Spirit’s Key (9 page)

Nector studies the cereal boxes.

“I'm sorry. I guess we only have three choices,” I say. “Cereal goes bad after a while. Dad has a tendency to order more of the nonperishables like canned goods.”

“Can I have this one?” He holds up a box that comes with a free airplane toy.

“Sure.”

He pulls out some dollar bills. “How much do I owe you?”

“No, silly. You can have it. We're not the general store.”

“Are you sure I can't give you something for it?”

“Will you let me do a reading for you? I need to practice, and I don't have anyone to practice on.”

“I heard about how your dad lost his sight.”

“How did you hear that?”

Nector shrugs. “It's a small island.”

“Yeah.”

He passes over his house key.

As soon as I touch it, I get a jolt of nausea, so I take it to Dad's special card table and lay it down, because I don't want to throw up. But I realize if I don't hold it, I can't
see
anything.

“Don't tell my mom, okay?” Nector asks.

“I wouldn't. I can keep a secret.”

We sit down, and Nector looks as nervous as I feel. His eyes follow the fan in the corner like he's not sure what to look at.

“What would you like Spirit to ask the spirits?” I sound so hokey I crack up. I have no idea how Dad starts a reading.

Nector leans forward like he can't wait to find out. “Will I get to be a pilot?”

“Okay.” I pick up his key. It's warm. I take a deep breath. I concentrate on his question, and after a few seconds the nausea passes. A good start.

I close my eyes, and all is dark. I don't
see
anything, but I
know
I'm in Nector's home by the smell. His house smells like yaupon tea and fresh wood. My imagination fills in the blanks. The white walls, the removable floors, the rafts by the beds. I feel the pull of his family, his house, the island. The house is solid even in its impermanence. A place to start, a place to return.

When I get comfortable, I feel the rumble of a big engine. I smell smoke. I think it's from the engine. The sensation of tilting. It's cold, and I shiver. My stomach flops like a fish on the dock. I've never been on a plane before, but this nauseating exhilaration must be what it feels like. The key begins to vibrate in my hand, matching the engine's rumble.

“Stop!” Nector puts his hand over mine.

I place the key on the table. It lies still.

He looks scared. He takes his key and buries it back in his shorts pocket.

“What's wrong?”

He shakes his head. “I changed my mind. I don't want to know anything.”

“Are you sure?” I smile to let him know it's okay. “I think you might like the answer.”

His face brightens. “Really?”

“But if you don't want to know…,” I tease.

“Okay. Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

His head bobs vigorously. “Yes, I want to know.”

“The key says you will fly,” I pronounce.

“What? Really?”

“Really.”

“What did you see?”

“Nothing. But I felt it.”

He jumps up from the table whooping wowzers and pumping his hand in the air.

I laugh. I'm happy the gift decided to show me something. Maybe Dad's right and everything is going to be okay.

Nector grabs the cereal. “Come on.”

“Where?”

“Bike ride. If you ride fast enough, it can feel like flying.”

We go outside, and I see the bag of kibble. I tie it in my bike basket with a small bungee cord. Nector puts his cereal in his backpack. I'm glad he doesn't ask me about the kibble. I want to swing by Sky's grave if I have the chance. I promised Sky we'd be right back, and I don't want it to be a lie.

Nector and I hop on our bikes and ride. I clutch Sky's dog tag so he can run beside us. He leaps and bounds, and we all hoot with joy. Nector's right. If you ride fast enough, it feels like flying.

When we get near his grave, Sky darts away from me like he's a magnet and the grave is a refrigerator. He stands on top of his dune, still and tall like a statue.

I want to put the kibble on Sky's grave, because I'm pretty sure this will turn the kibble into magic. But I can't think how to explain it to Nector without telling him my baldie is buried in that spot. Sky watches me with his intense eyes. He's trying to tell me something standing like that, but I don't know what.
Are you hungry, boy?

Nector has his eyes in the sky looking for planes. It's my chance. I grab the kibble and drop it on Sky's grave.

“I don't see any,” Nector says. He sounds disappointed.

“Yeah. Me either.” Planes don't fly over this island very often. The nearest airport is on the mainland, and planes usually take a different route.

We walk on the beach for a minute staring into the clouds, and I wonder how I can feed Sky without Nector seeing.

“Oh no,” Nector says.

“What?”

We're so busy looking up, Nector's foot has crushed an oyster. He pokes at the shell, and his face falls. “Shoot, I killed it.” He takes it to the ocean and rinses it off, then offers it to me. “Do you want to eat it or should I?”

“I'm not hungry.”

“Me either,” he says. But he closes his eyes and whispers, “Thank you,” to the creature in the shell. Then he pops it in his mouth.

“Why did you have to eat it?”

“You know. I took its spirit,” he says.

But I don't know. Six years and I still don't know everything islanders believe. Dad says that this island has more superstitions than you can shake a stick at and that we'll never learn them all.

“It's wrong to take a soul. The only way to make it right is to eat it. Then it's not wasted.”

“Oysters have souls?” I'm surprised I never thought about it before.

“Of course. Everything has a spirit,” Nector says.

“But you eat them,” I argue, even though I love the idea that an oyster has a spirit.

“I had to. Don't you like oysters?”

“I do. I guess I thought if it had a soul you shouldn't eat it.”

“Then you would starve. Everything has a spirit.”

“Shrimp?”

Nector nods.

“Clams?”

Nector nods.

“Bananas?”

Nector nods.

“How does a banana have a spirit?”

Nector shrugs. “It's alive, isn't it?”

“I guess so, or it used to be … maybe. The tree it came from is.”

“See?”

“What about baldies?”

Nector shakes his head. “Not the same.”

“What do you mean
not the same
? They're alive. More alive than a banana.”

“Yes, but they have the devil spirit. You shouldn't eat the devil spirit.”

“Of course I'm not going to eat a dog.” I throw up my hands and stomp back toward our bikes.

“What's wrong?” Nector chases after me. “I wouldn't eat a baldie either. I agree with you.”

“No. We definitely do not agree.” I hop on my bike, snatch up the kibble from Sky's grave, and take off.

“Where are you going?” Nector calls after me.

But I'm riding away so fast I'm flying.

 

14

M
RS
. F
ISHBORNE'S
F
UTURE

I play with Sky the whole ride home from the beach. My anger at Nector cools so fast it's like I drank yaupon tea before I even knew I'd get mad. Sky is better than any tea. I toss the pheasant, and when he brings it back I reward him with some kibble. He gobbles up the food like he hasn't eaten in weeks. And I guess he hasn't. He chases after my bike with renewed energy and exuberance. I'm so excited. Dropping the bag of food on Sky's grave turned the kibble into something he can eat. Something that exists in my world and his.
It works, boy! I figured something out.

Sky wags his tail in approval, but after a minute his eyes dart around like there's something worrying him that I
haven't
figured out. “What is it?”

He runs ahead, and I follow until we get to the Selnicks' house. A crowd of neighbors, including Dad, are gathered outside. Sky doesn't want to stop, but I do.

“What's going on? Is everything all right?”

Dad nods.

I'm happy to see him out of bed, but he looks pale.

“I stopped by to check on Mr. Selnick.” He frowns at all the people. “I'm not the only one concerned.”

“We're trying to find out what's wrong with him,” Mr. Fishborne chimes in, glaring at Dr. Wade.

“I wish I could give a better diagnosis.” The doctor scratches his head.

“I heard it's something caused by those devil baldies,” someone—I can't see who—calls out.

There's a murmur of agreement from the crowd.

“My wife found a dead baldie in our oyster stand yesterday,” Mr. Fishborne adds. “Never heard of baldies turning up dead all over town like this. Something's got to be done.”

Another dead baldie? The creepy, sweaty feeling sweeps over me, but there's no freezer nearby to cure it.

“Now don't panic, but”—Dr. Wade holds up his hands in front of the Selnicks' door like he's trying to push everyone back—“this thing might be contagious, so you all shouldn't come inside the house. The man needs his rest.”

“I brought his favorite casserole.” Mrs. Dialfield holds up a large covered dish with two pot-holdered hands. “Surely it'll be okay to say hello and drop it off.”

“Leave anything you want to give the Selnicks outside,” Dr. Wade says. “And stay in your homes away from other people.”

“I've got to teach school tomorrow,” Mrs. Dialfield points out. Her face looks the way it does when a student gives an answer she doesn't like.

“We can't be expected to stop our lives,” Eder complains. “I've got businesses to run. Things to do. People just need to stay away from those—”

Dad grabs my arm and lurches over into the Selnicks' bushes. I rub Dad's back as he pukes. Eder looks horrified.

The crowd backs up. There're more mutterings, and Tomasena Fishborne, who's fourteen and the oldest, bossiest girl on the island, points at Dad and screams, “He's got the devil's sickness, too!”

“He does not,” I yell back at her. “You don't know what you're talking about.”

“Go home, everyone! I mean it,” Dr. Wade hollers. “I can't take care of all of you at the same time. Last thing we need is for this to turn into another plague.”

There's a sharp intake of breath. Then the crowd scatters quickly, with people pushing and shoving like they can't wait to get away now. Dad gives a disappointed sigh, but he doesn't seem to have the energy to tell everyone how ridiculous they're being. He leans on my shoulders, and I help him back to our house.

*   *   *

After Dad's settled back in bed, I ask him why Dr. Wade was talking about a plague.

“I imagine he's referring to the old baldie legend.”

“Mrs. Borse told me one,” I say. “There was smallpox in it.”

“There are lots of stories about the baldies, but I think Dr. Wade is referring to the one that started it all.”

“There's one that started it all?” I get excited, because maybe it can help me understand. “Tell me!”

Dad takes a ragged breath. “Okay, and then you have to let me sleep. I'm sorry, but being out and about has tired me.”

I wish I had more than a few minutes with Dad awake. But I see how his eyes are ringed in dark circles and his cheeks don't have their usual flush. “I promise I'll be extra quiet for the rest of the day so you can sleep.”

“Thank you. Now I'll tell myself a bedtime story, and you can listen.” Dad gives me a wink. “The story goes back to when this island was first settled. A terrible sickness occurred. It caused fever, night terrors, boils, you name it. People lost their teeth and their hair, and more than half the folks who lived here died.” Dad pauses. “Back then, people having dogs as pets was commonplace.”

“Then why does everyone hate them now?”

“Because the first sign of sickness on the island started with a young boy's dog. The dog was feverish and stumbling around, and the family wanted to put the poor creature out of its misery. But their son wouldn't let go, no matter how much they tried to reason with him. The boy hung on to his dog day and night, crying, until all of a sudden the dog was healed but the boy died. People thought something strange was going on—like maybe the dogs had something devilish in them that let them pass the sickness on.”

“What? That's crazy,” I say.

Dad puts his hand on mine. “Sometimes other people's beliefs seem crazy, but it's important for us to try to understand. Remember what happened on the mainland when people didn't understand my gift?”

I nod. Dad was accused of practicing witchcraft and of being a thief and a fake. Usually by people who didn't even pay for a reading.

“People need reasons for tragedy. When this happened all those years ago, the dogs thrived, while all their owners died. The dogs claimed the island for themselves. And for a decade it was theirs. They ruled this place. Every time new settlers tried to come, the baldies chased them off. People thought it was the devil living inside the dogs that made them vicious and wild. The Hatterasks were the only family for a long time brave enough to live among them.”

“The Hatterasks?”

“Not even the largest beast on the planet can take down a Hatterask.” Dad smiles.

I smile, too, because I know the Hatterasks used to be whalers before too many fishermen came and the whales were all killed. In school we learned that whalers were big money and fishermen would follow them down the coast. Bald Island was such a good spot for whaling that sometimes whalers would settle here with their families. This must be how the island got repopulated.