letter. So I’m only speeding up the “ go ahead and give it to him ” part. And I’d be sharing a secret with Aaron — at least that’s sharing something.
“Okay,” I say.
“Thanks.” As he’s folding the letter, I see Eben Calder riding his bike up the road with a Phipps’s grocery bag under his arm.
“Hey, Mess!” he calls. “How’s your orphan?”
“I’m not an orphan,” Aaron says icily.
I take hold of Aaron’s sleeve with one hand to hurry him along. With my other hand, I clutch the rest of our mail so tight that the advertisements crinkle. “Come on. Don’t pay any attention to him.”
I’m relieved when Eben passes us on the post office driveway. “Our island’s only using you, Aaron,” he says over his shoulder. “Once we get those school numbers up, we’ll be shipping all you kids off again.”
“That’s not true!” I say.
“What did you do to get sent to foster care?” Eben asks. “Must’ve been something really bad if your own mother didn’t want you.”
I spin around, ready to scream a whole stream of ugly things at Eben. But Aaron has already wrenched out of my grip and is charging down the post office driveway, right toward Eben Calder getting off his bike — and punches him smack in the face!
I don’t know who’s more surprised: me or Eben or Mr. Moody, who’s just coming out of the post office. Aaron sends Eben reeling sideways, shoulder first into a thicket of sea roses growing beside the steps.
Aaron takes off running. “Wait!” I yell, but he’s fast.
“Why do you have to ruin everything?” I scream at Eben.
By the time I reach the twist in the road, Aaron’s gone. All the way home, I alternate between feeling terrible that Eben hurt Aaron’s feelings and biting back a tiny smile at how funny Eben looked withhis feet in the air, his bike wheel sticking upward, still spinning.
“Mom?” I practice as I walk. “Something happened today.” She won’t be happy that I let Aaron get in a fight and lost him — all on his first full day with us.
As I turn into our driveway, my neighbor calls from her porch swing, “What’s the hurry, Tess?” Mrs. Varney’ll talk forever, so I pretend I didn’t hear her and race up our porch steps.
“Mom, something happen —”
But she’s not in the kitchen. I open the door to the living room, but she’s not there either.
“Mom?” I call up the stairs. Through the open window, I see Libby, Grace, and Jenna outside, sitting at our picnic table playing Monopoly, colorful piles of paper money all around them, each pile held down with a small rock against the breeze. Libby’s wearing one of my sweaters, with the sleeves pushed up past her elbows.
Taking a few calming breaths to slow my heartbeat, I cross back to the kitchen. I’d better get my version in there quick, before Dad hears about the post office incident from someone else. I flip on the VHF radio on the counter, our link with Dad’s lobster boat.
“Punched him right in the face!” a voice on the radio says.
I sigh. Too late.
“Ayuh, your boy knocked Eben right into a bunch of sea roses,” another fisherman says. “Moody said it was quite a sight! Eben was hopping around like a jackrabbit, picking thorns out.”
As I click off the radio, a trumpet note comes from somewhere above me. I would’ve expected a trumpet to sound hard-edged and piercing, but Aaron plays a scale fast and smooth, like a ball being tossed in the air, hovering at the tippy top before falling back to earth.
Climbing the stairs, I hold my breath, listening. I want to tell him I’m sorry about what happened. But even though I knock six times, he doesn’t stop playing. So I open the door and go up the narrow attic stairway. Our attic has two rooms, separated by a half wall. The back side holds trunks, piled-up chairs, paintings stacked up under the eaves, and jumbled old things. The other side is Aaron’s room now.
He’s standing with his back to me in front of
“Okay,” I say.
“Thanks.” As he’s folding the letter, I see Eben Calder riding his bike up the road with a Phipps’s grocery bag under his arm.
“Hey, Mess!” he calls. “How’s your orphan?”
“I’m not an orphan,” Aaron says icily.
I take hold of Aaron’s sleeve with one hand to hurry him along. With my other hand, I clutch the rest of our mail so tight that the advertisements crinkle. “Come on. Don’t pay any attention to him.”
I’m relieved when Eben passes us on the post office driveway. “Our island’s only using you, Aaron,” he says over his shoulder. “Once we get those school numbers up, we’ll be shipping all you kids off again.”
“That’s not true!” I say.
“What did you do to get sent to foster care?” Eben asks. “Must’ve been something really bad if your own mother didn’t want you.”
I spin around, ready to scream a whole stream of ugly things at Eben. But Aaron has already wrenched out of my grip and is charging down the post office driveway, right toward Eben Calder getting off his bike — and punches him smack in the face!
I don’t know who’s more surprised: me or Eben or Mr. Moody, who’s just coming out of the post office. Aaron sends Eben reeling sideways, shoulder first into a thicket of sea roses growing beside the steps.
Aaron takes off running. “Wait!” I yell, but he’s fast.
“Why do you have to ruin everything?” I scream at Eben.
By the time I reach the twist in the road, Aaron’s gone. All the way home, I alternate between feeling terrible that Eben hurt Aaron’s feelings and biting back a tiny smile at how funny Eben looked withhis feet in the air, his bike wheel sticking upward, still spinning.
“Mom?” I practice as I walk. “Something happened today.” She won’t be happy that I let Aaron get in a fight and lost him — all on his first full day with us.
As I turn into our driveway, my neighbor calls from her porch swing, “What’s the hurry, Tess?” Mrs. Varney’ll talk forever, so I pretend I didn’t hear her and race up our porch steps.
“Mom, something happen —”
But she’s not in the kitchen. I open the door to the living room, but she’s not there either.
“Mom?” I call up the stairs. Through the open window, I see Libby, Grace, and Jenna outside, sitting at our picnic table playing Monopoly, colorful piles of paper money all around them, each pile held down with a small rock against the breeze. Libby’s wearing one of my sweaters, with the sleeves pushed up past her elbows.
Taking a few calming breaths to slow my heartbeat, I cross back to the kitchen. I’d better get my version in there quick, before Dad hears about the post office incident from someone else. I flip on the VHF radio on the counter, our link with Dad’s lobster boat.
“Punched him right in the face!” a voice on the radio says.
I sigh. Too late.
“Ayuh, your boy knocked Eben right into a bunch of sea roses,” another fisherman says. “Moody said it was quite a sight! Eben was hopping around like a jackrabbit, picking thorns out.”
As I click off the radio, a trumpet note comes from somewhere above me. I would’ve expected a trumpet to sound hard-edged and piercing, but Aaron plays a scale fast and smooth, like a ball being tossed in the air, hovering at the tippy top before falling back to earth.
Climbing the stairs, I hold my breath, listening. I want to tell him I’m sorry about what happened. But even though I knock six times, he doesn’t stop playing. So I open the door and go up the narrow attic stairway. Our attic has two rooms, separated by a half wall. The back side holds trunks, piled-up chairs, paintings stacked up under the eaves, and jumbled old things. The other side is Aaron’s room now.
He’s standing with his back to me in front of
Similar Books
I Love You Again
Kate Sweeney
Sinful Ever After (Sinful Serenade Book 5)
Crystal Kaswell
Now You See Him
Anne Stuart
Cold Springs
Rick Riordan
Fallen
Laury Falter
Tangled Dreams
Jennifer Anderson
Fire & Desire (Hero Series)
Yvette Hines, Monique Lamont
Shafted
Mandasue Heller
Having It All
Kati Wilde