Mother had won the Women's Singles Canoe Trophy at various events on the Concord River for more years than Pix could remember and had been paddling the Penobscot since she was a child. And "pretty insistent" was definitely a euphemism.
“She's very good at it, in fact, she'l teach you"
Samantha thought it was time Duncan had some new interests and she ful y intended to take her rescuer under her wing, if he would let her.
“That would be great," he said, then mumbled, "except I don't know if I'l be here.”
Pix had studiously been avoiding any reference to Duncan's parents. It did not seem the moment to break it to the boy that his mother was a murderer, including of his natural father, and that both Jim and Valerie were involved in larceny up to their shirt-pocket emblems. Seeing him on the dock, as soon as they were within shouting distance, they'd cal ed to him to phone the state police and get the Coast Guard to stop Jim's boat. Other than this, al mention of their captors had been moot.
“But Granny, why did you go to the island?" Samantha asked the one question that had not yet been answered.
Pix felt foolish not to have thought of it. Why indeed?
“It was the only place that made sense. Their boat was gone. If you were stil alive, and I believed you were, they had to put you someplace, but it couldn't be close to the camp. So, I simply started paddling along the shore, then out toward sea. Plus, I heard you shouting.”
Sgt. Earl Dickinson was surprised and happy to see a group of laughing, obviously healthy friends as he drove up.
Someone had been in time.
“Start throwing things overboard!" Jim shouted to his wife.
“What?" She couldn't hear him above the gale-force winds and rain that had greeted them farther out to sea.
He motioned with his hands and spoke louder, "Get rid of some of this stuff. We're too heavy."
“Are you crazy?”
He left the cabin, went to the back of the boat, and started tossing bags into the water. Valerie fel upon him, screeching, "My boxes! My col ection of Battersea boxes!
What are you doing!”
He slapped her hard across the face. "Shut up! I'm going to try to make for shore. We can't ride it out and we're not exactly in a position to radio for help.”
She began to cry. "I'm scared, Jim."
“So am I. Now, do what I said and come back under cover." They were both soaking wet.
She threw the wicker hamper over the side and then the silver. We can always buy more, she told herself. We can always buy more.
At the wheel, Jim reached for a handkerchief to dry his face and found Pix's car keys in his pocket. She won't be needing these, he thought, and lobbed them in a long arc into the churning water. Then he turned the boat toward land, looking for a safe harbor.
The raging storm hampered the Coast Guard's search for the next few days. It was not until the sun broke out on Saturday that some children found a life buoy with the name VAL 'N JIM washed up on the shore—along with an empty wicker picnic basket.
“It's a great party," Faith Fairchild said to her friend, Pix. They were sitting side by side on the back steps of the Mil ers' house, watching a variety of activities. A large convivial group—with Pix's brother, Arnie, at the center—
continued to consume lobsters at the large picnic table.
"Frankly, at my age I'd rather have a talking frog" was obviously the punch line to a very funny joke. They al burst into laughter. Sam, who had once again made a mad dash for his loved ones, arriving early Thursday morning, started to tel one of his.
“He never gets this one right," Pix told Faith, "but he laughs so much while he's tel ing it that everybody laughs with him, anyway." Faith nodded. As far as she was concerned, the world was divided into people who could tel jokes and people who couldn't. Total y unable to remember even the most sidesplitting gem, she didn't even try, and kept to strictly off-the-cuff.
Another group was playing croquet. Pix watched her mother tap some poor person's bal miles off course, recal ing that even when they were children, Ursula had played to win. "Otherwise, you won't learn," she'd explained with triumphant sweetness. Claire, Arnie's wife, had obviously drunk from the same wel . Her bal hurtled through a hoop, smashed into another, which she briskly sent into the tal grass. Claire had been out for a long bicycle ride and stil wore her black Lycra biking shorts with a bright periwinkle blue oversized linen shirt. She was one of those petite, nicely-put-together women who always made Pix feel much tal er and much clumsier than she actual y was—
like Alice after eating the first cakes. Pix never knew what to do with her hands and feet when someone like Claire was around. Pix had assumed that in middle age you'd stop caring about what other people thought of you.
Supposedly, it was one of the perks. She was stil waiting.
The children were al over the place. Samantha and Arlene had immediately taken command of the Fairchild offspring, to Faith's unabashed delight. They seemed to be playing a game that involved a great deal of running and screeching, with little Amy riding piggyback and the dogs racing at their heels, barking happily. Duncan was with them. There had been no sudden transformation. He stil wore a black concert T-shirt and black jeans, but his hair was clean and he and Fred were joining the game with every appearance of friendship.
There had been no word about the Athertons, other than the finding of the life buoy, and they were assumed lost. Duncan's paternal grandparents had been notified and were only too happy to have him come live with them. Pix did have a passing thought as to when they'd seen him last, but it seemed that they had always disliked Valerie intensely, especial y after their son's death, when she'd contested his wil , seeking to prevent certain bequests, among them a trust fund for Duncan. The Cowleys had told her they didn't care to see her anymore and she had retaliated by keeping Duncan from them, never al owing the boy to visit. He was living with John Eggleston at the moment and John was going to take him south the fol owing week. John had been the one to break the news of his mother's probable death to Duncan. He'd told Pix the boy had pretended indifference at first, saying he'd never real y loved her, since she'd never loved him. Then he'd sobbed for hours. Looking at him now playing like the child he stil was in part, Pix hoped he would find what he needed from his grandparents. At any rate, it would certainly be an improvement.
“It is a good party, if I do say so myself," Pix said tritely and complacently. "What could be easier than lobster, especial y when my guests brought almost everything else?”
Ever since Faith and family had arrived on Thursday, leaving Aleford as soon as they heard of Pix and Samantha's ordeal, Faith found she was happiest right by her friend's side. First, of course, she had to hear about it al . Then she realized she simply wanted the reassurance of physical presence.
“Do you think people are ready for dessert?" Faith had made a tableful of blueberry tartes with the succulent wild Maine blueberries now in season.
“Not yet. Arnie's stil oozing butter and charm." Pix looked at her brother fondly. He'd been sticking to her side, too. He was reaching for a thick wedge of the corn bread*
Louise Frazier had brought. She insisted that this treasured family recipe from the Deep South went perfectly with Down East fare. And she was right.
“Now that the rain has stopped, we can get a better look at the house. Do you want to drive out after everyone leaves?" Pix remarked. "It should also be a beautiful sunset." The Fairchilds had bravely faced the storm yesterday, but after driving out to the Point, they didn't even attempt to get out of the car. "These weren't drops; these were tidal waves," Faith had told Pix. "Wonderful climate."