cluster of seagulls that seem overly territorial when we get too close to their pile of rocks.
“Listen,” Tally says, stopping and taking my arm. “Do you trust me?”
“I, uh . . .” I’m not sure how to answer her question. Luckily Blake does.
“Tal, she just met you. All she knows about you is that you committed some sort of crime serious enough to get you banned from a wholesome community event, and you are obsessed with items you can find in office supply stores or here on the beach.”
“You can’t find scissors on the beach.”
“You know what I mean,” Blake says.
“Okay,” Tally says, turning back to me. “I’ll rephrase. Do you trust me enough to let me spearhead your revenge on Charity?”
I hadn’t really been thinking revenge. More like truce.
It’s as if Tally can read my thoughts. “You can’t just let them get away with it,” she says.
I look at Blake, and he shrugs, leaving it up to me.
“Okay,” I say. “What’s your plan?”
“The fewer people who know about it, the better,” she says. I wait, but she doesn’t say anything else. I almost ask again, but then I think about Tally’s question: Do I trust her? And I decide I do, because that’s what trust is—a decision.
“Can we get a hint?” Blake asks.
“Let’s just say that when it’s over, Charity will have suffered a blow and she will have no one to blame but herself.”
“Sweet,” Blake says. “What can we do?” Again there’s that word we I’ve come to like so much.
“I am going to need a little petty cash,” she says.
I think of the seventy-five dollars I have stuffed into my Tootsie Roll bank. “Done,” I say.
She smiles. “Okay, then.” She turns and walks quickly down the beach. As Blake and I follow behind, Blake tells me who owns each house we pass. He seems to have a story about every family.
“Do you know everyone in Hog’s Hollow?” I say.
He shrugs and bites into his last cookie. “I’ve lived here all my life,” he says. “In small towns, knowing things about other people is like breathing. You can’t help it, even if you wanted to.” We walk a little farther, stepping across another big piece of seaweed that was dragged up in the last storm. “That’s the Cathance place.” I look up at a house with purple pansies spilling off the back porch. “He’s a botanist,” he says. “Orchids mostly,” he says. “He’s trying to create a new kind. He wrote out a whole explanation for me if you want to read it.”
“You never know when you’re going to need detailed orchid information,” I say, making Blake smile.
Another house comes into view, but this one is closed up, its back door boarded over. We keep walking and I wait for the story, but Blake is quiet.
“How about that one?” I ask.
“The Fishes,” he says.
“As in Mr. Fish?” I ask.
He nods. Tally has stopped and is looking out over the water. We stop and stand with her.
“Why is it all boarded up?” I ask.
“About a year and a half ago, there was an accident.” Blake nods toward the distant islands. “Out there.” Blake looks back at me. “It was pretty bad.”
“An accident?” I ask.
“His wife went out by herself in a kayak. A freak storm hit. The divers from the state police were all over the bay, searching. They finally found parts of the boat and then they found her.” Blake looks back out at the water. “Like I said, it was pretty bad.” I nod, not knowing what to say.
Tally picks up the story. “Mr. Fish kind of went nuts. He used to just walk the beach. Up and down, for hours.” She looks over at me. “Poppy used to come out with food for him. On nights when I couldn’t sleep, I’d go out on the porch and he’d still be out there. Just walking.” Tally kicks a piece of drift-wood, scaring some seagulls that were cracking mussels against the rocks. “Sometimes I would see his son out here with him, all bundled up against the cold. Then one day, they were gone. They
“Listen,” Tally says, stopping and taking my arm. “Do you trust me?”
“I, uh . . .” I’m not sure how to answer her question. Luckily Blake does.
“Tal, she just met you. All she knows about you is that you committed some sort of crime serious enough to get you banned from a wholesome community event, and you are obsessed with items you can find in office supply stores or here on the beach.”
“You can’t find scissors on the beach.”
“You know what I mean,” Blake says.
“Okay,” Tally says, turning back to me. “I’ll rephrase. Do you trust me enough to let me spearhead your revenge on Charity?”
I hadn’t really been thinking revenge. More like truce.
It’s as if Tally can read my thoughts. “You can’t just let them get away with it,” she says.
I look at Blake, and he shrugs, leaving it up to me.
“Okay,” I say. “What’s your plan?”
“The fewer people who know about it, the better,” she says. I wait, but she doesn’t say anything else. I almost ask again, but then I think about Tally’s question: Do I trust her? And I decide I do, because that’s what trust is—a decision.
“Can we get a hint?” Blake asks.
“Let’s just say that when it’s over, Charity will have suffered a blow and she will have no one to blame but herself.”
“Sweet,” Blake says. “What can we do?” Again there’s that word we I’ve come to like so much.
“I am going to need a little petty cash,” she says.
I think of the seventy-five dollars I have stuffed into my Tootsie Roll bank. “Done,” I say.
She smiles. “Okay, then.” She turns and walks quickly down the beach. As Blake and I follow behind, Blake tells me who owns each house we pass. He seems to have a story about every family.
“Do you know everyone in Hog’s Hollow?” I say.
He shrugs and bites into his last cookie. “I’ve lived here all my life,” he says. “In small towns, knowing things about other people is like breathing. You can’t help it, even if you wanted to.” We walk a little farther, stepping across another big piece of seaweed that was dragged up in the last storm. “That’s the Cathance place.” I look up at a house with purple pansies spilling off the back porch. “He’s a botanist,” he says. “Orchids mostly,” he says. “He’s trying to create a new kind. He wrote out a whole explanation for me if you want to read it.”
“You never know when you’re going to need detailed orchid information,” I say, making Blake smile.
Another house comes into view, but this one is closed up, its back door boarded over. We keep walking and I wait for the story, but Blake is quiet.
“How about that one?” I ask.
“The Fishes,” he says.
“As in Mr. Fish?” I ask.
He nods. Tally has stopped and is looking out over the water. We stop and stand with her.
“Why is it all boarded up?” I ask.
“About a year and a half ago, there was an accident.” Blake nods toward the distant islands. “Out there.” Blake looks back at me. “It was pretty bad.”
“An accident?” I ask.
“His wife went out by herself in a kayak. A freak storm hit. The divers from the state police were all over the bay, searching. They finally found parts of the boat and then they found her.” Blake looks back out at the water. “Like I said, it was pretty bad.” I nod, not knowing what to say.
Tally picks up the story. “Mr. Fish kind of went nuts. He used to just walk the beach. Up and down, for hours.” She looks over at me. “Poppy used to come out with food for him. On nights when I couldn’t sleep, I’d go out on the porch and he’d still be out there. Just walking.” Tally kicks a piece of drift-wood, scaring some seagulls that were cracking mussels against the rocks. “Sometimes I would see his son out here with him, all bundled up against the cold. Then one day, they were gone. They
Similar Books
