Megan's Island by Willo Davis Roberts

the canoe was safe, and wringing water out of her long hair.
    â€œWhy not? And food. So we wouldn’t have to go home just because we get hungry.” Sandy peeled off the life jacket, then turned and scrambled up the rock, leaving a wet trail on its pinkish-gray surface.
    Home, Megan thought. The cottage wasn’t home. Even Grandpa would only be there until his foot healed so he could go back to work. There wasn’t any home now, anywhere.
    Was that what Mom was doing, finding a new job and a new place to live in another strange town? For a moment anger replaced the fear she had been living with for the past couple of days. Anger toward her mother, who had somehow put them in this bleak position—again. Megan was sure that it was again, that this was part of a pattern she and Sandy simply hadn’t been aware of before. Running and hiding; when was it going to end?
    She thought of the letter to Annie, and the anger subsided into sadness, and a little shame, too. Whatever it was, her mother didn’t want it any more than Megan did. Her fingers numb, she unfastened the life jacket and left it beside Sandy’s, well above the water line.
    â€œHow about over there?” Sandy was asking as she reached the top of the rocky slope. Her hands no longer left wet marks on the stone, though her clothes continued to drip. “We could put some branches over the front of that cave to hide our stuff, and maybe we could even build a fire on the ledge in front of it and cook hot dogs or something like that.”
    To begin with, Megan moved sluggishly, her mind on their problems. But gradually she threw more energy into helping Sandy drag pine boughs from the surrounding trees—small ones, because they hadn’t brought a knife to cut off the larger ones—until finally all she thought about was the shelter they were building.
    It wasn’t actually a cave, she supposed, because the sides were open, but the jutting, layered rock provided a roof overhead, and the pine boughs shielded them from the view of any passing fishermen on the water. Not that there were any, except Grandpa, and he was half a mile up the lake.
    Their clothes and hair were completely dried by the time they shoved off in the canoe to return to shore. Grandpa was still fishing; he gave them a wave, and they waved back, until Megan said sharply, “Be careful, Sandy, you’ll dump us again, and we don’t know how to get back in this thing out here in deep water!”
    â€œOh, yeah, I forgot,” Sandy said sheepishly. He took up his paddle again. “I’m glad Grandpa isn’t nervous, like Mom. So he’ll let us run around out here, and not keep fussing if he can’t see us every minute.”
    Megan nodded as the canoe nosed toward the beach in front of the cottage. “Let’s get something to eat, and then go and see if there’s any mail. There might be something from Mom.”
    There wasn’t, however. There was no mail at all, but the letter to Annie was gone. Megan wondered if she’d get the letter if Annie wrote back to her. She hadn’t known what return address to put, and she hadn’t wanted to ask Grandpa for fear he’d tell her not to mail her letter. All she had was the name of the town, Lakewood. The first time they went into the village, she’d try to find the post office and ask if they had anything for her.
    The rowboat was back at the mainland. Grandpa greeted them with a grin as they entered the kitchen. “Bet you’re starving, eh? I’m fixing up a stack of sandwiches, be ready in a minute. You should have come with me, Sandy, the fish were biting pretty good. I got two, and one of them was almost as big as the one you caught yesterday.”
    They joined him in buttering the bread, and didn’t mention the snack they’d had before going to the mailbox. Being out on the water increased their appetites, Megan decided; Sandy was right