aaron’s mother. “I’m so glad Grace and Libby have become friends,” Jenna says. “It’s nice for Grace.”

“It’s nice for
me
, too, because it keeps Libby busy.”

Libby’s wearing sunglasses wider than her face. Beside her, Grace looks like she’s heading off to Sunday School in a pink-striped dress, little white socks, and black shoes.

“Grace’s mom bought her those clothes to wear to church, but Grace won’t take them off,” Jenna says. “I
keep telling her they’ll be a mess by Sunday, but she won’t listen to me. I don’t know why she has to argue over everything.”

“She’s being a little sister,” I say. “You’ve never had one before, but this is what it’s like — some parts are fun and some parts are completely annoying.”

Jenna takes a deep breath. “It’s hard to think of her as my little sister, though. Because I know she’ll probably go back to her mom someday and then we might get another foster child. It won’t be for months, though. Her mom has a lot of things she has to do first. This isn’t how I thought it would all work out.” She blushes. “Not that I don’t love Grace.”

“Take it from the beginning,” Aaron says from the piano bench. “Try to come in together.”

I lean close to Jenna’s ear and say quietly, “Did Grace tell you Aaron’s mom might be coming?”

Jenna nods.

“I hope you’ll keep it a secret.” I whisper the whole story of the yellow envelopes, Aaron’s mom, Gilly Hopkins’s story, and Libby’s big mouth.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Jenna says. “But what if it doesn’t work? When Grace sees her mom, she usually gets mad at us afterward. It doesn’t make her want to stay with us forever.”

“That’s different,” I say. “Grace is little, and she has a real chance of going back.”

“Maybe,” Jenna says. “But what if you’re wrong?”

“I can’t be.” My voice sounds certain, but inside, I’m not near as sure.

We sit there watching Libby and Grace flap their arms. “How come you’re not doing something for the talent show this year?” Jenna asks me. “You usually do something.”

Not without Amy
.

“I want to do more than help my dad pass out programs this year. Maybe you and I could do something together?” Jenna looks hopeful. “I’d like to be in the show, but I don’t really want to do it by myself.” She glances to the stage. “And I definitely don’t want to be a bee.”

Part of me would like to say yes, but it feels like I’d be cheating on Amy — especially since Amy never really liked Jenna. “I was only gonna watch this year. But okay.”

Wait! Did I say that? I swear the part of me that wanted to say yes blurted out “okay” without checking with the “no” side first.

Jenna grins. “Great!”

Oh, glory.

“We could sing an easy song,” she says.

Amy and I never did a song, so it isn’t exactly like I’m replacing her. And when I pretended to be Lola that night in the parish hall, it was fun. “Um, how about ‘Peace Like a River’? I sang that recently and it’s not hard, but it’s really pretty. And Aaron knows it, so he’d probably say yes to playing it for us.”

Jenna smiles. “We’ll ask him to play loud. Then we’ll sound good, no matter what.”

I nod. “Let’s ask him to play
really
loud.”

“They should call this the no-talent show,” a voice says from the back. I whip my head around.

“I was just walking by, and Beast started howling from the terrible noise coming from in here,” Eben says.

“Shut up,” Aaron says.

“We just came to listen.” Eben pats Beast’s head, all pretend sweetness. “Can I see your music book, Aaron? I’d like to make a request.”

I walk toward him with my fists clenched. “Go away!”

“How about ‘All by Myself’?” Eben asks.

“Buzz, buzz!” Libby screams. “Sting them!”

She and Grace jump off the stage. Beast turns to flee, his tail down. Aaron, Jenna, and I laugh as Eben chases after him out the door.

“Grace and Libby might be bees,” Jenna says. “But Beast’s a chicken.”

I grin back, but I can’t help the troubled twist in my stomach that Eben came by on purpose. What if he’s planning to ruin the talent show, too?

U
sually, I feel some excitement to see what’s in my lobster traps, but as Dad guns the
Tess Libby
’s engine, heading for Sheep Island, I can’t stop thinking about the talent show tomorrow.

Beside me, Aaron taps his fingers on the boat rail as if it’s a piano.

Off starboard, I watch a small flock of seagulls on the rocks, quarreling over who got what. If they’d only keep quiet, they wouldn’t have to share, but gulls can’t help bragging about what they’ve found.

“They sound like a bunch of oboe players,” Aaron says. “Really
bad
oboe players.”

Dad slows the boat near my first buoy, and a new gull swoops by, dropping a mussel shell on the rocks to break it open. Before he can eat what’s inside, another gull grabs it away. The loser throws back his head, giving an earsplitting cry.

Dad leans out to grab my buoy with the gaff.

“Hey,
Tess Libby
, you on?” Uncle Ned’s voice comes over the radio. “How’s them new traps fishing, Jacob?”

I look over to where Dad and Uncle Ned have set their fake traps as decoys. A bunch of buoys are around them, including one of Eben’s. I can’t help but smile, knowing he’s copycatting a couple of cement blocks.

Dad winks at Aaron and me as he picks up the mic. “I’ve caught lots today: little ones and big ones.”

I touch the blue lettering on the suspenders of my hauling pants. When I first started fishing this spot, I wished:
Please let me have caught some lobsters
.

But I keep catching baby lobsters and one day — the worst-luck day of all — I caught a lobster that was too
big
to be legal. I don’t even know how he got himself in the trap.

“Some things should work out but they don’t,” Dad said yesterday when my trap hauled up with only a couple crabs, a starfish, and a sea urchin inside. “It’s not only about what you think or feel is right. It’s also knowing when to admit it’s time to move on, Tess.”

“Not yet.” I picked the starfish out of the netting. His tiny pink legs curled against my finger before I dropped him over the rail.

We rebaited the trap, though I could tell Dad thought I was wasting my time.

So today, my wish is:

Please let me have caught some lobsters I can
keep.

Wishes are slippery things. You have to be very specific or you can get exactly what you wished for and still end up with nothing. Only when I hear my trap break the surface do I risk a peek.

Dad lets out a long whistle, then clamps his hand over his mouth as if trying to push the whistle back.

I stare, frozen in place. Inside the trap’s a brilliant blue lobster! Blues are rare, and this one’s the most beautiful color I’ve ever seen: a gleaming, summer-sky blue.

“Hey,
Tess Libby.
” Uncle Ned’s voice comes again over the radio. “Barb wants to know when we can have you all over for supper again? Would tomorrow night suit ya?”

“What are we having for supper, Neddy?” another fisherman asks.

“Barb makes a fine blueberry pie. Think she’d make us one?”

Dad picks up the mic, but he just stands there, holding it.

“None of you is invited!” Uncle Ned snaps. “I’m talking to Jacob.”

“It’s a public radio,” another voice says.

“Ayuh, seems like any invitations ought to be for everyone. Don’t you think so, boys?”

Dad clears his throat. “Tess just caught a blue lobster, Ned. Bluest I’ve ever seen. It doesn’t even look real.”

“Well, now!” Uncle Ned chuckles. “Guess you’ve got yourself something special there, Tess. Your daughter’s a real Brooks fisherman, Jacob.”

I throw Dad a proud look as I band the lobster’s crusher claw. “Yes, I am.”

Dad sighs and puts the mic down.

“Hey, Tess! I’ll pay ya fifty bucks for that lobster,” a voice on the radio says.

“I’ll give ya sixty!”

“Don’t sell it to anyone here, Tess!” Uncle Ned says. “An aquarium somewhere will pay some real money for a blue lobster. I bet Ben Phipps would keep it in the store tank awhile for you, sweetie. I’m sure he’d help you get the best price for it, too.”

“Who are you calling ‘sweetie,’ Ned?” one of the fishermen teases.

“Yeah. I keep telling ya, Ned. We’re just
friends
.”

“Oh, shut up!” Uncle Ned says.

I fill a bucket with seawater, not even wanting to risk putting this precious, strange thing in with the other lobsters.

“What’ll happen to him?” Aaron asks.

“He’ll probably live in a big city aquarium where people can admire him.” I turn the lobster sideways in my hand to be sure he’s blue all over.

Aaron curls his upper lip, disgusted.

“It’s better than being
eaten
,” I say.

“To live in a strange place and have people watch you all day?”

“He’s just a lobster!” I say. “They don’t have those kind of feelings.”

The weather turns, bringing us in early. I’m glad, because every time I see Aaron looking concerned at the bucket and my lobster, I have to grit my teeth. I can’t believe he’s trying to make this wonderful gift into a guilty thing.

As we pull up to the wharf, I see a crowd waiting for us. It looks like half the island has gathered near the bait shack.

“Is your lobster very blue?” Libby runs down the wharf, her face glowing with excitement. “Or is he only a teeny bit blue?”

I hold the lobster up to show everyone. Eben turns on his heel and marches away so fast Beast has to run to catch up.

“Amazing!” Reverend Beal says. “A true wonder of nature.”

“Have a look, boys,” Mr. Morrell says to Matthew and Henry. “You won’t see one of those every day!”

“Such a striking color,” Mr. Moody adds. “He’ll be worth a pretty penny.” He grins at me. “Don’t spend all that money in one place!”

“I’d like to buy a motor for my skiff with him,” I say.

The lobster thrashes his tail, wiggling his spidery legs. Aaron walks by me, bumping my arm. He doesn’t say “sorry.”

“What color do you suppose this lobster’d be cooked?” Margery Poule asks.

Mr. Moody laughs. “This lobster’s worth more than eating.”

“He’s tired, sweetie,” Uncle Ned says. “Best put him back.” No longer thrashing, the blue’s claws are down, his tail curled under.

When I return the lobster to the bucket, he tries to shoot off backward, but there’s nowhere for him to go.

He circles around and around.